The Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera
by Phanfan44
Summary: A Phantom…A beautiful Attorney…A trial. Andre Marek brings Erik forward in time where he must stand trial.Can the lonely Phantom be saved by the lovely Laura in more ways than one?The courtroom only begins this epic tale! Lots of drama, romance, intrigue!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors' Note**: This phanfic is a collaboration by Phanfan44, Phangirl321, Rappleyea, SebbieD, BarbKesq, Phanna, and KFC.

Disclaimer: We do not own any of the rights to the ALW play, books or movie, which are owned by people much, much wealthier than us because it was their idea first. This story is based on Gerard Butler's utterly smashing, brilliant, tragic and, of course, dignified, Erik, and his story as presented in ALW's 2004 movie, Phantom of the Opera, with some minor nods and references to the original Leroux. Kay is pretty much banished here!

But, this is no ordinary POTO story, by any means…We have also interwoven the other beloved Gerard Butler character, Andre Marek, from the movie Timeline and his time traveling abilities and technology without which, this story could not be told. Disclaimer: We don't own that character, or that story either in novel or movie form. Darn!

We do, however, own all the other characters, situations and very creative plotlines of this epic story.

We writers are not bashful!! We use every style of writing we can think of…humor, drama, romance, angst, mystery, science fiction and satire. So, come along for the ride, and we truly hope you enjoy it!!

We are reposting this story with an "M" rating, and until we catch up to where we were in the story, we will post chapters for some time at the rate of at least two per week.

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**Chapter 1 In Defense of a Man by Phangirl321**

_Seattle, Washington  
June 1, 2005_

The Pour House Coffee Shop is strangely devoid of the usual lunchtime crowd today as I enter the familiar double doors with colorful mugs painted on them, leather briefcase in hand, and look for my "date." Only a handful of patrons are here today, instead of the normal eclectic mix of laptop-toting college students and business people in suits and ties, toting PDAs and cell phones.

I took extra care in getting ready for this reunion, choosing a stylish crimson silk Armani suit that sets off my shoulder-length black hair and deep brown eyes, confident that I look every inch the successful attorney that I have become in the years since I last saw my mentor and friend. I see him sitting in a far corner of the small café, a spot that gives him a clear view of all the areas of the room. He immediately stands up and beckons me over, a wide smile breaking across his handsome face.

Just as it used to do years ago whenever I saw that irresistible smile, my heart does a little cartwheel, and as I step toward him, my knees suddenly feel wobbly. I am careful not to let my feelings show on my face though, but force myself to keep up my cool professional façade. After all, I AM now a professional, no longer a wide-eyed college student—and this man is decidedly, irretrievably taken anyway, his heart stolen by a French lady named Claire.

I make my way toward him, passing by the table of a man with dark curly hair who is wearing the uniform of Seattle police officer. He barely glances at me as I walk past, too absorbed in a newspaper to pay me much attention. At another table, catty-corner to the officer's, is an elderly lady with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a bright red straw hat. Just as I am about to pass, she looks up and accosts me verbally, entreating me with a tremulous voice, "Excuse me, Dearie. Would you mind asking that young lady behind the counter if she would bring me another cup of Earl Grey tea?"

"_Excuse me?"_ I say in surprise.

She smiles sweetly at me over the enormous rims of her rather dated tortoise shell glasses. "If you wouldn't mind, Dearie. I would do it myself, but this rainy weather makes my arthritis act up something awful, and my knees just won't work like they used to."

"Of course, ma'am," I respond gently, then look over at my friend to let him know I will be right back. I immediately turn around and go to the counter to relay the message to the waitress who says she will bring it right out. On my way back, the police officer looks up and smiles at me with approval. I pause as I catch his eye, thinking to myself that there is something vaguely familiar about him. I look quickly at the metal identification plate on his uniform and read "McCool." I know then where I've seen him. His name is Detective Horatio McCool, and he was on the TV news recently discussing a high-profile murder investigation. One does not soon forget a name like "Horatio McCool." Resisting the sudden urge to ask him about his unusual name, I nod politely at the detective and then smile as I say to the elderly lady, "She will bring your tea shortly."

"Oh, thank you, Dearie!" She exclaims in delight. "Now, I think that handsome young man over there wants to talk to you."

I feel her eyes following me as I finally meet up with my friend. "Laura Counselor!" He exclaims in a thick Scottish brogue as he holds his arms out to me for a quick hug. "How good t' see ya again!"

I enjoy the warmth of his embrace for the briefest of moments before we break apart again. "Andre Marek! What a surprise to hear from you! I thought you were forever lost in the wilds of France! But now here you are!"

"Indeed I am! Sit down, now. Sit down, Laura! Tell me how you've been! I've heard that you're one o' the top lawyers in the city. Congratulations," he beams with that drop-dead smile of his.

We sit down at his table, and I lower my voice as I say, "I've enjoyed a lot of success since our old Harvard days, but something tells me you aren't here to reminisce."

Marek smiles knowingly at me. "You ha'en't changed a bit, I see. Always straight to the point."

I raise my eyebrow at him. "Well, the last archeological team you were with did have a very interesting story to tell about you."

"Ach, so you didna believe the stories about my death in a tunnel cave-in then?" He says mischievously, running a hand along his short beard. "I knew that you of all people wouldna believe that, after the way you always questioned everything during my history lectures. And, so you even dug the truth out of them. Good work!! No wonder you're such a good lawyer."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Andre," I respond, studying his face, trying to discern what all this is about. "What can I do for you?"

He hesitates for an instant before continuing, and his eyes seem worried.

"Andre?" I say gently. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

He takes a quick glance around the café, and I follow his gaze. The police officer and the elderly lady are still there across the room, but the three other people who had been chatting at a window table are now gone. "I have a case that is beggin' for your expertise, Laura," Marek finally says with quiet urgency.

"You are in trouble!" I gasp. "Is that why you're back? What happened?"

"No, tisn't me," he says quickly to allay my fears. "I canna tell ya the name right now. Not here a' least, but it's someone whose been falsely accused."

"Accused of what, Andre?"

He lowers his voice another notch. "A number o' things, including…murder," the double "r's" in that final word rolling heavily with his brogue.

Of their own accord, my eyes find Detective Horatio McCool across the room. He is once again engrossed in his newspaper. I wonder as I look at him if this is the case he has been investigating. Why else would he be here?

"What? Why would who be here?" Andre says in confusion.

"Oh! I didn't know I said that aloud!" I whisper. "Is this the murder case that is all over the news right now?"

"No," Andre says. "But I canna discuss it here. I need you to come with me."

I look long and hard at him for several seconds before saying, "It sounds intriguing, Andre, but I really need to clarify one thing right here and now. I rarely handle criminal defense cases, and never clients with murder charges against them. I generally practice civil litigation, specializing in domestic violence and child abuse cases. I don't venture into criminal law if I can help it."

"Well, I think you'll want to take this one," he says with a firm nod. "Because this case is very much about child abuse. But I can't say any more than that here."

"Why all the secrecy?"

"I just have t' be careful is all," he says, looking around the room again. "There's ears everywhere."

"Andre, are you into something dangerous?" I ask, growing more concerned by the minute.

"Nothin' more dangerous than landin' in the middle of The Hundred Years War," he answers with an irreverent grin.

"Yes, about that," I say. "Does Lady Claire know where you are?"

"No. She never knows when I come back here. I always do the time travels during the night when she's sound asleep, and I always return to the same night as I left so that our lives continue on as they would have. She has no idea where I really came from. And the only time I go anywhere in time now is when I'm needed."

"But I thought you couldn't come back too many times without serious bodily harm," I say with deep concern. "That's what the other archeologists said when they told me that you stayed behind."

"I can now," he reassures me. "The technology has improved a lot in the last several years. That's why I can ask for your participation in this case. Now, please come with me so we can discuss this somewhere private. You know I wouldn't ask you if it weren't vitally important."

"Yes, I understand that," I sigh, but before I can say more, the elderly lady stands with difficulty and picks up a cane. "Thank you again, Dearie!" She calls to me. "I'll be going now," and she actually waves at me. I smile back and notice that she is rather tall, almost statuesque, as she rises from her table.

Detective McCool stands up then and offers her his arm. "Let me help you, ma'am. Do you need a ride home?"

"No, thank you, young man. I just need to go to the bus stop down the sidewalk."

"Then let me take you there."

I watch as he courteously guides her to the counter, pays for her extra cup of Earl Grey and then escorts her out of The Pour House, all the while my mind pondering what Marek has told me thus far. From the second he called me on the phone yesterday asking if we could meet, I had known that he must be involved in something serious, and possibly dangerous. One did not just come from hundreds of years in the past to the modern day world for a social call. Only my old friendship with Marek had allowed me to know the astounding truth about his supposed death on a dig a few years ago. At that time, the time travel capability had just been developed and only the inner circle who worked with it knew. Just in the last year this incredible discovery became public knowledge. It has always perplexed me, however, that Marek's remaining in the past has continued to be kept a very closely guarded secret.

I feel him studying my face as I weigh all of this in my mind, silently urging me to accept his strange proposition and discuss this case—whatever it is. I finally meet his gaze and say, "Let's go. But first I want to take some coffee with me. Somehow I think I'm going to need it."

"I knew I could count on ya!" Marek says with a relieved smile. "I promise this will be a case ya won't forget!"  
"If I agree to work for this client," I say. "You have some persuading to do…I only take cases of clients I believe in…"

A few minutes later, we walk out of the coffee shop. I see Detective McCool standing a few feet from the door, but there is no sign of the lady he was going to escort to the bus stop. I'm puzzled by this for a moment, because I know I didn't see a bus arrive, but there is no time to give it further thought because Marek is hurrying to his car, and I follow.

As soon as we are settled in the car, I say, "Now can you tell me about this mysterious client?"

He starts the car and pulls out into traffic before answering, "No. Not yet. We're goin' to meet up with the rest of the team first."

"Team? What team?"

"I wish I could tell ya," he says apologetically. "But right now all I'm to do is take ya there. You'll understand in time, I promise."

Marek says no more on the subject after that, but concentrates instead on navigating through the heavy midday traffic, leaving me to try to piece things together on my own.

It is all surreal—Marek coming back to the present day on some secret mission and enlisting my help for someone accused of murder—one of the city's top police officers just happening to be in the same restaurant as we are discussing, or rather not discussing, these things—the disappearing woman—as illogical as it sounds, my instincts tell me that all of this is connected somehow, but it is clear by the stubborn set of Andre Marek's jaw that I will get no answers until we meet up with this "team" of his.

"I'll say a 'team', Andre," I whisper when I first step foot into the conference room of the lavish mansion overlooking Puget Sound. "This looks like an interrogation of global proportions!"

I stare in disbelief at a mind-boggling array of stern-faced uniformed people assembled around the long oak table as well as a number of impressive business types—men and women in expensive, no-nonsense suits. I am hard-pressed to hide my surprise as I see that every branch of the United States military is represented, as are the armed forces of several other nations. One of the women present has graying hair and large black-framed glasses. At first I think it is the woman from The Pour House, but on second glance realize that it isn't. Still I get the distinct impression that I have seen her before.

A tall, middle-aged man wearing the insignia of a U.S. Navy admiral stands up from his place at the head of the table and says, "Ms. Counselor, we are glad you agreed to meet with us. I am Admiral Benjamin Brooks. Welcome to this Board Meeting of The Program. Please be seated." Despite his polite words, his tone indicates that he is not making a request, and I follow Marek to the table.

"No doubt you have many questions before you meet your client," the admiral continues. "We will be happy to answer them."

I take a deep breath, refusing to let myself be cowed by this impressive show of military might. "Yes, I do, Sir, but let me clarify that I have not accepted any new clients. Mr. Marek has not given me enough information about this mysterious person for me to make an informed decision. And I must say, Admiral, that I am not impressed by all of this cloak and dagger business. Let this potential client come and speak to me instead of sending others as intermediaries. Why can this person not meet with me personally?"

The tiniest ghost of a smile plays around the corner of Admiral Brooks' mouth as he looks steadily at me, as if he is amused by my words. Then he looks at Marek, and says, "Well, I see that you were quite right about her, Mr. Marek. But before we continue, let's hear what our resident psychiatrist has to say about Ms. Counselor. Dr. Angst?"

Suddenly I know who the gray-haired woman is. She is Dr. Freuda Angst, the person Newsweek magazine named the world's foremost expert on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a title that is well-earned.

"Hello, Ms. Counselor," she says in her native Austrian accent. "It is veddy good to meet you at last. I haff heard noting but glowing praises about your vork."

"And I—you, Doctor. It is an honor to meet you. I have studied your books in great detail. I refer to them often in my cases."

"Yes, I know," she says with a smile and a nod. "You haff a reputation for vinning cases, often by employing how shall ve say, interestink strategies. No dat iss not it. By employing, ingenious strategies. Sometink dat serves you vell is dat you are afraid of no von." She waves a small hand in the air for emphasis indicating all those present. "Not even dis room full of admirals and generals rattles you. And, yet you do not hesitate to help elderly wimmen, when dey only need tea," Dr. Freuda pauses to let that comment settle in. This confirms what I suspected--that I was being observed at the coffee shop. Clearly, however, I was also being tested. I give Dr. Angst a knowing look as she continues, "Now you are vaiting to make a decision based solely on dis case's merits, not becauss you are intimidated into doing it." She smiles at me again. "You are a voman to be reckoned vith, dere is no doubt a-bout dat. You vould serve my patient veddy vell."

"Your patient?" I say. "So, you are actually the one who wants me to represent him? Wait—Is this a man or a woman, we are speaking of?"

"Vell, actually it vass a team decision," she says, and several people at the table nod their heads. "And yes, he is ovah thirty years old. Therefore, he iss a man, or so it vould first appear. I haff been treating him for a number of weeks now in anticipation of his trial."

"I don't understand."

Dr. Angst stands up, but she is so short that I can barely see her over the tabletop. She walks to the end of the room where Admiral Brooks is sitting and steps up onto a platform. In her hand is a remote control. She presses a button and a wooden panel on the wall slides open to reveal a large TV screen with the word 'Stop' in one corner of the screen.

I expect the doctor to begin some sort of visual presentation, but she does not. Instead she continues telling about her patient. "The man who vill be facing trial suffered some of de most heinous child abuse I have ever encountered in all my years of practicing medicine. He has a classic case of PTSD, Ms. Counselor, but dere are many more tings a-bout him you should know. I tink dat aftah you hear dem, you vill be eager to represent him."

She pauses for emphasis, holding my gaze even from across the wide expanse of the cavernous conference room. I give a slight nod to show that she has my undivided attention.

She seems satisfied with this, for she says, "For de last twenty odd years of his life, dis man has lived in almost complete seclusion from de rest of de vorld. And I use de term "lived" loosely, Ms. Counselor, because de place he resided could hardly constitute real living. He hass had so little contact vith de vorld, dat in some vays, especially in areas of social interaction, he is veddy much like a child inside."

"And yet, he also possesses one of de most brilliant minds of all time, Ms. Counselor," Dr. Angst continues, looking directly into my eyes. "His IQ is phenomenal, and because of dat, he writes music dat rivals Beethoven, Mozart, and all of de great masters, designs buildings and paints vith de skill of Da Vinci, and most incredible of all—he nevah had formal instruction. I tink you vill agree dat such a man should not haff to hide from de vorld any longah. He deserves to haff his name cleared so dat he can take his place amongst history's brightest stahs. Please keep all of dis in mind as you learn dis man's true story, Ms. Counselor. Do not judge him by de tings you may haff heard about him. Tink of dis instead: tink of an unvanted child exploited and beaten for de enjoyment of othahs, being forced to escape from dis torment at de incredible young age of nine and den spending de rest off his life hiding underground in a maze of tunnels. Den he taught himself everyting he knows and vanted only to share his astounding gifts vith de rest of de vorld, yet knowing he vould alvays be shunned by de veddy society he vanted to enrich. And den, imagine dis child now in a man's body being exposed to de vorld and accused of terrible crimes vith no von to come to his defense. So, my question to you, Ms. Counselor, is dis. Vill you be de von to finally help him and in de process restore to mankind one off our greatest treasures?"

I sit in stunned silence for several seconds, taking in Dr. Angst's impassioned words, trying to put it all together in a way that will make sense. "But who is this man?" I ask the room at large. "And yet, despite all his abilities, you tell me he is accused of murder! Why am I not familiar with this case? I follow the news, and usually this sort of thing causes a media storm. A child abuse victim accused of murder? The public loves the sensationalism of those kinds of stories, especially if the accused is as brilliant as all that."

"Mr. Marek, would you care to answer Ms. Counselor?" Admiral Brooks says.

I turn to Marek expectantly, telling him with my eyes that he had better start explaining. His voice is steady as he answers, "The reason you haen't heard about this case, Laura, is because the crimes that this man is accused of happened in France during the years of 1870 and 1871, or even before."

"What?" I whisper fiercely. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, Ms. Counselor, ya know that I would be the last person to joke about such an important subject as time travel."

"Then, please enlighten me, Marek! Who is this man who you have brought through time that you want me to represent?"

"You probably won't recognize his name," he answers, "but if you accept him as your client, you will soon meet him."

"Then who is he?" I continue to demand.

"The man we want you to represent is named Erik…" Andre says, looking nervously into my eyes as I shake my head, indicating that I still don't understand.

After a pause of many seconds, Marek nods to Dr. Angst, and she pushes a button on the remote control. I gasp when I see on the screen the picture of a man wearing a mask on one side of his face, and suddenly all the puzzle pieces fall into place. "Is that? It can't be! He can't be a real person, can he?"

"Oh, yes, he can, and he is," Marek says. "Erik is none other than _the Phantom of the Opera_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Meetings, Part 1, by Phanfan44**

_June 1, 2005 __  
__Seattle, Washington_

_Stunned._ I sit on an ornately carved oak chair upholstered with hand embroidered silk in this poshly appointed room, and I am utterly stunned. I look at the face on the screen and, of course, recognize it as the actor who played the Phantom of the Opera. The movie came out last winter. Who would not recognize Gerard Butler as the Phantom?

_Anger._ I begin to feel it rising in my stomach as a quasi-sick feeling, and I wonder what strange prank is being perpetrated on me? Anger is such a foreign emotion to me. I am known for remaining calm and controlled, no matter what the situation. I have always been able to analyze and appraise facts, people and situations very quickly and take logical, pragmatic actions. Right now, this entire situation is simply too bizarre and unbelievable. This place, these military and international business and political types seated around this humongous conference table trigger all my worst concerns about the Powers That Be (PTB). Those fears become all mixed up with time travel and their audacity of showing me Gerard Butler's picture and telling me he is the real Phantom of the Opera!

Are they playing me for a fool? I am trying to control the emotional reactions that are flooding my mind and making it more difficult to decide how best to respond to this surreal situation. Despite the unusual jumble of data, I come to my conclusion rather quickly and know I must get out of here. I wonder what kind of dangerous situation I have been delivered into.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it has been...very interesting. I believe I have heard and seen enough to make my decision. I am sure you will find someone else better suited for your purposes, whatever those may actually be." I make this pronouncement as I am rising from my chair.

I nod my head in farewell to Marek who is seated next to me and decide to call my legal assistant to pick me up. I calmly walk to the doorway which is only a few yards behind my chair, only to find my exit blocked. None other than Detective McCool is standing in front of one of the double doors, and a tall, stunning blonde woman blocks the other. They both loom over my 5'6" height. Their eyes communicate sympathy, but they say nothing and do not move.

I immediately swing around to confront the people seated around the imposing table. Planting my feet slightly apart to ground them firmly, and with my shoulders back and head in high, authority mode, I look directly at Admiral Brooks as I say in a steely, steady tone, "Am I being held against my will?"

"Ms. Counselor, please! No! We would appreciate your hearing us out," the Admiral says with a condescending tone which is the last straw.

"I have heard quite enough, Admiral," I say in a calm, even voice. "Whatever your real agenda is, you most certainly have not been honest about it, and I choose not to participate in your games. Military men and international political and business leaders do not go around philanthropically funding time trips for unappreciated artists…however talented or abused they may have been. Then you insult my intelligence by claiming a fictitious character from a Gothic novel was real and to prove it you show me the picture of Gerard Butler! I have had quite enough of this farce. Now, I would like to leave, and I will make arrangements for my own transportation!" I look at Marek when I say those last words, sending uncharacteristic daggers from my eyes to his.

Turning around and taking a step toward the door, I use a tone that I hope will accomplish my escape, "Please step aside. I am leaving." The two people exchange glances, sigh, and to my relief accede to my request, stepping back from the doors. I nod appreciatively and walk out one of the doors to the broad corridor which has settees and tables lining its length. I immediately walk to the nearest chair and sit down, shaking slightly from the adrenalin rushing through my body. Opening my purse, I take out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for my legal assistant who should just now be leaving the office for the day. Thankfully she is still there, and I ask her to come pick me up, giving her directions and describing the security gates which border the highway. I explain I will be standing outside the gates waiting for her, all the time wondering if I will be allowed to leave this place. My feeling is that at least with this phone call, if I disappear, she will be able to tell the police where to start looking for me.

As I put my cell phone back into my purse and start to walk down the corridor, a pleading voice from behind stops me dead in my tracks.

"I wish ya woul' reconsider yer decision, Laura. We need ya."

It is Marek's voice. I pause, but do not turn around or look back. My gut feeling is to keep going and get out of here as fast as I can, hoping they will let me out that security gate on the highway.

"Decision to do what, Marek? What is it you are REALLY asking me to do?" I demand, still not turning around.

"Laura, I apologize. We ha' not been totally forthright w' ya!" Marek says in a soft tone, clearly trying not to stir the waters any more than they have been.

"Oh, really! I hardly noticed!" I respond, angry at him for putting me in this situation and continue walking.

Marek's long strides easily catch up with me, and suddenly he is in front and turns to face me. His mouth is twisted up at one corner, and he has that quizzical look in his eyes that I have seen before when he is deep in thought, trying to argue his position—usually a controversial one—when he taught at Harvard. I brace myself for an old-fashioned debating onslaught. It doesn't happen. He takes me totally by surprise.

"Will ya join me for dinner, then?" He finally says as if we had been enjoying a pleasant stroll in the park.

"Marek! You have got to be kidding! Why should I even trust you at this point?" I ask in exasperation.

"Well, for old time's sake?" He says with a plea in his voice and beaming his most devastating smile. "We could ha' a lovely dinner here on the balcony tha' overlooks the Sound."

"Oh, no! I am not remaining here any longer than I have to. I will not stay here for dinner and a "chat," not knowing if I will be allowed to leave afterwards. You have already blocked my exit once. I don't want to have to worry about that again!" I say with a "no-negotiations" tone to my voice.

"Well, then. Coul' we go to a nice French restaurant that I ha' heard is quite fine, but never had the chance t' try out?" He remains persistent on his proposal that I have dinner with him, but I know that is only the cover for him to pitch his argument for me to participate in whatever this "Program's" real motives are. I decide to agree to this, if only because it gets me out of this mansion and back in a public place where I will at least feel safer.

"Ok. You win. Dinner. And I will even listen to your explanation, which I know very well is your real agenda. It better be very, very good!" I give him a warning look that says I will not accept any more double-speak. I get enough of that every time I turn on the television. I don't want it in my personal life.

Marek smiles, puts his hand on my waist and escorts me out the main doors to his car. I call my legal assistant and tell her I have made other arrangements, thanking her for offering to come to my aid. As I put my cell phone back in my purse, Marek looks over at me and says with a boyish grin, "Well, y'know, Laura, yer always supposed to leave the dance with the same person y'came wi'!" I can't help myself, and I chuckle in response. He is clearly already working on me, smoothing over the situation. Well, I think to myself, this should be a very, very interesting dinner. I can hardly wait to hear him explain his way out of THIS one.

While Marek chatters away during our drive about all the things he enjoys doing when he is back in the modern day, everything that has happened keeps going through my mind. Dr. Angst is a world-renowned psychiatrist. She has great credibility, and I have always respected her work. Why is she involved with this? And why would she try to represent a famous actor as being the Phantom of the Opera? And why would military and world leaders care about what happened to him? This was all surpassing strange, and I could not put these puzzle pieces together.

The French restaurant turns out to be one that I had frequented after I moved to Seattle ten years ago when I was fresh out of law school and had just passed the bar. With my increasingly pressing trial schedule, I have stopped taking the time for elegant evenings out. Indeed, socializing is simply not part of my life anymore. I work 24/7. There is always another pressing abuse case that needs immediate attention, or restraining orders, or even emergency hearings. As Marek escorts me through the doors, I can't even remember the last time I was at the restaurant, but the delicate odors that greet me make me wonder why I don't sometimes, just to get away, come for a relaxing dinner.

Marek requests an isolated table where we will not be disturbed. The maitre d' raises an eyebrow, looks knowingly from Marek to me, and smiles. 'Yes, I have just ze perfect one. A booth where you will have total privacy."

It is clear that Marek's intention is being totally misread, and I roll my eyes at Marek as soon as the maitre d' walks ahead to take us to our table. Marek just smiles and says, "Ach, a romantic evening, then, Laura?"

All I can do is think to myself, "Yes, in my dreams!"

As we are being served our wine and salmon appetizers, we make small talk. When the waiters finally go away and give us our privacy until the next course arrives, Marek starts out judiciously, talking about his life in 14th century France. He knows it will appeal to the history buff in me. He tells me in great and glorious, even gory, detail of the first time he went back in time and met Lady Claire. They fell in love in short order and in the midst of one of the interminable battles of the Hundred Years' War. His surviving the exploding ammunition cache was utterly amazing.

"Indeed, Laura, I could have stayed happily in tha' era, but when they advanced enough t' return and bring me back, unfortunately, they did!" he continues with a wry grin. "They just couldna leave me well enough alone! But, then, they had good reasons for it, so I ha' had to accept the reality o' the situation and not shirk ma duty." He pauses and looks at me.

Ah! So the other shoe has finally dropped, and he is bringing the conversation back to his real purpose. With that introduction, it appears I can expect a good measure of a guilt-trip thrown in. I remain silent, expectantly, warily.

"Well, the time travel technology advanced very rapidly, and after they discovered they coul' travel back and retrieve me, they did tha' quite often, needing my assistance on a new project that was being developed. One time they brought me back t' the future while I was asleep, and they decided t' return me back the same night, while I was still sleeping. It seemed like a good idea, but when they next brought me t' the future, we realized that I couldna' remember anything at all abou' my previous trip. We tested it again a couple times wi' other people and discovered tha' if a person is brought t' the future while sleeping and returned while sleeping, he doesna' remember anything abou' the time travel back t' the future, except maybe bits and pieces, like it was a dream."

I look at Marek and shake my head, "That is very interesting, but what has it to do with a trial?"

"Actually, we will be using that technique t' bring people t' the present from 1871 France so tha' they can testify at Erik's trial."

"This is getting into Twilight Zone territory again. Tell me you are joking!" I respond to this incredible assertion. "What is this really all about?"

"This trial is t' find out the truth about the man known as the Phantom o' the Opera," he spits out quickly in an effort to overcome my skepticism. "Laura, you asked for the bottomline, and that is it. We have gathered a lot of conflicting information about this unique genius, and we need to sift through and find out what the truth o' the matter is."

"So, you are bringing people who knew him to the present to call as witnesses so that you can find out about his life?" I ask, trying to wrap my mind around this conundrum.

"Yes, tha' is exactly it. The movie reflected the best knowledge available when it was written and filmed, correcting some o' the misinformation tha' was in the Leroux book, such as the date when the events at the opera house occurred. In reality those happened just prior t' the Paris Commune, which occurred in mid-March 1871. Leroux had set the events a decade later because he wrote his novel over 30 years later using a lot o' second- and third-hand information. He was wrong on the dates, and as we ha' now discovered, a lot o' other things. Apparently, he filled in a lot o' gaps wi' his imagination."

"Well that sounds pretty typical of fiction writers…to make up the story as it fits their needs!" I point out the obvious with an innocent smile.

"Apparently Leroux did just tha'! But the movie was based on first-person writings left by a number o' people, and it was believed t' be a fairly accurate representation."

"So, now you seem to be implying that was not the case?"

"Well, just after the movie was released, some letters were found which shed an entirely different light on the events o' the Phantom's life."

"Why would that have any significance? The movie is made, the man it is written about is not alive to object, it is a work of art, who is to care?" I ask pointedly.

"Because these letters were written by the person most knowledgeable about the Phantom, Mme. Giry, and they indicate tha' he was not guilty o' the murders."

With pursed lips, I look at Marek, curious about where this story is going.

"So, it became apparent tha' he may have been wrongly accused o' these rather heinous acts in the various books and movies which ha' sprung up around his story." After a pause to study my reactions, Marek continues, "…and, one o' Mme Giry's letters said tha' the Phantom died within a month after the Commune began."

"Well, that is certainly tragic. But, that would be in accord with what Leroux said…that he died soon after Christine left, and, if I remember correctly, the movie did not show him still alive 50 years later at the auction. I believe it made the question of whether he was dead or alive somewhat ambiguous."

"Yes, tha' is correct. But from this one letter, it seemed pretty certain tha' he died then. Mme Giry herself identified his body which was found in one o' the lower cellars underneath the Opera House."

"So, let me get clear on what you are saying to me. You are asking me to represent a dead man and clear his reputation with testimony received from sleeping people who lived almost a century and a half ago! Marek, has your trolley totally skipped off the tracks? Do you think the time travel may be affecting you more that you realize?" I say with total incredulity. The more he explains the less this is making sense.

Marek searches my eyes, lets out a heavy sigh and continues. "Laura, no we donna want you t' represent a dead man. He is quite alive!"

"Andre, you just said he died! Now he is alive! Which is it?" I am beginning to lose my normally abundant patience.

"The advantage of being able t' travel in time is, you can go back to specific, targeted dates, and so, we sent a team and searched for him. Luckily we were able t' find him several weeks after the events o' the opera house that are so famous, and just before he was about t' be shot by the French army along wi' Commune members, as had originally happened."

"And, so I have a gut feeling you are leading up to telling me you brought him to the future to keep him safe?"

"Exactly."

"So, he is actually alive and here in the present time?"

"Oh, yes! Quite well and definitely here!" Marek smiles emphatically. Then, reaching into his coat jacket, he pulls out a metallic square that I recognize as an old daguerreotype picture and hands it to me. "That is his picture. It was found before the movie was made."

I look down at the faded, brownish-golden picture of a man wearing a half mask and let out a gasp. It looks exactly like the picture I saw on the screen at the conference a short while ago. I turn the photo over and see in elegant black script, 'To Antoinette Giry, With Appreciation, Erik.' Next to the signature is the date, October 12, 1867. "Andre, tell me this is not a faked picture. Tell me you are not playing a prank, and this is not the actor who played the Phantom in the movie."

"No," Marek responds, "it is no' the actor. Indeed, the actor was chosen for his uncanny resemblance. Tha' is why you mistook the picture you saw at the meeting for Mr. Butler. But, indeed, this is an accurate likeness o' the real Phantom."

"So, in regard to his appearance, Leroux was quite off the mark?" I ask.

"Yes, it would appear tha' is where he let his writer's imagination loose!" Marek says as he lets out a chuckle.

"Well, this is good news. I now have a potential client who is at least not dead!" I respond with what sense of humor I can muster from this situation. "And, we have live witnesses who can be brought to the future to testify, but when they are returned to1871 France, they will remember nothing of the excursion to our times, correct?"

"Yes, Laura! Now you get the whole picture!"

"Oh, no, Andre, not so fast! There are still quite a few gaping holes." I say as I take another sip of wine to see me through this most convoluted conversation. "Let's start with why you want to have a trial to clear this man's name in the first place?"

"Ach, Laura, that has to do wi' who he is and who he may be!" Marek says with his now characteristic evasiveness. I have to pull everything out of this man. It is as though he has orders not to let me know anything unless I drag it kicking and screaming out of him. So, getting out my verbal pliers, I proceed.

"Ok, I see this is twenty questions. Next two: So, Andre, who is he and who 'might' he be?"

"As you heard Dr. Angst say at the board meeting, he is a bona fide genius. She has given him every possible IQ test, and he is quite off the scale. He has creative abilities that are truly unique. Utilizing those are, however, a bit hindered by his no' having experienced normal social interactions throughout his life."

"After hearing Dr. Angst's assessment, I would say his 'not having experienced normal social interactions,' is the understatement of the year. Since when did you become such a diplomat, Andre?"

"Well, I dinna want to put you off, or make you feel, uh, nervous about working w' him."

"Should I be…_nervous_?" I ask, now wondering why he is even concerned about this issue.

"He does ha' his rough edges, and there are times…." Andre's voice trail off, "but, Freuda has been working wi' him daily, and he is certainly improving."

"There are times that _what_ happens?" I am not about to let go so easily the hint that a potential client may be dangerous. I need to know what to expect.

"At times he becomes emotional. One could say a little overly emotional. Sometimes he gets a wee bit weepy. Other times he becomes angry, and on occasion, well, shall we say, he acts out physically."

"Oh! That's _great_! Now I am to accept a client who is violent and out-of-control!" I am shaking my head and wondering why I haven't already ended this discussion and departed.

"Laura, we know that you understand abou' post traumatic stress disorder, and that is one o' the reasons why we want you as his attorney. You are just about the best attorney at representing abused people, and you are knowledgeable about how to, uh, shall we say, work wi' them. We know you would do just fine with Erik!" Marek looks at me and smiles as if he had just asked me for a lovely walk at the beach.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Andre," I remind him just as I did at The Pour House. "I will take this case only if I believe in my client. So, tell me, why should I represent him?"

"You heard Dr. Angst's summary of both his genius and the abuse and exclusion from normal social interaction all his life. He has so much t' offer t' the world if he could be cleared o' the allegations, if indeed, they prove to be false. Tha' would be your job."

"Clearing his name is a very idealistic goal," I sigh heavily. "But, this costs a lot of money! Funding this involves not only the legal expenses, but also the cost of bringing these people from the past and providing caretakers for them the entire time they are here, I presume. This is a very expensive proposition. So, what is the real agenda? I don't believe that this group—The Program—is so philanthropic as to expend this kind of time and money for the benefit of the arts of the 19th century!" I give Marek a "don't mess with me" look, hoping I can finally pry out the real reason for this bizarre situation.

"Well, Laura, when you left the board meeting today, I pointed out tha' you would no doubt ask tha' question, and they were going t' have t' give me permission t' disclose their full agenda. I told them you wouldna accept anything less than that. So, here it is..." Marek takes a deep breath and continues. "I told you time travel has moved forward very rapidly. Well, we can now no' only go t' the past, but we can go t' the future. And, so being curious, adventurous humans, we did! We went only 100 years into the future and what we saw was sobering, t' say the least. I canna divulge the specifics, Laura. I don't have tha' permission, but let me say tha' the devastation o' the ecology by the use o' oil as a major energy source, as well as the amount o' unregulated, industrial pollution dumped into our fresh water sources has resulted in various catastrophic situations. The climate change caused draughts and crop failures, and polluted waters and environmental degradation lead to water shortages and many other problems, including the outbreak o' virulent diseases. The human population is devastated and the chances o' long-term recovery appear tenuous."

I sit stunned, for the second time today. That was definitely something I did not want to know. Clearly I am not going to ask any more questions for specific details about the future.

"So, some o' the wealthiest men and women on the planet," Marek emphasizes these words, "have united wi' portions o' the military and some o' the political leaders—those, of course, who are not under the grasp o' the Powers That Be—and they created an organization called "The Program." They are using the time travel technology t' fund projects in the past and try t' change the course o' history so we do not inherit the current situation which is clearly going in a disastrous direction. Each o' the wealthy patrons behind this organization was asked t' provide names o' people in his or her fields o' expertise who lived during the last 200 years. The people they named were t' be those who with extra assistance, backing and funding could have helped turn the tide o' history. We are trying t' break the stranglehold o' the PTB. One o' these wealthy contributors is preeminent in the arts, and he put Erik on his list. If he is not a murderer, but a suppressed genius, it was felt he needed t' be given the opportunity t' contribute t' changing the turbulent and critical times in France between the Commune and beginning o' the First World War. Furthermore, there is also the possibility that he is the senior heir o' one of the leading noble French families, which, if tha' is true, and he were restored to tha' position, he most certainly would be in a position t' make a major difference in the events o' that period." Marek pauses, studies my shocked expression and concludes, "Well, does tha' answer your questions?"

I don't respond for several minutes as I digest what he has disclosed. I sift through everything I have been told, realizing my life will never be the same now that I have been entrusted with this information. But there are still some glaring holes in Marek's presentation.

"Well, Marek, what can I say? You have just shared with me some mind-blowing facts. But one thing still does not make sense. Why does The Program want a trial to discern the truth about Monsieur Phantom? Why not just bring the people from the past and interview them privately to get to the truth? Why a public trial? That's not necessary!"

"Well, Laura, there is one other thing I havna told ya," Marek says with an apologetic smile.

"Oh my God! What is coming now?" I think to myself.

"A week ago, Erik was served wi' indictments from the International Court of Justice charging him wi' a number of murders and a long laundry list of other criminal and civil charges. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and those can always be raised. We know the Powers That Be (PTB) are behind this, but we ha' no idea how they found out we have Erik here in the present. That was to be kept a secret. And, in the International Court of Justice, when murder charges are brought, all other criminal and civil charges are also allowed t' be joined, and any statutes of limitations are waived. So, a public trial is being forced by the PTB t' discredit The Program by showing that they "aid and abet" nefarious and dangerous people and are misusing the time travel technology which is still owned solely by The Program. This will all be coming out in the news within the next couple days as the propaganda onslaught abou' this is unleashed by the PTB."

"But it is not only The Program's reputation at stake here, Marek," I point out with dawning sadness in my voice, "the life of Monsieur Phantom is now on the line. Although the International Court of Justice abolished the death penalty, he could be put in prison for the rest of his natural life…well…the current one!"

"Yes, that is true," Marek concedes, "and now tha' the charges are filed, we canna return him t' the past until this is resolved. He is out on bail and in the custody o' The Program which canna afford any more bad publicity t' discredit its work."

"So, Andre," I say with an edge to my voice, "You are asking me to defend the Phantom of the Opera and save the credibility of The Program so that it can continue on its agenda to change the timeline and avoid the disasters ahead! Gee, Marek, _no pressure there on me at all_!" I shake my head and actually laugh which I always do when things look so god-awful that laughing is the only way to cope.

"Laura, you understand PTSD and how to represent and defend those who have been abused, particularly those who have that syndrome. And, you almost never lose a case. Freuda and I, and The Program's Board of Directors, are unanimous that you are the one to represent Erik," he says with a steady gaze and a cajoling smile on his lips. "So, will ya defend the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Tell me, Andre, did he actually sing passionately to Christine on the stage and then bring down the chandelier to cover his escape through a trapdoor?" I ask with a quizzical smile.

"Laura, y'll have to ask him that yerself," Andres responds with a twinkle in his eyes.

I give off a deep sigh, feeling the rush of wind, turbulence and vertigo_, as I freefall with Alice down the rabbit hole._

**PLEASE REVIEW!** We write this story for YOU, so let us know what YOU think!

Thank Yous to my invaluable editors, Rappleyea and Phangirl!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Meetings, Part 2, by Phanfan44 and Phangirl **

_June 2, 2005 __  
__Seattle, Washington _

My tall, dark and handsome shadow jumps out of my black Corvette and races around to the driver's side of the car, opening the door before I have a chance to gather my purse and briefcase from the back seat. I think he and I are going to have a chat. He is one of my newly assigned bodyguards…my new shadow…and I would like him to fade into the background of my life as much as possible. I minored in European history at Harvard and read every book I could find about Elizabeth the First, England's greatest monarch. She wrote about putting her duties first, "…my care is like my shadow in the sun," when she gave up her last chance to marry, to find love. I have long since given up a personal life and am married to my work. Indeed, I now have a real shadow following me wherever I go to confirm it.

It is 3:00 p.m., and I, that is, "we" are returning from a court hearing of an ex parte restraining order for a new client. That would normally be a typical event for me, but actually, there has been very little that is typical for the last twenty-four hours. Can it be only twenty-four hours ago that I met Marek at the Pour House? Hard to believe, but my watch tells me so. My Alice in Wonderland life has become so bizarre that I expect the rabbit to hop by and tell me that "he's late, he's late, for a very important date." But, alas, he does not. I guess my shadow is standing in for him, as he looks at his watch and informs me we ARE late for my appointment with my new client. I surmise "Mr. On-Time" has government CIA or FBI training. Apparently he wants everything to run on a tight, pre-approved schedule to the minute, and a lawyer's schedule does not always go that way. Things happen, like hearings on emergency ex parte orders. Yes, we are definitely going to need a chat.

He follows me into my office building, which overlooks the Sound…well, except when he pops ahead to open up doors for me. Yes, I think to myself…a looooonnng chat. As we go up in the elevator, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He is young and very much a strong, athletic type. I know he is wearing a gun in a concealed shoulder holster, and god only knows what other weapons and gadgets underneath his very tailored business suit. Only the cord to his earphone gives the telltale hint of who he is. Indeed, he is my second shadow since I left the French restaurant last night.

The first bodyguard was waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, and HE opened the front door for me when I left. I am supposedly able to leap tall buildings in a single bound in the legal arena, but suddenly I am incapable of opening my own doors. _That_ shadow introduced himself very politely and professionally, which did nothing to reduce my total shock that he was there in the first place. I had agreed to represent Monsieur Phantom only an hour before, and had only let Marek out of my sight for a very few minutes when I made the proverbial trip to the ladies' room. Marek is clearly a master at time management and put every second to great effect, because he had clearly called and informed The Program I had accepted the representation and where we were, so they had a bodyguard ready and waiting. I was torn between being impressed at the efficiency they exhibited, and the discomfort of learning that I would from now on have a 24 hour-a-day bodyguard. Shadow Number One accompanied us to my condominium and took up residence in my living room over night. I guess this is going to be a nightly camp out locale for them. Lucky me….

We get to the door of my office, and I quickly grab the doorknob, outmaneuvering tall, dark and handsome. I smile in triumph, point to a couch in my client waiting area, and nod to him to take a seat. Turning to my secretary and legal assistant who are in the front office, I ask them if my next client is already waiting in my office. They both nod their heads, eyes very wide, and I can see from the shock on their faces they are still recovering from meeting him. Not at all a good sign.

Then, strangely, my legal assistant hands me a glass of ice tea. I look at it, then at her. "Cheri, what happened to my usual cup of coffee? Is the coffee maker broken?" I ask with a questioning smile.

"No, Laura, it is working just fine. We just thought that something icy cold may be more suitable this afternoon," she says with a grin. "You'll figure it out."

I shake my head and give Cheri a puzzled look, then walk down the short hallway to the door of my office. Before I open it, something inside makes me stop, take a deep breath and think. In fact, I don't move for at least a minute. I just stand there, my hand on the doorknob, but not turning it. Something holds me back. A feeling deep down inside me says that when I open this door something irrevocable will happen. I don't know what. I just know that there will be no turning back. If I turn around now and go back to my secretary and have her call The Program, I can still rescind my representation of this man.

My gut instinct, my mind, my feelings and my soul are at odds with each other, fighting an internal battle. My gut instinct tells me to call this off, the danger is too great. I have often represented clients where danger to them and myself was so high that a bodyguard was needed, but never, ever, one 24 hours a day. But I have never before let the degree of risk stop me from defending anyone. I have always laughed it off and said, "Well, you can only die once…" Hmmm, yes, very funny.

My mind says this was a challenging case, but not one that is beyond the complexity of many others that I have handled. My lengthy meeting this morning with a representative of The Program verified that I would be given all the additional staff, including attorneys that I would need both for this case and my obligations to other clients.

My feelings are conflicted. I will be representing a very unusual man, one who had clearly suffered some of the most serious abuse I had ever heard, and that triggers my deepest compassion. He is also accused of actions which could be considered dangerous, or even deadly, to others.

My soul cries out for justice for this man and compels me to use all my abilities to help him. But there is also the urgent issue of helping The Program maintain its reputation so it can fulfill its goals. After this internal debate, I make my final decision. I take a deep breath, turn the doorknob and enter my office.

The first person I see is the ubiquitous Detective McCool who is standing only a few feet in front of the door, so that I almost walk into him.

He turns and smiles, "Hello, Ms. Counselor. I don't think we have been formally introduced. I am Detective Horatio McCool." He extends his hand for a formal handshake.

As we shake hands, I reply, "Yes, Detective McCool, I know who you are. I watch the local news and you have quite a reputation. You also seem to be everywhere I am lately," and we exchange knowing looks.

"Well, perhaps I can explain," he says with a boyish grin that doesn't quite hide the seriousness in his dark brown eyes. "I am in charge of security for Monsieur Phantom," he clarifies to my satisfaction. "Wherever he goes, either I or one of my officers is with him."

"Won't the police department miss you?"

McCool arches an eyebrow at me as he says, "Oh, they're big boys and girls. They can get along without me for awhile. They understand that I have orders from a little higher up the food chain."

"How high?" I can't resist asking.

"High enough," he says and gives me a look that informs in no uncertain terms that this line of questioning is over.

"I see," I say and turn to look past him toward the floor to ceiling windows that cover the entire opposite wall of my law office. The windows face westward and overlook Puget Sound with no buildings intervening to interrupt the breath-taking view. In front of those windows stands a tall figure clad entirely in blackest black, even his hair is ebony.

He is turned away from me, looking out at the Sound, so all I can see is his tall, straight back, and the cloak flowing down to just above his black leather boots which add more inches to his already imposing height. His shoulders are held back in a posture of dignified elegance. He does not turn around to face me, even though he can clearly hear me speaking with Detective McCool.

"Monsieur Phantom, I would like to introduce you to your attorney, Ms. Counselor," Detective McCool says with a firm, but kind voice. Monsieur Phantom continues to keep his back turned toward me, acknowledging me only with a nod of his head and silence as he continues to face the windows.

"It is my pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Phantom," I say with a sincere, level tone.

_"Oh, indeed?" _the black cloaked figure finally responds in a voice that is sharp with icy edges.

I glance back at Detective McCool, and he rolls his eyes. Ah, so nothing is going to be easy about this meeting. I wonder if my client had any say in my representing him. If not, that does not bode well. If he does not approve of me—if we do not trust each other and develop a respectful working relationship—then I cannot successfully argue his case. I will have to withdraw as soon as possible to let someone else step in. The sooner we find this out, the better.

"Detective McCool, if you will wait in the front sitting room, I can begin my consultation with Monsieur Phantom," I say politely.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Counselor, but as I said, wherever Erik goes, I go," Detective McCool responds firmly.

"No, I am afraid that won't do. I need to speak with my client in private. We have a lot to discuss," I smile and for emphasis gesture back toward the door.

McCool crosses his arms over his muscular chest and smiles. But, again, that feeling doesn't reach his eyes, "Sorry, Ma'am."

"But Detective McCool, there is only one door into this office. Can't two body guards in my waiting room prevent dangerous intruders from threatening us?" I persist.

"Yes, but protocol says I am staying here," he insists.

"Are you telling me that you think I will do harm to Monsieur Phantom?" I am getting a little testy now.

"No, of course, not!" the Detective shakes his head.

"Are you telling me that you think Monsieur Phantom will do harm to me?" I look over at the dark, hulking figure as I say these words and see him suddenly stand bolt upright, his feet solidly planted on the ground, and his shoulders becoming rigid as his head turns slightly to listen to this response.

Detective McCool also sees the reaction of Monsieur Phantom, and he quickly answers, "No, of course, not!"

"Well, that should resolve that. Please wait outside."

"No, I can't leave," the Detective says forcefully. "Those are orders."

"Then let me explain more clearly," I say slowly, "If I cannot speak privately with my client, you need to advise The Program to find another attorney to represent him," I say in an unequivocal tone.

Detective McCool looks from me to the towering man in black across the room. After a minute of thought, he nods his head and says, "I'll wait outside."

"Thank you very much, Detective McCool, that is very appreciated," as I smile and watch him leave. I turn around and walk to my desk, putting down the purse, briefcase and glass of ice tea. "Monsieur Phantom, would you like anything to drink?"

"No, thank you...is that Mademoiselle or Madame Counselor? I do not know what this title 'Ms.' signifies," he responds gruffly, still facing the windows.

"It would be 'Mademoiselle.' I am not married. The term 'Ms.' was created several decades ago as a title for women which would be neutral and not distinguish between married and unmarried," I explain gently.

"How very confusing," he says with a growl of disapproval.

"Yes, I can see how it could be," I agree, feeling he must be totally at sea with the culture shock of dealing with modern society. "If you feel more comfortable, please call me 'Miss' or 'Mademoiselle."

"No, I will conform to the accepted social custom," he answers bluntly.

"Monsieur Phantom, do you feel uncomfortable being represented by a woman?" I feel we need to cut directly to this chase. He still has not turned around and looked me in the face.

"I was not asked my opinion about the choice of an attorney at all," he says with another low growl.

"Oh, I did not know that. That has to be very disconcerting to you. Monsieur Phantom, you should have absolute say in who represents you. If after our meeting today you wish to change attorneys, I will totally respect that," I say firmly, but keeping my tone soft. In response all I hear is a grunt as he shifts his weight to his other leg and continues to look out the window. His body language seems to be screaming that he doesn't like me or anything that is happening. Obviously, I must take this very slowly. I study him more closely. His cloak is drawn back behind his shoulders so that the sleeves of his suit can be seen. Like the cloak, it is clearly a 19th century style, and I can see white ruffles protruding from the suit cuffs ending at black-gloved hands. Oh, my, I reflect with a smile, he certainly dressed for the occasion! He is clearly tall, but I cannot make out his build, nor his face, nor see that infamous mask. The picture windows are made of non-reflective material, so there is no reflection there to help me see his face to read his mood. For now, I am left to interpreting his emotional state through his brief answers, growls, grunts and body language.

I remain standing next to my desk, deciding not to approach him or invade his space until we have talked a little while.

"Well, then, were you told anything about me at all?" I ask.

There is a long pause before he answers, "Yes, Dr. Angst told me quite a lot about you," he says with a slightly less gruff edge to his voice.

"Anything good? Lawyers are not generally well liked!" I try to make a small jest.

He cocks his head, surprised at my response. "She spoke very highly of you and said she felt you would be the best attorney to represent me. She felt you would seek the truth and work hard to tell it."

"And, what did you think about what she said?" I pursue, trying to let him express his thoughts, his feelings, his wishes.

Again, a long pause before he answers with an edge still in his voice, "I have rarely met anyone who either seeks the truth or cares to tell it. I have only known one such person in my life. Most often I find people want to believe whatever they are told by others without trying to search for the facts, or the truth."

"Yes, that is sad, but quite often true. I have seen this over and over when trying to defend those who have been abused. I have found it is easy for those who wish to do harm to tell a lie, but very difficult to prove the truth," I respond with sympathy in my voice since that is all he is willing to acknowledge of me right now…my voice. "The one in your life that spoke the truth…that was Mme. Giry, was it not?"

His shoulders suddenly hunch slightly as he looks down, deep in thought. Then he answers tersely, the memories of his past obviously painful for him. "Yes, she always saw people's hearts. She saw the truth."

"Mme. Giry sounds like a very, very special lady. You were very fortunate to have her in your life. You gave her the daguerreo-type picture of yourself, didn't you? Marek showed it to me, and I saw a date on the back. Was that a special occasion?" I ask gently.

"So, are you now initiating your professional probe into my life?" he asks with the icy edge returning.

"No, I wasn't even thinking about that. I asked it because you inscribed it to her, and it appeared to be a gift. I was just curious. You asked me if I was single or married. I took no offense. But, you need not answer any question you do not want to," I say in response.

I watch as he begins to pace. Since my desk is across from the windows, his back remains turned to me as he walks back and forth across the expanse of the windows like a caged panther, full of controlled power and danger. His head is turned toward the view, but it does not seem as though he is looking at the panorama any more. Instead he appears to be deep in thought. This goes on for many minutes, and I ask no more questions. Waiting, silent. On guard.

Then he stops and, still facing the windows, he grasps his hands behind his back. "I gave the picture to Antoinette for her birthday. It was the gift she said she most wanted from me. I had never had a picture taken before, or since, for that matter, and she said she wanted a picture of me. She said she had only known her husband for four years before he was killed in a carriage accident, and that the picture of him gave her great comfort. She said we had known each other for over twenty years, and she had no picture, no keepsake of me. She was always worried that something would…happen to me. That is the one thing she wanted from me for her birthday. How could I refuse? She made arrangements for me to go late one night to the studio of her nephew who took such pictures, and it was done. She was very happy with it. It was the least I could do for her after all she had done for me."

"I see. That was a very, very special gift you gave her, you know. You gave her something of yourself," I point out. He lowers his head as if considering this thought. "Now, is there something you would like to ask of me? You can ask anything."

"Really? Anything?" He starts pacing again, his cloak swishing behind him, again deep in thought. Then he stops, and with his back still toward me, he asks, "Why are you an attorney? Women do not do such work in my time. It seems to be a man's work, but you do not seem to be afraid. You even made Detective McCool back down. Dr. Angst says you defend those who have been abused. Is that not dangerous?"

"Yes, my work is dangerous, but it is necessary. By using the tools I have within the law I can protect the defenseless. On occasion I need to have a bodyguard escort my clients and me to court because of threats. Indeed, the bodyguard who most often protects me is a very large, fierce-looking bear of a man, but he has a very good heart. He is always there to protect those who are threatened, and, indeed when my client cannot afford to pay any attorney's fees, he does not charge any fees, either."

"Do you actually help people without receiving pay?" he asks with surprise in his voice.

"Yes, I do quite often."

"Even when you might be in danger?" His voice is incredulous.

"Yes. Even then. Why do you ask?" Now I am surprised at his questions.

"It makes no sense that you go out of your way, even endangering yourself for others. You are a woman. You do not need to do such things," he concludes as if that were absolute fact, and I realize we are working across cultural chasms here. I begin to wonder if Marek and Freuda knew what they were doing when they decided to have a woman represent the Phantom of the Opera..

"Well, Monsieur Phantom, our society allows women to become attorneys now, and I have the same tools—the law and the facts—that any male attorney would have. I am not afraid to use those tools, nor to face other dangers that may arise. That is often the price of exposing the truth, of bringing justice," I wonder if anything I am saying makes sense to him. Will he ever be able to trust a woman to defend him?

"Women of your time are very different. Dr. Angst, too, is a most unusual woman, although she is like Antoinette in many ways. Marek, Detective McCool and she are the only people I have met since being brought here that I feel I can trust." His suddenly volunteering this information takes me off guard. I press this unexpected admission of his feelings.

"May I ask: what do you mean 'brought here?' Did you not agree to come voluntarily?" I probe gently.

"You did not know?" With his back still toward me, he turns his head slightly to the right, and I see a flash of white, the first glimpse of his mask. "The Program neglected to inform you under what circumstances I was brought here?"

"No, no one has told me. Do you want to share what happened?" I am getting a sinking feeling in my stomach about this.

He turns his head the other direction, and for a moment, I get a glimpse of the uncovered side of his face. "I was being held in a storage room on the 4th level below the opera house, a prisoner, waiting for the firing squad the next morning, along with several other people who had been part of the Commune uprising," he begins with a flat, controlled tone in his voice. "I had been caught when I returned to my old home on the 5th level to dig up a box of money I had buried there. When I had left the month before, I fled, shall we say, under difficult circumstances and did not have enough time to take it with me. I had a smaller amount hidden in another part of the caverns, which bought me food for a few weeks, but when that ran out, I was forced to return for the bulk of the money I had saved over the years. I did not know that the army had taken over the lower levels and was using it to hold and execute prisoners. Foolishly, I was caught and speedily sentenced to death without recourse to a trial. I was imprisoned separately from the other prisoners because I was considered to be dangerous."

He begins pacing again, looking out the windows, and his voice now becomes tight and strained, "Just hours before I was to be shot, the door to the room in which I was being held flung open and three very strangely dressed men charged into the room. I did not know who they were or what was happening, so I fought them, but two held me down while a third one injected me with some drug, and I remember nothing after that. When I awoke, I was in a hospital, here, in this time period. I was very ill from lack of food and exposure, having wandered the Paris streets for almost a month, sleeping in vacant buildings. Also, I had been beaten by the soldiers when I was captured and had some cracked ribs, as well as a number of other injuries."

I wince when I hear this. He had been brutally beaten and was truly looking death in the face. I could not fathom how much this man had suffered. Tears form at the corner of my eyes. Because his back is toward me again, Monsieur Phantom does not see me brush away my tears, and thankfully, he remains unaware that I am struggling to maintain my composure, as he continues his story. "I was in the hospital for several weeks. During that time, Dr. Angst would spend long hours each day talking with me, describing where I was and how I came to be in this time with the help of the time traveling machine. She explained why I was brought to the future, and slowly exposed me to the things of your every day life that you take for granted. It has been both fascinating and frightening, what I have seen and learned. I am not sure I like this modern world."

"You have endured so much," I say sympathetically, "I have great admiration for you, not only for the strength you have shown in surviving the traumas of your life, but also for what you have accomplished despite those obstacles."

Upon hearing my words, he suddenly stops pacing. His head bends down for the first time, and one of his hands goes up to his forehead. "How can you say such things about me? You do not know me. Perhaps if you really knew me, you would only see a pitiful creature, something truly monstrous," his voice is now full of torment, and I cannot stand by my desk any longer.

I walk purposefully to where he is standing by the window and reach up my hand, placing it gently on his shoulder. His back stiffens, jerks up straight, and he turns on me, rapidly swinging around. As he does so his shoulder hits my arm, propelling it away from him, flinging it sharply backwards. In shocked surprise, I find I am dwarfed by his dark presence, looming over me like a black bird of prey. He glares down at me, with his teeth bared and his eyes boring into mine. I stand firm and look back into his eyes with compassion. We stand there for many seconds, looking into each other's faces. His gaze is intense with rage, but for some reason, I am not afraid. The white mask stands out in stark relief next to the blackness of his hair and clothing, but even in his anger, I am transfixed by his eyes, which are shooting flames in several shades of deep emerald. They are the most beautiful and profoundly sad eyes I have ever beheld. I gaze back into them unwaveringly, and after a minute I see something deep inside that flickers, then softens.

"I am sorry, Monsieur Phantom. I did not mean to startle you," I finally get out of my constricted throat.

"You were reaching to take off my mask! No one removes my mask!" he spits back.

"No, I was not. I was only putting my hand on your shoulder. I had no intention of removing your mask… I would not even think to do such a thing!" I explain pointedly, and his heavy breathing begins to calm and subside. He backs off, studying my face, and I realize that he is seeing me fully for the first time also. His presence is overwhelming, and a wooziness begins to spread from my stomach. Uncharacteristically, my knees begin to wobble, and I cannot pinpoint why I am having these reactions. I decide the better part of wisdom is to return to my desk and sit down, which I do with some urgency.

As soon as I am seated, I take a long draught from the ice tea, suddenly understanding why Cheri had given me that rather than my usual coffee. Setting the glass down on my desk, I look back at Monsieur Phantom who is still standing by the windows and seems to be intensely watching everything I do. Then, without further comment, he walks over and lowers himself into the client chair in front of my desk, sitting formally, uncomfortably, with his hands folded in his lap and looking at me with expectant tension.

"I acted rashly. I, too, am sorry," he says with a pained voice that I had not heard him use before.

I smile. "It is quite alright. I, too, apologize. I startled you. Would you like to call off our meeting for today and start again tomorrow? Or would you like to continue now?"

After a short pause, he takes a deep breath and says, "I am ready to continue today."

"Do you have any more questions you would like to ask?" I pursue this tactic because it is important that he be able to ask any questions he has about me or my ability to represent him, or any aspect of this case which is confusing to him. If he is not first comfortable with these issues, then nothing I can say or do will be acceptable to him.

"Yes, I do," he says with the edge back in his voice, "I have seen the charges. There are many, some very serious and some almost laughable. I do not understand why there are so many."

"There is a term in law called 'piling on,'" I begin matter-of-factly, but with gentleness in my voice to put him at ease, "and that means that all possible charges and allegations will be made, some of them truly frivolous, but it is to create an appearance that the person accused is particularly guilty, to 'blacken' his character as much as possible. So, even if it is later proven that the charges were unfounded, a cloud of doubt may still hang over the person." I pause as I see him shift in his chair and glower.

"This is a typical tactic used by the Powers That Be who are in control of our world," trying to explain the realities of our modern existence, "not only economically, but they also control our political representatives and leaders through the money they funnel into the politician's coffers by various means. The Powers That Be also own the major news organizations, both television and newspapers, around the world, and they use the media to exaggerate minor events to blow them out of proportion to undermine the good name or opinion about someone they wish to destroy. Unfortunately, that is very likely what will be unleashed on you. Their agenda is to attack you and thereby undermine the credibility of The Program, who opposes the actions and agenda of the PTB. So, they take an insignificant act a person has done, and by repeated retelling along with some exaggeration, it becomes a major character flaw or condemning action. It is a tactic that has been used for a long time. A particularly evil leader of the last century, Adolph Hitler, is famous for saying, 'If a lie is told often enough, it will be believed.' Telling lies frequently until they are believed is a common tactic of the PTB."

I study the face of the man sitting in front of me, and I see it darken with anger, "So, I am again to have lies told about me to serve the purposes of others?"

"Not if I can help it. It is my job to get to the truth, to put into perspective the facts of your life so that people can have understanding and compassion about what you have suffered. I hope to shine light on why you have done what you have done," I say calmly, looking directly into his eyes.

"So, why do you want to do this? Why do you want to put yourself at risk to defend me?" This time I hear a pain in his voice that approaches desolate pleading.

"Because, Monsieur Phantom," I say softly, but also with steel in my voice, " I believe in you, in your cause, which is to bring out the truth about your life."

He sits contemplatively for a long moment, looking down at his gloved hands. Then he looks up at me and responds in a low, silken tone, "I think you are telling me the truth. I wish you luck. Under the circumstances, we will need an abundant amount!"

I take that as his finally giving his consent for me to represent him. I decide to ask a question that has been bothering me, "Regarding your name, Sir. I was told to refer to you as 'Monsieur Phantom', but I am concerned that is not your real name, that perhaps it is a name given to you by others and you may not feel comfortable with it. What name would you like me to use?"

He shrugs slightly, and one corner of his mouth twitches, as if he is fighting the urge to smile. "I am accustomed to being called the Phantom of the Opera, so I adopted the name 'Phantom.' It is the one I have known all my life and it is fitting, for I have always lived a ghostly life, like a shadow."

I suppress a wry grin as I remember the words of Elizabeth I, '_my care is like my shadow in the sun.'_ "So, it has come to this," I reflect to myself, "the man in my care has truly lived the life of a shadow, and it is now my job to help him come into the light."

After a pause, he continues with the smallest hint of a smile, "…also, that name suits my sense of the satirical. So, 'Monsieur Phantom' is acceptable until the day I can claim my real name." Then he looks directly into my eyes, and I again see that glimmer of gentleness flicker up from the depths, as he adds, "But _you_ may also call me _Erik_."

_ERIK'S POV:_

I feel a twinge of sadness as we rise and walk to the door of her office. How strange! Why do I feel that? Why am I sad to leave? Only a few hours before I was angry that I had to come here, to this place and meet someone I did not know, yet who had been chosen to defend me. I had been given no choice in the matter. And this person was a woman, at that!

Now as I open the door and step back for her to pass in front of me, I am sad that I have to leave. This emotion confuses me, and I cannot understand why I feel this way. When we arrive at the sitting area in the front of her office, Horatio looks up from the magazine he is reading and says with a ridiculous smile, "Well you have been in there for hours! I was about to come in to see if you had killed each other by now!"

I just snort my disapproval at his very inference that I would harm Ms. Counselor. Indeed I wonder if this impugns her integrity, suggesting that she would harm me, but Ms. Counselor just laughs at this outlandish suggestion, so I refrain from making a comment. This must pass for humor in this strange new world I am struggling to understand.

"Detective McCool, could you please bring Erik back tomorrow at 2:00 o'clock so we can continue our conference?" she asks, seeming also to ignore his comment.

"Certainly, Ms. Counselor. Whatever you need, just let us know. Your wish is our command." He says with his usual good humor. I wonder if anything bothers this man.

"Thank you, Detective McCool. I'll remember that!" Laura says with a smile, then she turns to me and extends her hand, "It was a pleasure to meet you,_ Erik_. I look forward to our conference tomorrow." Her eyes sparkle as I take her small hand in mine in a formal handshake, a social custom I never had much opportunity to practice during my life in France. Now, I find myself doing this ritual almost daily. As I take her hand in my gloved one, the thought suddenly comes to me that I wish I were not wearing my gloves. Perhaps tomorrow I will remove them before I enter her office.

"I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, _Laura_," is all I can manage to reply. I realize as soon as I have said it that it sounds too formal, but I am not accustomed to such situations, especially with a woman.

As Horatio and I leave the office and walk to his car, I am deep in thought, going over this meeting, moment by moment, in my mind. Horatio, however, intrudes into my reflections with a good-natured chuckle. "Well, you certainly work fast!"

I look at him, perplexed. "Work? Fast? I was not working, I was only talking, and I believe there was nothing fast about it. We talked for over two hours. What is fast about that?"

Horatio then breaks out into a laugh, and I look at him as if he has lost his senses. "No, Erik, 'working fast' is an American slang expression. It means you got along very well and in a very short amount of time with Ms. Counselor, or should I say 'Laura?'" Then, of all things, he actually slaps me on the back!

I stop in my tracks and challenge him, "What exactly are you implying? Something improper happened? We just talked. She is my attorney, and she is gathering information to defend me!"

Horatio stops laughing and looks at me quizzically. "No, Erik, I am not implying anything improper! I can't even imagine that happening between you and 'your attorney.' But it certainly seems like you got along with her very well. You progressed from not turning to look at her when I introduced her, all the way to 'Erik' and 'Laura," by the time you left. As I said, 'fast work'!"

This entire situation is most disconcerting, and I continue puzzling over the matter. Horatio is correct. I did keep my back to her when he introduced her, and I remained so until she put her hand on my shoulder. That was such a shocking thing to have happen. But, thinking back now, I remember that her touch had been very light and actually quite gentle. When I turned and looked into her face, all I could think about was the first time that Christine put her hand on my shoulder. I had trusted Christine, felt deep pleasure from her touch, but the next thing that happened was she stripped away my mask, exposing me. I felt naked, horrified. Yet Laura had said she would never think to do such a thing, and somehow, I believe her.

I did not know what to expect in this person who had been chosen to defend me, but I most certainly did not anticipate what I suddenly beheld. I remember Laura's face that first time I looked into it—the simple beauty of her high cheekbones, the strong, determined set of her mouth, and those dark brown eyes that radiate with a deep serenity and no fear. Something in her eyes, though, told me I could trust this person. Laura is several inches shorter than Christine who has the tall, statuesque form of a dancer and the commanding presence fit to be a diva. But, even though she is smaller, Laura somehow seemed so strong as she glared back at me and stood her ground.

I continue to go over everything in my mind, everything we talked about, everything she said. I even caught her eyes tearing up several times when I was telling her about my life. When that happened, she would always look down and concentrate on writing notes for a number of minutes before looking up again. But I could tell. I could see she was deeply moved by what I was sharing about my life. What kind of woman is this who does the work of a man? Who stands up to Detective McCool? Who has the audacity to touch my shoulder and strength to withstand my wrath? And almost cry just hearing my story? I ponder these contradictions. I will have to think more on this.

The car continues on through the damp city streets, and I frown up at the sky as it grows dark from another rainstorm. It never ceases to amaze me how much it rains here. Still I feast my eyes on all of the wondrous things that this generation takes for granted, like cars and skyscrapers, and cell phones, to name a few.

"What'll it be?" Horatio asks me, holding out a container of CD's. "I think I have all your favorites here."

I take the CD's from him and feel again the thrill of holding the sounds of entire symphony orchestras in my hands. I flip through the discs and choose one that is not a collection of any of the musical masters from my time period, but one that Horatio told me was written in the early part of the twentieth century.

"Ah, I should have known!" Horatio laughs. "_Rhapsody In Blue!_ I'm surprised you haven't worn the thing out! I'm also surprised you prefer Gershwin to Mozart."

"My generation was full of composers who wanted to be like Mozart," I explain. "Gershwin does what I tried to do in my music, just be original. Hmm, I wasn't much success at it, though. I'm glad he was."

Horatio puts the disc in the player, and I settle back into the plush seat and close my eyes as the music begins and takes me away on a tide of music, washing away the anxieties of this day.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Horatio's voice intrudes a few minutes later. "I'm starving!"

"Not if you are going to get another one of those sandwiches that you are so fond of," I say dryly. "What are they called again?"

"Hamburgers," he says with a laugh. "And they're delicious! You should give them another try."

"No thank you," I answer. "I prefer not to eat such food. It is entirely too awkward to handle and often it dribbles!"

"Suit yourself," he says and pulls into what he calls a "drive through" lane of a restaurant. I pretend to close my eyes again as he stops to pay, but in truth, I am watching secretly as he takes his wallet out of his pocket.

Just as I have seen him do before on several of our outings together, he looks down longingly at something inside his wallet as he waits for his food. Usually it only takes a few moments for the food to be provided and for us to be on our way, but today there is a long line of cars ahead of us, so even after several minutes Horatio still looks at the wallet. I watch him through nearly closed eyelids and inch my head closer in an attempt to see what holds his attention so raptly.

"I suppose I can show you now," Horatio says as he looks up at me. "You've been watching me do this for almost a month."

My eyes snap open. "How did you…?"

"I'm a detective remember?" He says, shaking his head. "I have eyes in the back of my head." He holds the wallet up to show me a color photograph of a young lady with blonde hair wearing some sort of white uniform.

"Who is she?" I ask.

Horatio shrugs. "Someone I used to know."

"She's wearing white. Is she a nurse?"

"No," he sighs heavily. "Those are her dress whites."

"Dress whites?" I say, wishing he would refrain from using so much modern slang.

"That means a military uniform. She was a Navy officer."

"You loved her?" I cannot resist asking.

Horatio lets out a painful sigh. "Yeah. I was crazy about her, and I always wanted to tell her, but it turns out she was engaged to someone else."

"Oh," I say, as a familiar pain radiates through my own chest. "I know how you feel."

"Yeah, you do, don't you," Horatio acknowledges. "My sympathies to you, too."

The server gives him his bag of questionable food, and we leave, entering onto a crowded, noisy street, full of cars that drive too quickly for my comfort. My mind soon is miles away from here though, or rather years away, as a terrible ache spreads through my body. _Christine, my dear lovely, Christine. Will I ever see you again?_

I am lost in these thoughts and do not realize we are at the estate where I am being lodged until the car abruptly stops, and I hear Horatio's car door slam as he gets out. I turn to my own door. I have not ridden in this car before, and all I see is a panel with curves and undulations, but I see no door knob. I feel around trying to find it, but before I can, Horatio has opened the door and is again chuckling at me. Looking at him with rising indignation, I wonder with a wry grin of my own, where is my Punjab lasso when I need it?

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! We writers appreciate hearing YOUR thoughts about The Case.** We are reposting this story, but will speed up that process if _you express your active interest._ _So...we will post the next chapter as soon as five reviews are received for the current one, rather than post on the regular schedule!_ And...there is lots of romance, action and intrigue ahead! Enjoy!

Phangirl's writing appears between the double asterisks.  
Many, many "Thank yous" to our fantastic editors, Rappleyea, Phangirl and Phanna!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** As discussed in our introduction to Chapter 1, this is the third home for The Epic Case. Its first incarnation was as a more free-wheeling, tongue-in-cheek satire. That evolved in time into a serious story, so when that website was closed down, we moved to a second home. When we reposted, we also rewrote The Epic Case to conform to the style it evolved into…more romance, drama and intrigue with humor sprinkled in on occasion. This chapter is a retooling of the original first chapter, and it still retains some of its satirical sauciness, as do a number of the next seven chapters….So, with tongue just slightly set in-cheek…enjoy the beginning of the first trial ever to span across three centuries!

**Chapter 4 TRIALS, By Phanfan44 and Phangirl**

_  
Seattle, Washington, USA __  
July 21, 2005_

Monsieur Phantom and I wait in a room that has been turned over for our exclusive use throughout the trial. It adjoins the front of the courtroom and is private, secure, and easily guarded. I make final preparations to enter the International Court of Justice with the determination to represent M. Phantom's case so that he will be cleared of the many charges against him. Of equal importance is that he receives justice so his life and his fate may be told truthfully and understood by a world that has twisted both to serve its own purposes. Despite these intentions my gut feeling screams that I have no earthly idea of the consequences of what I am about to undertake. What I do believe is that this courtroom remains one of the last places of truth and justice in a world besieged with 24/7 media coverage manipulated by the Powers That Be.

Indeed, what Marek, The Program and I had predicted has come to pass in the last seven weeks since I accepted the representation of M. Phantom. The news about The Program bringing my client forward in time from the Victorian era broke within days after I began preparing his case and has been a daily drum beat ever since. The television and radio talk shows parrot the viewpoint of their corporate owners who promote the agenda of the Powers That Be in their goal of discrediting The Program. The media constantly parades the allegation that The Program brought from the past a man whose actions are characterized as dangerous, demented and deadly.

Everyone who watches over, and cares for, M. Phantom tries to keep him away from these salacious news reports since he has enough on his shoulders without adding this additional burden. Nonetheless, he is aware that he is in the eye of the out of control media storm because we had to tell him about this circus atmosphere which most certainly will carry over into the attitude of the spectators in the courtroom. Horatio, Dr. Angst and I have all spent many hours preparing him for this in hopes he will be able to deal with this emotionally and not…well, not go Phantom of the Opera on us…

Bailiff Henderson knocks on the door of our private room, informing us it is time for us to enter the courtroom. I escort the dark, devastatingly handsome and well dressed, albeit stylistically outdated, M. Phantom, into the courtroom. He enters gracefully and, of course—as always—with great dignity, ignoring the spectators who fill every available seat. Through force of his will, he gives no indication that he can hear the comments of the on-lookers' innuendos and speculations as they pick mercilessly at him, like vultures. He does not spare even one look at this voracious crowd that is separated from him only by a low barrier wall.

The defense table—a long oak table just inside the barrier wall which faces the front of the court—is on the right side and the prosecutor's table is on the left. Monsieur Phantom politely helps me into the first seat that is adjacent to the central pathway, allowing me easy access to the judge's bench and witness box. I smile at him when he holds the chair for me as I sit. That I need to seat myself, however, when I am in my professional arena definitely needs to be explained. I am considering when the right time will be to broach such a subject. Certainly not now… He then seats himself to my right, as I planned, so that I have full view of the uncovered left side of his face. That allows me to easily gauge from his expression how he is faring during the trial and testimony and request a recess if things get to be too intense for him, which they may from time to time.

As he takes his seat, Monsieur Phantom adjusts his long flowing black cloak, carefully arranging it, well removed from my 4-inch spike shoes, lest I step on it or get tangled in the elegant folds. He sits silent and resigned, looking down at his gloved hands that are folded and resting on the defense table. He lets out a long sigh that only I can hear. I know now from my many hours of private consultations with him that he feels he is always, always, misunderstood: the outcast holding little hope in his much battered heart that this proceeding will clear up all the wild speculation that always hovers over him like a black cloud.

Monsieur Phantom looks over at me with those beautiful deep emerald, imploring eyes which speak volumes of anguish about the injustice of it all. It is at that moment that the feeling in the pit of my stomach knots up again, and I thank God that my woman's heart holds a preference for Andre Marek. But then, I always have had a soft spot for anthropologists, and well, men who have that long, curly hair, wooly beard, and unkempt, natural look. Just thinking about Andre, my mind suddenly becomes preoccupied with him. I reflect on his name: "Andre." What a strange name for a Scotsman, but, I guess if Sean Connery can play a Russian submarine commander with a Scottish accent, who's to notice? And, Lady Claire…Oh! To be Lady Claire! What a lucky woman! My mind fills with visions of French castles, with guard towers flanking the welcoming open portals, tall, strong, straight, thrusting up into the sky, as bulwarks of protection and safety…Oh! Those were the days!

Suddenly I am brought out of my reverie and back to the starkness of the courtroom drama by Bailiff Henderson calling everyone to stand as the Judge enters. The Judge strides into the courtroom with great authority and strength, her long black robes flowing around her. She takes her place at the towering judge's bench and looks down from her perch, calling the court to order and letting her eyes sweep over those present. She looks disdainfully at the large throng of curious spectators, who are always ready to hear gossip and come to their own tawdry conclusions. She next looks at the jury box and sees that it is full of women and men of all ages and walks of life. They are also from all corners of the planet: the U.S., Canada, England, France, Switzerland, Germany, and Australia, for this is the International Court of Justice. She nods her graying head with approval at the broad array of people represented.

Her eyes next travel to Monsieur Phantom, and there is a noticeable jolt from her cloaked figure. No doubt she rarely sees others in the courtroom wearing black flowing vestments like those she dons with such pride. Clearly, she feels an instant rapport with the Defendant. Carefully studying the features of this man, she rests her focus on his face, noting the stark white half-mask that stands out dramatically from the black hair and black somber clothing that drapes over his tall, muscular form. From the compassionate expression that sweeps over her face, I can tell she empathizes with Monsieur Phantom's discomfort and intense dislike of being the center of attention in such a large crowd. Knowing the Judge to be a very kindly, understanding woman, I sense her matronly instincts suddenly go on full tilt. I can almost see written in her face, "How could this man possibly be guilty of all the horrific crimes with which he has been charged?" Studying carefully the Judge's reactions, I feel certain that Monsieur Phantom will get a fair trial under her strong…and just… guidance.

Now the Judge's attention focuses on the Prosecutor's table….and she sees no one there. "What is this?" she directs the question to me with great consternation.

I stand, clear my throat and begin the rather unusual explanation. "Your Honor, it was felt by the Powers That Be that the Prosecutor should come from the tough-as-nails, no-nonsense state of Texas, in the United States of America. They flew a specially chosen Prosecutor in this morning. She came into the private room provided for the use of the defense team presumably to introduce herself. When she approached us and took one look at the Defendant, she swooned dead away! The paramedical team came very quickly. When they searched her purse for possible information about any medical condition that might have caused this, they discovered that she is a Colonel of the GB Tart Army, Texas Division. I am afraid that the similarity in appearance between Monsieur Phantom and Gerard Butler is so striking that my client is often confused with that actor. It is really very, very disturbing to my client, but what is he to do?"

The Judge's eyes return to Monsieur Phantom, just in time to see that his posture had become rigid and tense with the mention of Gerard Butler's name. Directing her attention again toward me, the Judge asks pointedly: "Well, are you saying that the Powers That Be have no Prosecutor available to step in at the last minute?"

"Your Honor, I am afraid that is the situation," I respond succinctly.

The Judge shrugs and with her best matronly tone makes the Solomon-like decision: "Very well…we will proceed without a Prosecutor! It is their responsibility to provide one to argue their side, and if they do not, we will not tarry." I hear this gift dropped at our doorstep and let out a quiet sigh of joy and think, "Wow! Score one for the home team!" ...but, of course, continue to present only the most dignified façade.

Despite this unusual situation of no attorney for the prosecution being present, the Judge commences the trial. She again places her steady gaze on Monsieur Phantom, as Bailiff Henderson steps forward and announces: "Will the Defendant please stand and face the Bench for the reading of the Charges." Giving a subtle shrug, my client, slowly and purposefully, stands up, bringing his 6 foot 4 inch frame to its full height. I also rise to give my added support to my client during the always emotionally distressing reading of the charges. The Judge shuffles through the papers in front of her, finds one rather tall stack off to one side, places it in front of her and begins reading from the array of charges. Raising her left eyebrow, she places her matronly gaze upon the black-cloaked M. Phantom. "First, I would like to clarify to Monsieur Phantom that this will be a joint civil and criminal trial, which is allowed under the Rules of the International Court of Justice, so that all charges may be heard together."

The Judge begins, "The _civil actions _are as follows:"  
"1) Defamation of Character, namely for statements made concerning Signora Giudicelli and Senor Piangi, deceased.  
"2) Causing loss of income of one Signora Giudicelli. The motion to allow admission into evidence of "one decanter of tincture of toad," is hereby granted.  
"3) Conspiracy with management of the Opera Populaire to discriminate against Signora Giudicelli on the basis of age. The motion to allow admission into evidence of Monsieur Andre's note is granted.  
"4) Intentional infliction of emotional distress to Signora Giudicelli caused by the untimely interruption of "Il Muto."  
"5) Loss of revenue and interference with business activities suffered by M. Andre and M. Fermin upon the crashing of one large chandelier and burning down of one overly-decorated opera house.  
"6) Negligent infliction of emotional distress to ballet company, dancers, stage hands, audience and miscellaneous onlookers caused by a hanging man suddenly being dropped into the middle, and interrupting the performance of, the ballet dancers and sheep.  
"7) Vandalism (destruction of private property) caused when Monsieur Phantom cut the rope which held up the expensive, custom-made, crystal chandelier, causing it to smash into the stage, utterly demolishing it.  
"8 Vandalism (destruction of real properly) caused to the Opera Populaire when said chandelier crashed on the stage, burning parts of the building.  
"9) Negligent infliction of emotional distress on M. Andre and M. Fermin such that they experienced high costs of medical treatment to deal with the trauma and stress caused by the fire damage to their main source of income, the building once housing the Opera Populaire.  
10) Embezzlement and absconding with company property (food, clothing, candelabras, candlesticks, art supplies, musical instruments, one swan bed) over a period of approximately 25 years.  
11) Misrepresentation, Monsieur Phantom having represented himself on numerous occasions as an Opera Ghost, Angel of Music, or Father to orphans."

The Judge then picks up a second stack of papers and begins again:

"The _criminal charges _are as follows:"  
"1) Petty and grand larceny for the theft of personal property from the Opera Populaire over a period of approximately 25 years. This includes the same property as described in the Embezzlement and Absconding list.  
"2) Unlawful use of government resources, such as cement, brick, wood, marble, one large iron gate and miscellaneous building materials which were used to construct his so-called "lair" in the fifth cellar underneath the Opera Populaire.  
"3) Terrorist activities, namely the writing and sending of threatening notes which are meant to intimidate and terrorize. These notes have been received by a number of people, including, but not limited to, Signora Carlotta Giudicelli; Monsieur Richard Fermin; Monsieur Gilles Andre; and Viscount, Vicomte–whatever–Raoul deChagny.  
"4) Extortion of monthly payments from the owners of the Opera Populaire for at least a period of three years. These payments were to insure against disruptions in the Opera's business and productions.  
"5) Murders of a number of individuals:  
–One unsavory gypsy man in carnival;  
–A Monsieur Buquet, stagehand, by hanging, during a performance of Il Muto;  
–A Monsieur Piangi, opera singer, by unspecified means during a performance of Don Juan Triumphant;  
–A Count Phillipe, while crossing a lake five stories under the Opera's main floor;  
–Unknown numbers of members of the audience who failed to escape safely after crash of chandelier and subsequent fire of theater of Opera Populaire;  
–Unknown number of members of the mob who tried to get to the fifth floor underground lair of Defendant following the crashing of aforementioned chandelier;  
–Untold mayhem on countless people while Defendant was residing somewhere in Persia;  
–'He murders all that's good...killing without a thought.'"

I protest emphatically. "Objection, Your Honor!"

The Judge looks down at me, startled at this interruption of her recitation of the charges. "Ms. Counselor, this is not the presentation of evidence. You can't object to the charges!" she says in a rather surprised tone of voice.

"Your Honor, I feel I must break with traditional court procedures and lodge an objection to the last charge. There seems to be an intrusion of elements from the movie released last year, which was based on my client's life, into the issues of this trial. The allegation that M. Phantom kills 'All that's good…killing without a thought' is a callous, uncaring comment uttered by Christine Daae in said movie and does not constitute a factual allegation sufficient to sustain a charge against my much-maligned client! I move that this be stricken from the charges," I assert with indignation in my voice.

I watch as the Judge considers my objection, gazing with sympathetic concern at Monsieur Phantom who stands now in a rigid pose, his body tense with the emotion created by this insensitive attack on his character. Or…I reflect…perhaps it is the mere mention of the name, Christine Daae… His bared teeth can be seen between parted lips as he restrains himself from speaking—or acting out—about this slander. I am relieved that he is following the instructions that I carefully gave him about controlling his anger when such allegations or innuendos surface during the trial.

The Judge finally issues her decision, "Motion to strike said charge is granted. We must endeavor to keep the movies, plays and books which have been written about Defendant from being confused with his real life and the issues of this trial."

"Thank you, Your Honor," I respond with an appreciative smile, "That is indeed one of the main problems which will be addressed by the defense throughout these proceedings. We will be separating the truth about M. Phantom's life from the fictional stories which do not reflect the true man or tell his real story." Looking up at my client who towers over me, I give him a smile of encouragement that we are already making some good points for his case. But, I gaze up into his face only to find that a tear is poised in the corner of his eye. I do not know if it is from these damningly cruel words which were said to come from the lips of the one he passionately loves, or if he is distraught from the shockingly long list of charges. With a look of anguish, he turns back to the Judge to hear the next series of charges.

Without further discussion or comment, the Judge returns to the reading of the charges.

"6) Fraud for representing himself as an Opera Ghost, an Angel of Music and the Father of an orphaned child.  
"7) Peeping Tom, for using at least one, and possibly numerous, passageways leading to one-way mirrors through which he observed female members of the Opera, unbeknownst to them.  
"8 Causing a hazard, allegedly having built a torture room of mirrors from which no one could escape alive, as well as a number of trapdoors in the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th underground levels of the Opera House.  
"9) Improper disposal of a body. Allegation is made that Monsieur Buquet died in aforementioned room of mirrors by committing suicide. Defendant did not dispose of body with proper permit or in accordance with Paris City Ordinance.

"Objection!" I again cry out in indignation.

"Yes, Ms. Counselor? _Another_ objection?" The Judge asks with a look of surprise.

"Yes, most certainly, Your Honor! In Charge Number 5, my client, Monsieur Phantom was charged with killing Mr. Buquet by hanging him during a performance of Il Muto. Charge Number 9 alleges that Mr. Buquet died, apparently by suicide, in a room of mirrors! How can both be true?" I am incensed that charges, which are mutually exclusive, are being alleged.

"Hmmmmm. Well, Ms. Counselor, you have a very good point. Those charges certainly do seem to contradict each other, don't they?" The Judge once again turns her quizzical gaze to Monsieur Phantom, who is clearly deep in thought, a troubled frown causing his visible left eyebrow to dip menacingly low over his deep green eye.

"In fact, Your Honor," I press on, feeling I must lodge all these objections as vehemently as possible, "I would also like to point out that Monsieur Phantom has lived exclusively in the Opera Populaire since the age of nine years. How could he have committed all these murders which are alleged against him in Persia?"

I watch as the Judge is clearly wrapping her mind around all these apparent contradictions in the charges against the Defendant. Obviously, they simply could not all be true. Considering the patent illogic of these charges, she--and the jurors--must be starting to wonder how many other items in this litany of allegations are also "trumped up." As she looks at the now defiant Defendant standing before her with intensely resolute eyes beaming out fiery resolve, the Judge rules, "So that the ultimate truth may be known, we will permit testimony and evidence regarding all these charges, but, at the outcome of this trial, I will dismiss all those allegations that are shown to be groundless and free Monsieur Phantom from any dark clouds of innuendo which have falsely hovered over him for so many, many years."

Again, I feel this is a fair decision and turn to smile at my client. As ever, he is taking this rather good ruling in our favor as an example of more distortions and fabrications about his private life served up for public display. Monsieur Phantom is clearly angered. His jaw is set and every muscle in his face is tense. I gaze at that finely chiseled left side of his face and let out a sigh, partly out of appreciation for the sheer beauty of his profile, and partly out of exasperation as I realize he doesn't get the point.

The Judge again returns to the list of charges:  
"10) False imprisonment for taking a Ms. Christine Daae down once more to "the dungeons of his black despair" without her consent and holding her there for a period of time against her will.

"Objection!" I say with a tone of exasperation. "Your Honor, it is improper for the charges to be stated in inflammatory language borrowed from the recent movie. I request that the words "the dungeons of his black despair" be stricken as prejudicial."

The Judge looks at me, then reviews the charges in front of her, and with no further discussion, orders the offensive language stricken. Thanking the Judge, this time I refrain from looking at my client. I do not want to see what emotion this new insult to him has elicited.

The Judge continues:  
"11) Contributing to the delinquency of a minor by bringing a Ms. Daae down to the 5th level of the Opera House and keeping her out all night, past curfew.  
"12) Trespassing on the premises of the Opera Populaire for a period of at least twenty-five years. One such trespass was witnessed by a large number of people during the New Year's Masquerade Ball.  
"13) Committing a public nuisance for disturbing public performances at the Opera Populaire.  
"14) Arson for causing the crash of one large chandelier and conflagration.  
"15) Unlawful entry because Defendant resided without permission under the Opera for at least 25 years and frequently entered dressing rooms and most parts of the stage area at any and all times.  
16) Stealing the hearts and normally sane and functional minds of countless women.

"WHAT! OBJECTION!"

The Judge looks up at me with a slightly irritated look. "Yessssss, Ms. Counselor?"

"Well, Your Honor, Charge 16 is clearly a case of mistaken identity and refers to actor Gerard Butler, not the Defendant," I point out emphatically, "After all, Monsieur Phantom has lived a life shut off from the world, with little contact or exposure to 'countless women,' and therefore could not have possibly had that effect on them. In fact, his only two public contacts were brief and a full mask covered his face. How could those charges possibly apply to him?"

I watch the Judge as she looks down at her papers, again reviewing the charges and considering my objection. Finally, after what seems an interminable amount of time, the Judge sagely announces, "It is a well-known fact that the Defendant has been sequestered most of his life and has had little direct contact with people. This charge appears to be patently false. I hereby order Charge Number 16 also to be dropped."

"Thank you, Your Honor." I smile and look up into the face of my client, only to witness his look of skepticism and disgust. Thankfully, the Judge then announces that she has concluded, and my client and I sit down. The reading of the charges has taken its toll on Monsieur Phantom. His emotions are seething and barely under control. As the Judge concentrates her attention for a few minutes on the paperwork in front of her, probably making notes about the modifications in the charges, I study my client's face. The tear that hovered in the corner of his eye is threatening to pour out and down his cheek. I know he would find that embarrassing, so I push the Kleenex box that is on the defense table in front of him. He regards the Kleenex with further indignity as if it were too vulgar to consider using. I quickly reach into the pocket of my Armani jacket and take out my linen handkerchief embroidered with "LC" and surreptitiously hand it to him lest he be further embarrassed. He takes it from my hand without looking at me, and raises it to his eye, daubing with it as if he were removing a cinder. All is done quickly, and I notice with relief that it seems to go unnoticed by most of the people in the courtroom.

At that very moment the swinging doors at the back of the courtroom burst open and a Bailiff charges into the room, scurrying down the center aisle, through the spectator section. The Bailiff rushes to the front of the court, stopping next to the defense table. The Judge acknowledges his presence and asks him to explain himself and his indecorous entrance.

Quite out of breath, the bailiff announces, "I have a confidential document from the Powers That Be, which I am to put directly into the hands of Your Honor and with no further delay."

Looking down at the flustered Bailiff, the Judge gives him permission to approach the bench and to hand over the large, official-looking document. He does so in a flash, then returns to the entrance between the spectator section and the front of the court. She looks uncomfortably at the envelope, which has been so dramatically and unexpectedly delivered to her in the middle of a trial. With clear trepidation as to what this may portend, the Judge looks up at all the people gathered and announces, "I am calling a short recess of 15 minutes. I wish to read this in Chambers, and then we will resume the proceedings." Bailiff Henderson announces that everyone should rise while the Judge exits the room, and I watch her flowing robes swirl around her in a black cloud of uncertainty as she departs.

The bailiff who delivered this potential bunker buster into the middle of our proceedings is standing next to me. I give him a warm, friendly smile, and hope I can coax him to disclose some inside information. I exchange a few pleasantries with him, putting him off his guard as much as possible, and then get to the crux of the matter.

"Well, that is certainly an unexpected event...a document from the Powers That Be, isn't it, Mr. Bailiff?" I say, smiling sweetly. He nods his head with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I wonder whatever it might be?" I query.

He scratches his chin and shakes his head, "I really don't know...I wonder that myself."

I decide to take a different approach. "I hope the Prosecutor is doing better. Has she resuscitated yet?"

"Um…pardon Ma'am?" the Bailiff says with a questioning lift to his eyebrow.

"Oh, I was just wondering if the Prosecutor has _come to _yet?" I clarify.

He looks up at me with a little grin and shakes his head. "Nope. They took her to the hospital. The docs called just a few minutes ago and apparently she is still out cold...I suppose she is too blissed out in Tart Heaven, maybe?" He asks with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

I respond with a polite nod and think, "Darn, I am not going to get any information out of this man," and return to my own speculations and musings. Now what could be up with the Powers That Be? I turn back toward my client to give him some emotional support. He is again sitting with his hands folded on the defense table, staring at them and continuing his struggle to control his emotions. My gaze falls on his perfectly fitted black leather gloves of the finest handmade quality. I reflect that he certainly likes to dress formally, and the gloves do go very well with the black cloak. Observing his muscular, tensed body, leaning forward with worry as if he were weighted down by the speculation of the world, I gently place my hand on his shoulder and smile reassuringly at him.

He raises his head, looks deeply into my eyes and gives me just a tiny glimmer of a smile, along with that fathomless gaze from his deep green eyes. I am soooo glad I am sitting down this time. All my female hormones, sympathy and empathy skyrocket. He again turns his head back to continue studying his gloved hands and, I suspect, contemplating his fate.

Looking at his forlorn figure causes me also to reflect on the tragedy of his situation. I can't get the injustice of it all out of my mind, either. I now believe that many of the charges against him are not true, and those that are…well, I feel that they can be justified and understood when examined from his viewpoint. I mean, just look at how cruelly Christine treated him...it was enough to send any man over the edge. He had been her surrogate father, mentor, Angel of Music for nine long years. Then, as she reached the budding age of consent, he had courted her in a sincere manner, taking great pains to present himself in the most amenable fashion with the intention of honorably asking her hand in marriage. What was not to love? So, what does she do? Every time he gets romantic, she rips off his mask.

I couldn't help but think that Christine could have learned a lot from Lady Claire. After all, they were both French women, but Andre Marek certainly did not have to experience the indignities that Monsieur Phantom suffered. Just consider the case of Marek! At the dinner I had with him at the French restaurant, he told me that on his very first trip back in time to 14th century France, he met Lady Claire. The experiences these two men had with their ladyloves could not have been more different. Indeed, the first time Marek met Lady Claire, he wasn't all dressed up in the finest clothing, impeccably coifed, arraying her with roses and candles! No, in contrast, Andre had been slogging through rivers and mud all day. He was dirty, unkempt, his hair tousled around his, well... perfect, strong, masculine face. But did Claire mind? NO! She had known him for only a few hours before she gave him TWO kisses even though he was covered in mud. Oh, and what kisses those must have been! My mind wanders for a minute...now what was I thinking about? Oh, yes! Poor Monsieur Phantom...

Just look at all the trouble that Monsieur Phantom went to the first time he took Christine on a date. He worked his magic on Christine to make sure when she walked down that smelly, dank corridor outside her dressing room, she would see only golden candelabras shedding glowing light. He went out of his way to arrange for a horse to take her the first part of the way and then ended the trip with a romantic boat ride. He had his lair all decked out in more golden candleholders and countless blazing candles. He even cleaned up the place and made his bed. Then, on top of all that, he sang to her a song he composed of love and longing. When she faints from all the excitement, he gently placed her on his bed and let her rest while he continued working on his musical composition. Does he make unwanted advances? No, never! And what did he get for that? Christine feints a delicate touch to his face, then unmasks him! Unbelievable!

So after Christine ruined that first date, he spent the next three months writing an entire opera dedicated to his beloved, and what did she do when he risked his life to sing it to her on the stage? She yanked off his mask again, this time in front of hundreds of people, causing agony of the most profound kind, as well as creating the urgent need to leave the stage quickly. Of course, he brought down the chandelier to cover their exit and to save them from being fired on by a large number of gun-toting gendarmes put there by none other than the interloper for Christine's attentions. So…good Heavens! He crashed one chandelier, and everyone went totally berserkers over it!

That pales in comparison to what Andre Marek did! He blew up a storehouse of explosives and demolished an entire wing of a castle. Then he gets a hero's thanks and TWO more kisses from Lady Claire. That makes FOUR kisses after only knowing Andre Marek for six hours! Now Lady Claire did not have to give Andre any kisses... I recall that in Hollywood movies, the ladies of medieval times are portrayed carrying around scarves to award for bravery. I suppress a slight smile as I humorously consider that she could have just given him a scarf. But, NO, she kisses him FOUR times! Now I call that a woman with her head on straight! And, after all the mayhem Andre Marek caused, he gets to marry Lady Claire and rule that castle and surrounding countryside for the rest of his life!

I pull myself back from my reflections to the present with a jerk and look at my client. I begin to wonder if he had been born 500 years too late. He and Andre Marek would have gotten along very, very well in 14th century France, I think. Indeed, it would also have greatly improved the music and art of the Middle Ages.

Just at that moment the Judge returns to the courtroom and strides back to her bench, black robes swishing around her august form. She takes her high perch, looks around the room and announces, "The Powers That Be have decided since it is apparent that the previously appointed Prosecutor will remain incapacitated for an unknown length of time, they intend to appoint Temporary Prosecutors to present an aggressive case for the Prosecution." I receive this announcement with great disappointment...just when I thought we had a really good advantage–no one on the other side bringing out evidence or testimony that might be a bit "messy" to deal with.

"Because the Temporary Prosecutors (TPs) are flying in from their respective countries, this trial is adjourned for today and will reconvene when they are able to take up their newly appointed duties. The list of prosecution witnesses remains as originally announced:

1) Signora Carlotta Giudicelli;  
2) Monsieurs Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre;  
3) Mlle. Meg Giry;  
4) Vicomte, or Viscount—whatever—Raoul de Chagny;  
5) Mlle. Christine Daae.

"Your Honor!" I stand and ask for a point of order as soon as the Judge finishes this unusual announcement.

"Yes, Ms. Counselor?" The Judge responds.

"Since the prosecution will have a panel of attorneys representing their case, I respectfully make this motion that the defense also be allowed to add counsel."

The Judge looks from me to my dignified, but terribly tense client, and without pause grants my motion. "When we reconvene, we will begin with the Defendant's and Prosecution's Opening Statements to the Jury, and then proceed to the testimony of Signora Giudicelli." The Judge announces, "Court dismissed!" and bangs her gavel with more than normal force to adjourn court for the day. All stand as the dignified Judge descends from her elevated tower-like chair and disappears into her chambers at the back of the courtroom.

As I pack my papers into my briefcase and snap the latches shut, Bailiff George Henderson approaches. He and I are old friends, having shared many harrowing court battles.

"Ms. Counselor, Ma'am," George begins as he stops in front of the defense table. "The Judge has approved the request of Monsieur Phantom's security guards to use the private corridor between the court room and the elevator in the back of the building. That elevator is adjacent to the parking lot for the court personnel and attorneys, and she agrees it is the most secure route. Monsieur Phantom's body guards are waiting in the hallway to escort him now."

"Thank you, George! I appreciate your help, as always!" George and I exchange knowing glances. Both of us already are aware this trial is going to be a challenging one with high security as well as high drama.

Finally, I turn to my client, and step aside so he can pass in front of me to the private doorway and corridor. I look briefly into his eyes and am very surprised. No resignation remains in those flaring, intense eyes. Instead I see iron will, as his chin crinkles in determination, and he holds his head with an air of purpose. As he passes me, turning the corner around the large oak table, his cloak swirls out with indomitable energy and resolve. Breaking into a smile, _I follow him_….

_Meanwhile, In the Corridor of the Courthouse:_

I elbow my way through the mob of spectators and reporters as they rush to the corridor in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the famed Phantom of the Opera. The earphone crackles to life in my right ear as I slip past a harried looking man holding a gigantic TV camera on his shoulder, and I step away from him to avoid interference as I listen to the familiar voice.

"Is all clear?"

"Yes," I answer quietly into the microphone hidden in the collar of my blouse. "I have McCool in my sights."

"Do it."

"Acknowledged."

The gun under my tailored jacket feels heavy against my side as ever so slowly, I inch my way down the corridor, coming ever closer to the imposing man dressed head to foot in pitch black and his bodyguard. "Hello, Horatio," I whisper. "Long time, no see. Too bad the terrorists were such bad shots. A slug in the leg wasn't enough to finish you, unfortunately. But now I will."

He is tantalizingly close now, so close that if he were to turn his head a few inches to the left he would see me coming toward him, and would probably smile at me in spite of himself. And he would die that way, smiling at an old friend—indeed someone he had once been hopelessly in love with.

I pause for a second, thinking what a pity it is to have to ruin such a handsome face. High, chiseled cheekbones and gorgeous dimpled chins like his don't come along every day. Neither does such a tall muscular body and beautifully dark naturally curly hair. I can hear his voice now, deep and melodious, even as he growls at a pesky photographer, "Get out of the way or I'll make you eat your film!"

I am tempted to burst out laughing—so like him! You can take the SEAL out of the Navy, but you can't—but I have to stop this train of thought! I have to keep my mind on the job. I have to kill this man here and now. And then I have to take out the Phantom and his lawyer with the next two bullets. I have to, there is no choice…

My fingers shake slightly as I grasp the pistol and pull it from the holster under my arm. Horatio suddenly looks up and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, but he doesn't smile. He just looks at me in confusion and motions toward the door with his head for me to leave.

One second more and the gun will be out of hiding, and I will aim it between his lovely brown eyes, and I will fire. Just one second more to look at him, to see if he will smile…

_"Abort!" _The voice in my ear commands. "Do you read me? All units! _Abort! Abort!_ The mission has been compromised! GET OUT NOW!"

I shove the gun back into the holster and spin around on my heel and move as fast as I can away from Horatio. As I am leaving, I hear just one word from him, "Wait!"

But I don't, I can't. If I do stop, I will be caught, and everything I've accomplished in the past two years will be ruined. The security guards at the courthouse door give my ID a quick look, and nod to me as they push the button that disables the alarm system. I step through the metal detector and then dash down the stairs at a dead run.

A car is waiting for me in front of the building and as soon as I dive into the back seat, it takes off with a squeal of rubber and a cloud of exhaust fumes.

"What happened?" I demand.

"Change of plans," the driver says. "Now your precious Horatio won't have to die…yet."

"What kind of change? I was there! I had the perfect shot! Another second and I would have blown his head off! The Phantom would have been next!"

"You lost your nerve!" He shouts. "You compromised us! I should have known we couldn't depend on you to get it done!"

I shrink back against the seat as he glares at me in the rearview mirror. "Fortunately, we had another plan in case you did flake out on us."

I don't like the sound of this at all. I've failed, and I know there is only one punishment that will fit my crime. "And what about me?" I barely manage to say.

I feel the burning anger in his eyes as he says, "Fortunately for you, we still need your services. I just got word that Ms. Counselor asked for reinforcements, which means she'll add more lawyers on her side."

He grins, and I feel my blood turn icy. "You mean…?"

"It's already arranged," he says triumphantly. "The perfect opportunity just landed in our laps."

As these words sink in, I already know what I'll be asked to do, know who will be involved…and my stomach flips over and I suddenly feel sick. Dear God, this is even worse than killing Horatio…so much worse. It is like taking my own gun and shooting myself in the head…

"So, are you in?" He asks with a leer, knowing what I will be forced to say.

I close my eyes for a moment, one last blessed moment of peace before I have to sell my soul completely to the devil.

Everything in me screams at my heart to refuse, but I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't turn back time and undo the damage, and I can't run for help now to get me out of this quagmire. I take in a deep painful breath and say, "Yes, I'll do it."

I close my eyes again, and my hands are shaking uncontrollably on the seat beside me. "I'm sorry," I cry silently. "Please, please forgive me…"

Denotes Section of chapter written by Phangirl.  
Profuse Thanks to my dedicated editors, Rappleyea, Phanna and Phangirl.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** We are getting SO many hits from readers, and SO few reviews! Please review! It's easy! Just take a minute! Hit the review button...and post your thoughts and comments! It helps inspire us writers AND since this is a new story being posted and in its early stages, the number of reviews helps to flag the story for other readers! So...Please! Step forward, introduce yourself and let us know your thoughts! THANKS! Phanfan

**Chapter 5 Let The Case Begin! By Phanfan44, Rappleyea+ and Barbkesq**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__July 28, 2005_

_Charles Broadbent, Esq's POV:_

My full name is Charles Fauntleroy Pursley Broadbent, and I am one of the top, if not THE top attorney in the world in criminal law. Which explains why I have been flown on a private jet at the behest of the Powers that Be to Seattle, Washington, to lead the prosecution in the Case of the Phantom of the Opera. My acquaintances, those few members of my club or partners in my law firm whom I can tolerate for more than five minutes, call me Faunty. My first name, Charles, is after my father, a soft, weak human being whom I detest.

I am grateful for the police escort as I make my way through the crowds to the courtroom, although with my imposing size and intentionally unfriendly demeanor, I would not have had any trouble bulldozing my way through on my own. And gads what a crowd is here! Personally, I would have preferred a closed court, but this boisterous, sign waving, almost carnival like crowd and the attendant media coverage better suits our agenda. We'll expose this psycho and his crimes to the entire world. I'm careful as we pass through the throngs not to soil my custom made Italian suit, nor to let an errant foot step on my immaculately shined Berluti shoes. As if any of these fools would appreciate such quality!

I figure this case should be a cakewalk, and as an added incentive, I'm being paid four times my already egregiously high fee for taking this case. You get what you pay for is my motto. Obviously the defense is not familiar with this bit of wisdom. A woman as the lead defense counselor! Yeah right! As I said—a cakewalk. Women just aren't equipped for warfare, as the behavior of the previous Prosecutor so patently proved. Clearly women are not up to the job of dealing with this insane masked man. The courtroom is not a place for sloppy emotions or frivolity. And no, I'm not a chauvinist, that's just a pure biological fact. Men have the testosterone and the natural aggression necessary to reign supreme. That is why all three of the new Temporary Prosecutors (TPs) are men. We've shown up with our power mind-sets and wearing our power suits with not even so much as a red tie among us to distract from the stone seriousness of our attitude toward this proceeding.

As I wait impatiently at the prosecutor's table, I have time to surreptitiously study the defendant. He's just a little taller than I am and dressed, of course, in mid-Victorian style, but obviously of the finest quality and tailor-made. And, he radiates a lethal power, with a glare as icy as my own. Had we met under different circumstances, I think I might have found him to be quite interesting.

The Bailiff finally announces the entrance of the Judge, and we all stand and watch as she takes her place. Having a woman judge is the one fly in this legal ointment, in my estimation, but I force myself to smile and nod at her as her eyes track in my direction. With the Court called formally to order, the Judge looks down at me and asks that I introduce the prosecution team, which I do expeditiously. Ms. Counselor is then asked to introduce her two new co-counsels. I get an eyeful as they stand before the court, and a pleasing eyeful it is, too. Ms. Counselor's black hair and dark eyes give her an elegance, but she is too somber for my tastes. On the other hand, Ms. Brown, with her tall slender figure, long auburn hair and high cheek bones could be a model, if not for her unfortunate choice of black-framed glasses that hide large hazel eyes. Ms. Sebbied is a voluptuous brunette with the air and actions of a diva. I suppress a smile, thinking how easy it is going to be to win this case and at such a fat fee! I turn to look at my two fellow prosecutors, Signor Luzano of Italy and Monsieur deVere of France and see from the looks on their faces that their opinion of our competition is the same as mine. In fact, deVere is practically drooling!

With the formalities completed, the Judge looks at me and directs me to present the Prosecution's Opening Argument. Putting on my earnest and sincere expression for the jurors, I stand and walk toward the jury box.+

Stopping dramatically in the middle of the courtroom, I smile first up at the Judge, then turn my gaze to the jurors and begin. "Members of the Jury, we are here today in this International Court to see that justice will be served, that a man who has gotten away with countless violent and illegal acts against society is finally held accountable. I am sure you understand that this is no ordinary trial. You as jurors have been entrusted with important responsibilities. Your oath as jurors requires you to decide this case fairly and impartially, without sympathy, passion, bias or prejudice. You may feel compassion for this man, and his apparent sad, yet dignified appearance may appeal to your sympathies, but you must not let that interfere with your decision-making. I ask that you decide this case based only on the testimony and the evidence, and I submit to you that when that is presented, there will be no doubt in your minds that the defendant, M. Phantom, is guilty of each and every charge brought against him."

"The evidence will prove that the defendant's actions display a pattern of blatant disregard for the rights of his fellow man. He has engaged in repeated crimes of extortion, theft, arson, trespass, false imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, and the list goes on and on, and those are just the highlights."

"Members of the jury, the evidence will show that the defendant is guilty of multiple murders, including, but not limited to, the gypsy man at the carnival, Monsieur Buquet, Signor Piangi and countless individuals at the Opera Populaire who were the innocent victims of the chandelier careening into the crowd and the ensuing fire caused by the defendant, all because of his deadly obsession with a teenaged chorus girl."

"The defendant would have you believe that he is the victim and that his murder of the gypsy man is justified. However, there is no proof that the gypsies held the defendant against his will. Quite the contrary, the facts indicate that the defendant ran away from home and sought to live with the gypsies of his own free will. Furthermore, there is no direct evidence that the defendant was being beaten daily by the gypsies, as Mme. Giry, the defendant's accomplice in his illegal activities and whose credibility is highly questionable, has most certainly fabricated this story. But even if you accept her story as truth, clearly there was no imminent threat to the defendant's life at the particular moment he strangled the gypsy, for the gypsy man had his back turned to the defendant and was completely defenseless."

"The evidence will show that Monsieur Phantom, after creating a complete disruption of the performance of "Il Muto," stalked stage hand Monsieur Buquet like prey. The defendant then chased M. Buquet across the flies above the stage, strangled him and threw him off the scaffolding, where M. Buquet dangled at the end of a rope. I know this must sound gruesome, but these are the facts. The sight of M. Buquet's body hanging caused unspeakable terror to the ballet dancers and the audience. The owners of the Opera Populaire M. Andre and M. Firmin only told the audience that this was an "accident" to avoid a panic. However, everyone knew this was no accident."

"The evidence will show that Signor Piangi's untimely death was nothing short of pre-meditated murder. The defendant admits to writing the opera "Don Juan." The defendant's comment to Signor Piangi that he should lose some weight was not friendly health advice, but rather a cover so that the defendant could take Signor Piangi's place as Don Juan. The evidence will show that on the night of "Don Juan Triumphant," the defendant swooped down on Signor Piangi from above so he could not keep his hand at the level of his eyes and strangled him with cold-blooded, malicious intent. Indeed, we will present as a witness the very person who found Signor Piangi's body!"

"The facts are undisputed that Monsieur Phantom has taken up illegal residence in the fifth floor cellar of the opera house, of course, aided and abetted by his accomplice, Mme. Giry. The owners of the Opera Populaire never gave permission to the defendant to reside there. It's irrelevant that the area may have been unoccupied by anyone. The defendant does not have title to the fifth cellar. And if the area was unoccupied and nobody travels down there as the defendant claims, why does the defendant have the need for traps and torture chambers? Additionally, in conjunction with defendant's illegal occupation of the Opera House, he stole valuable Opera House property and used it to "furnish" the fifth cellar. There is no proof that these items were simply discarded, nor did the Opera Populaire give up ownership of them."

"Not only did the defendant illegally occupy the Opera House, he had the further audacity to extort 20,000 francs monthly as "salary," or should I say "blackmail" from M. Andre and M. Firmin, the new owners of the Opera Populaire. There is no proof of any written agreement signed by both defendant and M. Andre and M. Firmin for payment of a "salary." If the defendant felt he needed money, he could have gotten a job like everybody else. This is extortion, plain and simple!"

"The evidence also shows that the defendant maliciously interfered with the career of the Diva Signora Giudicelli on numerous occasions, resulting in physical injury, economic damages and severe emotional distress. The Defendant is a highly intelligent man who could easily concoct the poisonous substance that he then placed in the Diva's throat spray bottle. The Defendant then deliberately placed this tampered throat spray where Signora Giudicelli's maid would administer it to her on the opening night of "Il Muto," shortly after the defendant rudely interrupted her performance. The tampered throat spray damaged Signora Giudicelli's vocal chords, making her voice croak to her great embarrassment and emotional distress. This is both assault and an intentional sabotage of Signora Giudicelli's opera career. The Defendant has also written highly defamatory notes concerning her abilities to M. Andre, M. Firmin and Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, the patron, notes that our handwriting expert identifies as written by the defendant. He also threatened Signora Carlotta at the Bal Masque with a sword and defamed her abilities as the Diva before hundreds of people. The defendant has devastated the reputation and livelihood of Signora Giudicelli, not to mention that her life is ruined because of the defendant's cold and callous murder of her beloved Signor Piangi. Defendant's illegal acts at the Opera Populaire have also resulted in significant revenue losses, as well as severe trauma and emotional distress to its owner/managers."

"It is obvious that the defendant was highly obsessed with gaining absolute power over the Opera Populaire and everyone who lived and worked there. And make no mistake, members of the jury...the Opera Populaire was not simply a workplace for the dancers, stagehands and countless other employees, it was also their place of residence...their home. A home they can no longer live in because it was too damaged in the fire. These people not only lost their livelihoods, they lost everything else: a place to live, their possessions, any money they had in their quarters at the time of the fire, and some, like Signora Giudicelli, even lost loved ones.

And speaking of obsession, members of the jury, the evidence is clear that the defendant committed most of these crimes in a sick, twisted attempt to coerce and obtain the love of an innocent chorus girl named Christine Daae…a girl who was only sixteen years old at the time. The defendant took advantage of Mlle. Daae's vulnerabilities, deceiving and manipulating her into believing that defendant was the "Angel of Music." Her father, while on his deathbed, said he promised her, his only child, to send an Angel to guide her in her life. Undoubtedly, her father told this story to comfort his child, but now Mlle. Daae's father must be rolling in his grave considering that the "Phantom of the Opera" attempted to replace him as Mlle. Daae's father. What kind of a father would take advantage of an innocent child?"

"Monsieur Phantom's lies, deception and manipulation continued into Mlle. Daae's young adulthood, when he abandoned the disguise of "father" and sought to become instead her lover." With that I turn around for the first time and point at the defendant for emphasis. He is sitting rigidly, raging emotions pouring off his cloaked body. Ms. Counselor has her hand gripping his forearm, as if holding him down in his seat. Let him make a scene, I think to myself. I'd love to see the bailiffs haul him kicking and screaming from the courtroom!

"The defense claims that all the defendant did was innocently court Mlle. Daae with honorable intentions. Oh, please! What is honorable about using ventriloquism skills and magic to lure the innocent Mlle. Daae through a two way mirror, creating numerous illusions with candles and lights, to his illegally occupied home, appropriately called a 'lair,' where he kept Mlle. Daae out all night past curfew! He professed this to be an act of romantic love but in reality it was nothing but pure seduction, and Mlle. Daae, completely overwhelmed by it, fainted. The defendant had every intention of keeping Mlle. Daae with him forever. But, the next morning, Mlle. Daae was wondering where she was and how she got there, wanting to know "whose is that shape in the shadows, whose is that face in a mask." When Mlle Daae saw the defendant, she approached him and gently, carefully, removed the defendant's mask. Mlle. Daae will testify that the defendant allowed her to touch his face to do just that. What was the defendant's reaction? He flew into a rage, pushed Mlle. Daae to the ground, and verbally abused and cursed her. Clearly, his words of love and romance from the night before were nothing more than just a show, disguising his real nature." I judiciously decide not to point to, or look at, the defendant at this juncture. I don't need to turn around right to know that the defendant's eyes are most likely shooting daggers through me.

"After this incident, Mlle. Daae made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with the defendant, and he reluctantly returned her to her dressing room, which contained a two sided mirror created by the defendant to spy on her and any other female that may be occupying the room. Mlle. Daae was terrified of the defendant, and she sought the protection and love of her childhood sweetheart, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, whom she agreed to marry."

"However, the defendant became jealous, cold and calculating, and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. At the Bal Masque, after terrorizing those present by brandishing his sword, he assaulted Mlle. Daae by ripping a chain from her neck which held the precious engagement ring given to her by her fiancé. Shortly thereafter, when Mlle. Daae went to visit her father's grave, the defendant assaulted the driver of a carriage who Mlle. Daae requested to transport her to the cemetery, and the defendant drove her to the cemetery himself. Once there, the defendant again manipulated Mlle. Daae into believing he was the "Angel of Music" to win her over. When the Vicomte arrived to protect his fiance, the defendant attacked him with his sword, causing a deep slice to the Vicomte's arm."

"The defendant's obsession continued at the performance of "Don Juan" when he murdered Signor Piangi to take his place in the opera with the sole intention of yet again luring and seducing the innocent Mlle. Daae. Only this time, Mlle. Daae protected herself from the defendant's manipulation and unmasked him at the end of the performance. Gendarmes were present at the performance at the request of Vicomte de Chagny and the managers for Mlle. Daae's safety and the safety of the audience members. Unfortunately, the unmasking enraged the defendant who kidnapped Mme. Daae through the trap door on the bridge and crashed a most expensive chandelier, which defendant had rigged to cover his escape. The chandelier's crash caused a fire in the theater, resulting in major property loss, not to mention the loss of the lives of those who could not escape the fire. Mlle. Daae did not go willingly but rather, was roughly dragged "down to the dungeons of his black despair." The defendant then forced her to put on a wedding dress, with the sole intent of making her "prey to his lust for flesh." When the Vicomte arrived to rescue his beloved Mlle Daae, defendant put a rope around his neck and strapped him to an iron gate. Why? All the Vicomte was trying to do was to protect his fiancé from a killer. The defendant, completely out of control, threatened Mlle. Daae with killing her fiancé if she did not choose the defendant as her lover and marry him. Thankfully, Mlle. Daae and the Vicomte were eventually able to free themselves from that living nightmare."

"Members of the jury, as I stated in my opening remarks, the man sitting at that defense table appears in this Courtroom as dignified and distinguished. But as we all know, appearances can be deceiving. We can all see that the defendant wears a mask to hide a physical deformity, and that is his choice. But the defendant also wears an invisible mask, one that hides his true soul, and that has also been by his choice. As this trial proceeds, we will begin to strip away that invisible mask, and what we will find is a callous, dark, dangerous individual. Members of the jury, society has not made this man an outcast and a victim. The defendant has made himself the outcast by his choices throughout his life. He deserves to be punished for the pain and havoc he has caused in his wake. Thank you Your Honor and Members of the Jury."

As I take my seat at the prosecution table, I spend a minute organizing my papers and files. I look up and for the briefest of moments find myself staring straight into the eyes of the defendant. His cold, hostile demeanor does not change or give anything away as he slowly looks away from me, again focusing on the front of the courtroom. But for just an instant as our eyes meet, it feels as if my tie has suddenly tightened around my neck, and I can't breathe.+

_Ms. Counselor's POV:_

I watch Mr. Broadbent as he strides arrogantly past the defense table to take his seat after concluding his opening remarks. My right hand is hurting from the effort to restrain Monsieur Phantom, as if it has been in an arm-wrestling match. The energy pulsing through his body is barely contained, and I continue to send restraint through my hand to his enraged emotions. I look up into his face and give him a reassuring smile. His darkened emerald eyes look down into mine with the intense agony of a lifetime of trauma—wounds which have now been freshly reopened from the blow of the verbal battering he just received. I spend as long as I can looking steadily into his eyes, communicating understanding and calm. But, soon we hear the Judge say, "Ms. Counselor, please present the Defense's Opening Argument."

I give Monsieur Phantom a final smile. I realize that the heights of rage which the prosecution's opening argument engendered will now be followed with a plunge into his past, his darkest despairs, as I have to present his side of this case. This definitely will not be one of the days in his life he looks back on with fond memories. I rise and walk around to the front of the defense table, stopping in front of my client so that all the jurors can keep him in view the entire time that I address them. As the jurors focus their gaze on him, I can see that some have the same sympathetic reaction in their expressions that I always feel when I behold him, and others look on him with questioning, prodding eyes, wondering if what the prosecution just said is true…that he is a murderous, manipulative monster. Clearly, I have my job cut out for me.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I begin and slowly scan the faces of the jury with a gentle smile and low, but firm voice, "I wish to point out that Monsieur Phantom sits here before you, dignified, but bereft at the injustice of the allegations…the twisting of the truth…which he has just heard. He has been charged in the International Court of Justice with an array of Civil and Criminal charges, which we maintain, are either totally false or based on misrepresentation of the facts or of his nature! Some of the allegations have been repeated so often, or even set down in print or portrayed in motion pictures, that they have come to be believed as if they were fact! However, please in the name of justice," and I pause and again quickly look into the eyes of each juror, "always remember that just because something is in print or a movie or even a news report, _does not make it true."_

"We maintain that the closest evidence to date of the true story of Monsieur Phantom was presented in a 2004 movie entitled "The Phantom of the Opera," but even that movie is not a totally accurate presentation of the facts! One of the things that I ask you to do as you hear the evidence presented in this case is to look for consistency. What is Monsieur Phantom's true nature? What facts are in accord with that? On the other hand, which facts are simply unbelievable in light of this gentleman's true inner nature which connects completely with beauty–the beauty of music, art, clothes, and, of course, Mlle. Christine Daae!"

"Monsieur Phantom, as you can see, is a very formal, indeed, impeccably dressed gentleman. However, the right side of his face is covered by a white mask which has been the object of much speculation and derision! Now I realize that some people could perceive this mask to be an avante garde fashion statement, but, in fact, it is utilitarian. That mask actually serves as a white bandage that hides scars, which exist not only on the surface of his face, but reach all the way inside to his very soul. That mask represents the rejection he has experienced all of his life, even from his own mother who began covering his tragically scarred face immediately after his birth. Regarding that fact, the movie was correct. The mask was indeed, 'his first, unfeeling scrap of clothing!' Cruelty, inhumanity, became a fact of his life from the beginning."

"All of his life, Monsieur Phantom has been an outcast, rejected even by his own family who turned him over to a gypsy carnival when he was only nine years old. There he was placed in a cage and exposed to derision and abuse because of the facial deformity he had been fatefully born with! While in that cage, he was not only denied love, comfort or even normal human contact, he was frequently, cruelly, beaten when he fought back and tried to prevent his keepers from removing the soiled bag that served as his mask and exposing him to the ridicule, jeers and taunts of the paying crowd. The prosecution states there is no proof of his being beaten. Are the multitudes of long, raised scars that crisscross Monsieur Phantom's back sufficient proof? I trust the prosecution will accept the testimony of a doctor and a diagram of these scars and will not require that he expose his back to this courtroom to prove that fact."

With that statement, I pause and look intently into the faces of the Jurors. As I expected, all of them have tears in their eyes and some are already visibly sniffling. I pick up the Kleenex box from the defense table and hand it to the jury foreperson, a lovely young woman whose uncontrollable tears stream down her face. For myself, I dare not look into my client's face, for I have to be able to contain my own emotions so that I can continue. But, even with my back turned to M. Phantom, I can feel the emotion broiling off him.

With my voice emotionally charged, I continue. "On one fateful day when he was nine years of age, he escaped from that cruel existence. Antoinette, a 12-year-old ballet student, who hid him in the opera house known as the Opera Populaire, aided him. His family had abandoned him and there was no one who would help him, with the exception of that young girl, who is now known as Madame Giry. She eventually attained the very responsible position of Head Dance Mistress of the Opera Populaire which she held for 15 years. She will testify to the truth of these horrible facts—what she witnessed in that gypsy tent! As a young girl, had she not witnessed the abuse this boy suffered, had she not felt that what this boy did to free himself from that cruel abuse—almost beyond our imaginings—was justified, do you think she would have helped him, hidden him, protected him?"

"And, clearly, this boy had no money and no other place to go. There was no family who would care for him, no church or social welfare organization that stepped forward to protect him during all those months he was exposed like an animal in a cage at a zoo. Monsieur Phantom has been charged with trespass, but he made his home in a place deserted by any other human being: the cold, dark, dank, drizzly 5th level below the Opera House, forced to scavenge what he needed for his solitary existence, taking only that which was necessary to sustain his body and his creative, artistic, sensitive soul."

"He has been charged with embezzlement and absconding with company property; with petty and grand larceny of personal property from the Opera House. However, are there any witnesses who actually can verify that he did such actions? The truth is that during the twenty-five years he lived in that forlorn cavern, he turned it into his home, using only castoff clothing, goods or materials that he found here and there, or purchased with money he earned. If something is thrown away, cast off, no longer wanted, then how can it be said that it was stolen? Through his own efforts and ingenuity, he turned many of these castoff items into things of beauty. The various allegations made by Ms. Giudicelli and the last manager/owners of the Opera Populaire will be shown to be not only fallacious, but their feeble attempts to direct away from themselves responsibility for their own incompetent, irresponsible and even dangerous actions."

"But, Monsieur Phantom's true character is best seen in his behavior toward the women in the Opera Populaire. He came to live there when he was nine, and he is now 34 years old. So, he lived in that same dismal underground cavern for almost 25 years! During that entire time he always had the friendship of Mme Giry who was clearly a responsible, respectable woman. If she were not reliable, how could she have retained the position of Head Mistress of Dance in a major opera house for 15 years?"

"So, consider the situation. Monsieur Phantom is living in a building where many young female dancers work and also live in the dormitories. Had he done anything improper toward Mme. Giry or any of the young female dancers over that very, very long period of time, how could he have retained Mme. Giry's trust and continued support? Had he been a danger to her or to any of the young dancers in her charge, why would she have allowed him to remain there? All she had to do if he were dangerous or a threat, or crazy as is alleged, was report his whereabouts to the gendarmes, and he would have been immediately arrested and removed. But she never did. Why? Does that not show that Mme. Giry held a high level of trust for Monsieur Phantom? And, of course, the other side of that coin is that HE EARNED IT! He did not do anything that endangered Mme. Giry or the young women dancers who lived and worked there. Over a 25 year period!" I repeat the number of years slowly and with firm emphasis. All juror eyes are glued to the defendant, and they are now looking at him with a new light of openness and curiosity. I have definitely given them a new perspective to consider."

"Then, when a young orphan girl named Christine Daae came to live in the Opera House at the age of seven, she would often cry herself to sleep from the pain of losing her beloved father. So, M. Phantom would talk to her from an adjacent room when he heard her crying, and that lead to his singing to soothe her loneliness with his beautiful, melodic voice. After all, he had a profound, personal understanding of loneliness. For the 25 years he lived in the opera house, he lived alone, only watching people, observing, but never able to interact directly with other humans except for the compassionate Mme. Giry."

"When the little girl called him her "Angel of Music," he allowed her to do that because it gave_ her _comfort. After all, wasn't he being an angel of kindness by consoling her? Have you not ever been called an angel when you did a kindness for someone? Did you then correct that person and say, "No, I am technically not an angel, you should not call me that?" Was Monsieur Phantom supposed to tell a little, mourning 7 year old girl, "No, you are wrong, don't call me an angel?" Would that have been kind or cruel? And, remember, this man had been labeled "the Devil's Child" by the gypsies. That sign—that stigma—had hung over his cage. Was he not human in wanting to be called "angel' when he had earned it, rather than labeled an evil pariah when he most certainly had not deserved that?"

"M. Phantom has been charged with misrepresentation or fraud in regard to that name, but it was the little girl who named him that. He never allowed its use with any intent to deceive, only to give comfort. And, yes, he became a sort of surrogate "father" to that orphan child, but only because of his mentoring role, not through any intention to deceive. He was there for her, comforting her in this manner almost daily, giving her the care that he had never himself received. Is that the action of an egotistical, insane, demented, or cruel person? I don't think so," and I again look with sad, searing gazes into the eyes of each juror. There is not a dry eye and the Kleenex box is being passed up and down the rows of jurors. I continue, "Eventually M. Phantom also gave her voice lessons which helped her develop her greatest talent, a voice which would allow her a prestigious career, to lift her out of the short-lived and often tragically ending career of a ballet 'rat.' Is that to be considered demented? Helping others not for a week or two, or a month or two, but for years and years? Is that wrong? Should he be damned for that? In the case of Mlle. Daae, his mentoring lasted nine long years, during which time he never stepped out of the role of teacher or guardian, until he finally made known he sought her hand in marriage."

"When that young lady came of age—and in the 1870's, young ladies came of age at 15 and 16 years old—his affections for her deepened. It was not uncommon in the Victorian Age for guardians to marry the young ladies that had been put in their care. And his intentions were always honorable, as were his actions regarding her! Indeed, Mme. Giry knew he was taking Mlle. Daae to his home the night of her debut performance, and she approved. Why? Because she trusted M. Phantom, and in Victorian times, men were allowed to be alone with a young women if they were going to propose marriage, which is exactly what M. Phantom intended, and Mme. Giry knew that! And, clearly, Mme. Giry, who was Mlle. Daae's guardian, consented to his taking Mlle. Daae to his home, after all, she was present when the door to Mlle. Daae's room was locked to prevent her leaving with Vicomte de Chagny."

"Ultimately, that visit to M. Phantom's home ended tragically with Mlle. Daae's ripping off his mask, which always causes him the greatest of trauma because it reminds him of his treatment, when caged as a boy! Yes, he responded in hurt anger, but was her trauma any worse than the trauma she had caused him by removing the mask? Nor did M. Phantom hold Mlle. Daae against her will. He returned her himself early the following morning, even before she asked to be returned."

"M. Phantom has been charged with an array of charges that would make him appear to be out of control. The prosecution said in its opening argument that the defendant wounded Vicomte de Chagny in the arm. What he left out was that the Vicomte was the one who first drew swords and challenged, even threatened M. Phantom. That injury occurred when M. Phantom was defending himself which is clearly why it is not included in the charges."

"There are so many other charges of violent behavior, yet these allegations do not stand up under scrutiny. It was during a performance of Il Muto that one of the stagehands, a Monsieur Buquet died in a tragic accident. Indeed, M. Fermin and M. Andre, the owners of the company, themselves made a public statement that the death was simply an accident. They will be called to testify for the prosecution. Are they now saying that they lied when they made that statement to hundreds of people in the audience that very night? If they lied then, are they to be believed now? And, remember, what you saw in the movie version of M. Phantom's story, is not necessarily what actually happened!"

"Unfortunately, Monsieur Phantom's appearance at the Bal Masque was misunderstood, as his actions so often were. He was forever the outcast, forever unwelcome, and on this occasion, he made a rather dramatic entrance, but it was intended to be only long enough to give the owners of the opera house his newly composed opera, Don Juan Triumphant. The response of the owners, and of Viscount, Vicomte–whatever–Raoul de Chagny, was to set a trap for Monsieur Phantom when he attended the premiere of his new opera. This was entirely unjustified, poorly planned and very dangerous. It came to my client's notice that a plan was concocted which may even put his life in danger. And, all he wanted to do was present his new musical composition and sing the lead male role to Ms. Daae as the protestation of his love and commitment, in hopes she would finally accept his honorable proposal of marriage."

"Prior to the performance, he planned to tie up the lead male singer, Sr. Piangi. He denies he intended to kill that gentleman, and furthermore, denies that charge. He maintains that when he leapt down to tie up Sr. Piangi, that grossly overweight gentleman gasped in surprise and proceeded to pass out! Monsieur Phantom had even pointed out to Sr. Piangi at their last meeting that he had a weight problem and that it was dangerous in a man of his age, but Sr. Piangi obviously did not take heed of that well-considered advice, to his unfortunate demise."

"So, when Monsieur Phantom had given a most stunning debut performance with Mlle. Daae, and he finally got the courage to propose, singing of his devotion, she again, in a totally shocking fashion, rips off his mask, this time embarrassing him in the presence of hundreds of onlookers. This act triggered an emotional, psychological reaction in M. Phantom known as post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. That condition occurs when a person has been subject to a traumatic situation, so he re-experiences that same emotional shock whenever a similar situation triggers the memory of the original episode. Clearly, Mlle. Daae's ripping off M. Phantom's mask in the presence of a multitude of onlookers literally caused him to have a flashback to those hellacious unmaskings in the tent when he was a boy. When this happens, people who have PTSD react emotionally, in a protective, fight or flight manner, because they are actually again experiencing in their minds that original trauma. We will present testimony by the foremost authority in the world on PTSD which confirms that M. Phantom has that syndrome and that his actions subsequent to the unmasking by Mlle. Daae would qualify as temporary mental incapacity."

"Indeed, his actions can also be explained as necessary protection for himself and Mlle. Daae. He saw the gendarmes approaching the stage with guns ready, and he used the two methods he had available to escape: the trapdoor which he and Mlle. Daae were standing on, and cutting the rope to release the chandelier, to cause it to crash on the stage thereby covering his escape. Please note that the chandelier crashed ON THE STAGE, not on any audience members or performers."

"Ms Daae always overreacted to Monsieur Phantom's sincere offers of love, and on this occasion, her unmasking the defendant put not only him in a precarious situation, but also herself. If the gendarmes had shot at M. Phantom, they could easily have hit her as well, after all, she was standing inches from him. This ill-conceived plot cooked up by Vicomte—Viscount—whatever de Chagny and the mangers was in fact a highly dangerous proposition not only to Monsieur Phantom, but also to Mlle, Daae, to every performer on the stage who could have been hit by stray bullets and to the audience members."

"Now there are other serious charges which Monsieur Phantom denies categorically: that he created or caused hazards, either on the way to his underground home, or in a room of mirrors; or that he improperly disposed of a body. In fact, this is alleged to be the body of the same man who fell to his accidental death during the performance of Il Muto, which brings us to the conflict between certain allegations. In this case, how can the same man die twice? Quite impossible, of course. Also, defendant is charged with killing untold numbers of people in Persia. Since it is clear that Monsieur Phantom lived in the Opera House from the age of nine continuously for the next 25 years, how could he have possibly been in Persia to commit such mayhem? And there is an allegation he is responsible for the death of a Count Phillipe, but he denies that categorically since he never met the man! He also denies he created traps that killed unknown numbers of the mob. Indeed, such traps would require complex and expensive engineering during the construction of the building. M. Phantom did not come to the opera house until decades after it was built, so how could he have had any part in constructing such devices?"

"These are examples of the type of incredible, or downright impossible, actions which have been laid at M. Phantom's doorstep. We trust you will listen to this array of charges and see as the evidence is presented—as the truth unfolds—that they are in actuality exaggerations or misrepresentations or myths that have grown up around the strange mystique of the Phantom of the Opera. We trust you will see the truth. We trust you will finally rectify the inhuman treatment he has always received and give him not only your vote of 'not guilty,' but for the first time, grant him something each of you is blessed with, something that each of you takes for granted…the ability to live a normal life, free from the condemnation of the world."

I look at each of the jurors and see no dry eyes. The Kleenex box has made the rounds twice. I turn and as I walk around the defense table to take my seat, glance at Mr. Broadbent. The smirk on his face is no longer there. Then, as I sit down, I look for the first time into the face of Monsieur Phantom. He is sitting in shocked silence, again staring at his folded, gloved hands. His mouth is a straight, taut line, and his jaws are clenched. I can see the mist in his eyes as he struggles not to show to the world how deeply he feels about what he had always suffered. An aura of strength, a cloak of invincibility has always been his protection, and now he holds on to that tenuously. I put my hand on top of his gloved ones and gently squeeze his hands in support and understanding of the internal struggle I can see him bravely waging.

Many Thank Yous for the invaluable editing of Phanna, Rappleyea and Phangirl!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **As we have explained, this version of The Case is entirely rewritten, but based loosely on its first version, which we now affectionately call the 'Baby Case,' aka, 'BC.' The three male prosecutors are entirely new characters. In the BC, there were about six female counselors, each one written by a different author, and the testimony they took in court was very, very free-wheeling.

The three male prosecutors in our "adult" version of The Case are created and chiefly written by Rappleyea who was one of the original female prosecutors. These three men have been given very distinct personalities, and I think you will enjoy the different styles and perspectives they bring to the trial. This chapter features the lead attorney, Mr. Broadbent, and much is seen from his point of view (POV). Rappleyea also wrote the Carlotta testimony in the BC, and much of it was retained for this version, so you will see a lot of the original satire busting out here…sort of like Carlotta's bosom! However, The Case is a collaborative effort, and we edit and contribute to each other's pieces. My favorite line in this chapter is Mr. Broadbent's opinion of Ms. Counselor and M. Phantom. The line was written by Rappleyea, with just a tiny addition from me! Enjoy!

**Chapter 6, Testimony of Carlotta, by Phanfan44 and Rappleyea+**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__July 28, 2005 _

_+Charles Broadbent, Esq's POV:_

My co-prosecutors, S. Luzano and M. DeVere and I take our seats in the courtroom along with everyone else returning from the lunch recess. And quite a good lunch it was, too, I might add. Luckily, we were able to find an excellent seafood restaurant next to the courthouse that not only served first rate cuisine, but also afforded us the privacy necessary for our post-mortem of the morning's proceedings.

And gads, I thought that maudlin tripe of Ms. Counselor's would never end! I suggested to the members of my team that the woman has missed her calling. She should be writing scripts for soap operas! But, I have to hand it to her, she had those gullible saps on the jury eating it up. I'm not worried though. There is still plenty of time left in this trial.

Speaking of women, I glance with increasing ire at the black onyx face of my Rolex watch as my witness, Signora Carlotta Giudicelli has not arrived yet. I certainly hope that she shows up before we are found in contempt of court. I impatiently await her entrance into the courtroom, wondering if she will help or hurt our case. We all rise as the Judge returns and court is called back into session. The Judge asks Bailiff George to get the first witness from the waiting room, and he disappears out that corridor off the front of the courtroom.

I hear the Bailiff's voice call out as he holds open the door to the corridor, "Would our first witness, Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, please take the stand?"

I should have anticipated this. Signora Giudicelli has waited to be announced before making her grand entrance. She sweeps into the courtroom dressed in an outrageous scarlet gown with what looks like miles of black lace adorning it in rows around the skirt and down the long, dramatic sweep of the train. Oh my God! I can't believe what I see. Even more black lace accents the exceedingly deep plunge of the v-neck, ending in an exclamation point of a large silk flower strategically nestled between her two breasts which are threatening to spill out of their confines. This is all topped by a hat and plumage of gargantuan proportions. Obviously, La Carlotta did NOT follow my pre-court instructions to dress modestly.

"Theees is MOST inconvenient ..." La Carlotta begins at a shrieking decibel level as she settles into the witness chair. Titters of laughter can be heard throughout the spectator section.

"ORDER IN THE COURTROOM!" the Judge commands as she brings the gavel down on her desk.

As I make my way to the witness stand, I can't help but notice the judge's fondly admiring glance and slight smile at the defendant. "I'll have to see what I can do to wipe that simpering smirk off of her face," I think to myself, the wheels already beginning to turn.

The Bailiff swears in the witness. "Raise your right hand please. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

I hold my breath not being quite sure how La Carlotta will answer even so simple a question.

"Si, yes, of courz," she answers him with a sniff.

"Okay, the first question down and only several more to go," I think as I notice that this whole time, La Carlotta has kept her nose high in the air, not deigning to look at any of us. With the size of that hat, I don't see what's keeping her head from snapping all the way back and breaking her neck!

I begin my questioning, "Would you please state your name for the record?"

"I am Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, Princeepessa, Bella Deeva, Goddess of Song..."

I quickly interrupt, "Thank you, Signora Giudicelli."

"Now, you are alleging that M. Phantom of the Opera has grievously defamed your character and your abilities thus causing you loss of income as well as causing you to lose your position and prestige at the Opera Populaire. Is that correct?" She lowers her head ever so slightly and looks at me through eyes that are angry slits before answering.

"Si," she responds with a very injured and dramatic toss of the head back up into the air.

"Signora Giudicelli, would you be so kind as to tell us exactly in your own words how M. Phantom has done this?"

At this question, La Carlotta begins her performance. I was afraid this would happen. With bosoms heaving, eyes closed but prodigiously leaking tears, hand dramatically raised over her brow and now playing straight to the jury, La Carlotta lets loose her pent up emotions and fury.

"Mmmmmmaa, mmmaaa! Theeese theengs do 'appen! Thees ees all I hear! For three years, we 'ave nothing but 'ees treeks, 'ees pranks, 'ees threats! And theese new managers! Compleet amateurs! My Piangi was right!"

At the mention of the deceased S. Piangi, a fresh round of sobbing and tears is unloosed, which La Carlotta daintily mops up with her lace handkerchief. I know this to be purely an act, as she was coming on to me outrageously earlier in the private room that we used for our pre-court strategy session. After this overwrought display, I ask her to continue.

"The new managers are terrified of 'eem! They do whatever 'ee wants. And all 'ee wants ees for 'ees lover, Christine Daae," spitting out that name at the jury, "to be the STAR, the new DIVA! MMMMMaaa!"

"Will you please tell the jury just how M. Phantom was able to accomplish this?"

" 'ee said 'ee would make something terreeble 'appen if I sang, and 'ee did!" In front of a packed 'ouse, my publeec…." La Carlotta again returns her hand to her brow in her best melodramatic gesture before continuing in a voice punctuated with sobs. "First, there ees 'ees interruptions, complaining in a deep 'orreeble voice that 'ee was to bee geeven Box 5!"

"And, how did that 'orreeble, I mean, horrible interruption affect your performance?" I pursue.

"Wee, of courz, had to stop the opera! I was tereefied!" To emphasize her heightened emotional state, La Carlotta now raises her hand and snaps open her fan with a resounding whack and starts fanning herself! I steal a look back at the jurors. Most are wide-eyed and their eyebrows have shot up to their hairlines. Not a good sign.

"And what happened next, Signora Giudicelli?" trying to move on as quickly as possible.

"I was so upset, I had my maid spray my throat! OH! Eet ees too 'orreeble to remember! I was totally humiliated, RUEENED in front of all Paris! When I tired to seeng…my voice…well eet was, how can I say eet? My voice, eet croaked like the frog!"

"Did you keep this bottle with its unusual contents?" I ask.

"Si! I deed!" Carlotta says with a shake of her head that sends the humongous hat precariously swaying back and forth. "I took eet to the chemist where I obtain my…uh…beauty creams. And 'ee said eet was definitely tincture of toad. Here, I have 'ees letter where 'ee told me as much!" And, so saying, she reaches her hand into a large pocket of her bulbous skirt and draws out the neatly folded parchment.

As she thrusts this document into my hand, she breaks out in more loud sobs, and I turn to the judge and interject, "Your Honor, we refer the court to the bottle which has been admitted into evidence. At this time I would like to submit this letter from a French chemist, as well as declarations by two independent laboratories which tested the contents of this decanter and have certified that the mixture is indeed tincture of toad—a formula known by M. Phantom and learned during his years spent with the gypsies."

"Objection!" Ms. Counselor irritatingly rises to pose a challenge. "Your Honor, alleging that tincture of toad is a formula known by M. Phantom or that he may have learned it from the gypsies is, of course, speculation and not in evidence."

"Objection sustained. I direct the jury to disregard that statement. That M. Phantom had any knowledge of tincture of toad is not in evidence and has not been proven," the Judge says, looking at the jurors. "However, I will accept the chemist's letter and the two declarations with reports from the independent laboratories." Then the Judge looks at me and declares, "Please continue."

"Signora Giudicelli, do you have any proof that the tincture of toad spray was placed within your reach by Monsieur Phantom?"

"Si, of courz! My maid saw 'ees gloved 'and place eet on my makeup stand," she says seething with indignation at the memory.

"Objection, Your Honor!" as Ms. Counselor protests again from the defense table. "Signora Giudicelli did not see the gloved hand…her maid did, and so this is clearly second-hand hearsay!"

"Your Honor," I argue, "we cannot bring every single person from the past to testify to every small detail of the evidence! Only certain people are going to be brought forward to testify. Such details must surely be allowed as evidence so that the full picture may be pieced together!"

The Judge takes a minute to consider this procedural problem, and finally announces her decision, "Objection overruled. Ms. Giudicelli's testimony regarding her maid's statement will be allowed for the very reason stated by the prosecution." I smile with satisfaction at this ruling in our favor, then hear the remainder of the Judge's statement, "…and I have no doubt that Ms. Counselor will be able to put that into its proper perspective." My smile freezes at the Judge's last comment about Ms. Counselor putting it "into its proper perspective."

"So, Signora Giudicelli, how did your maid know that gloved hand belonged to M. Phantom?"

"Well, she said they were most certainlee custom gloves from Boutin Glovemakers. They make the very finest gloves een Paris, and Monsieur Phantom wears only the very finest of clotheeng."

"Very well. Signora Giudicelli, how did this incident with the throat spray affect your standing at the Opera?"

La Carlotta is in high gear now. With another very dramatic sob, her eyes closed and her head still raised skyward as if the memory brought back by the recital of these facts is almost beyond bearing, she continues. "Well, eet ees obvious, eesn't eet? In the next production, 'ees opera, I played the second part, the smaller part. THAT GIRL was the star. I 'ad been pushed from my rightful position atop the opera's leest of performers. Thees 'ad cost me plenty in my salary I can tell you!"

Greed and avarice, I observe. I can see this woman has her priorities firmly in order, but I only say, "I see. Now then, you said that M. Phantom threatened that something terrible would happen if you sang that night. Did you talk to him personally?"

Even though I had gone over our procedure thoroughly with La Carlotta, I can now see that she is becoming quite irritated with me and what she perceives to be my stupid questions. However, she deigns to answer this one.

"Of course not. No one ever talks to 'eem. Just those awful notes that 'ee sends all the time!"

Again, I address the judge, "Your Honor, I refer the court to the following note which has been entered into evidence, and I will read now for the jury: 'Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Christine Daae will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place. Signed O. G.'"

"I OBJECT YOUR HONOR!" echoes strongly through the courtroom from the defense attorney. I knew that was coming, and I am prepared.

"On what grounds?" the judge asks.

"On the grounds that there is no proof that my client and the 'O. G.'—Opera Ghost—are the same individual."

The judge looks at me questioningly. "Your Honor, I refer you and Ms. Counselor to the depositions of both our French language expert and our handwriting expert. The word for 'ghost' in French is 'fantome,' which translates to 'phantom' in English. This is proof from her own client, in his own handwriting, that they are one and the same person!"

"Objection, Your Honor," rings out, and I turn around to see that pesky female attorney again objecting to my evidence. "The prosecution is proposing guilt by association. Just because a name translates to a certain meaning, does not mean it applies literally to a certain individual. If that were so, then does that mean that the prosecutor is either 'broad' or 'bent?' I trust he would deny that. And we deny that Monsieur Phantom's name automatically makes him the Opera Ghost."

The Judge looks at both attorneys and gives a split decision. "I will admit the deposition of the handwriting expert, of course, giving it weight based on all evidence presented in this trial. But, I do sustain the objection to the French language expert's deposition. Name similarities prove nothing, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Broad_bent_?"

I look at the Judge and have no choice but to nod my head in agreement.

"Please continue," the Judge directs.

"Signora Giudicelli, since we are on the subject of the identification of the Phantom of the Opera, would you care to point him out to us?"

Now this had also been discussed in our meetings earlier, but each time I tried to pin La Carlotta down on having actually seen the Phantom, she was very evasive. I got partial answers that told me only bits and pieces such as "a swish of a cape" or "a shadow overhead" or other such non-specific nonsense. However, I had to take the chance. It was imperative that M. Phantom be positively identified and thus connected to his crimes.

For the first time since taking the stand, La Carlotta lowers her hand from her brow, opens her eyes and surveys the courtroom. Her eyes widen noticeably as her gaze comes to rest on the admittedly good-looking man wearing a white mask who is sitting at the defense table. It occurs to me as I wait for her response that I doubt she has ever REALLY seen him before. Dammit, this can't be happening... La Carlotta is succumbing to the defendant faster than you can say, "You will curse the day you did not do..."

I am almost afraid to watch this. She is leaning forward, way forward in her chair, her breasts perilously close to escaping, and I wonder if that is intentional. Her features soften noticeably and a faint smile plays at the corners of her very pretty mouth. She fairly purrs, "That ees 'eem there," as she points to the defendant.

"Uh, yes, thank you Signora Giudicelli." I persevere and ask, "Now you are further alleging that M. Phantom conspired with the management to discriminate against you due to your age. I again refer the court to the note entered into evidence that was received by M. Andre and states: 'Dear Andre, what a charming gala. Christine was in a word sublime. We were hardly bereft when Carlotta left. On that note, the diva's a disaster, must you cast her when she's seasons past her prime?'

I purposely soften my features, adopting a slight smile as I turn to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, look at this woman, and I ask you now—does she LOOK like someone who is 'seasons past her prime?' I say emphatically no! Of course not! But I won't have you rely on your eyes alone. We have prepared a demonstration for you of her extreme vocal range and ability. Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if you please…." At this the small ensemble of musicians, which I have hired to help with the demonstration, is allowed to enter the courtroom. The leader taps his baton and the musicians begin to play. La Carlotta draws herself up to her rather imposing height, takes a deep breath and begins to climb the scales - higher and higher, past high C, through high E, and she's rapidly approaching the G for crying out loud when the judge bangs her gavel down forcefully and shouts "ENOUGH!" I look up and realize that all the pendant light fixtures in the courtroom have begun swaying perilously from the intense vibration emanating from La Carlotta. Her voice actually sounded much better than I remembered it from our rehearsal.

I feel this is just what we need to convince the jury that she is most definitely not 'past her prime.' I glance back at my client after her demonstration only to realize that she was singing to HIM, the Phantom! I now realize that she hadn't taken her eyes off of him the entire time that she was performing, and in fact is continuing to stare at him as if she's going to throw herself on him and ravish him right here in the courtroom. Whatever is the hold that this man has over women? Sorry, Signora, I think to myself, but he won't be giving you a starring role in one of his operas as his career will definitely be over when we finish with him.

"Thank you Signora Giudicelli. I have no further questions, Your Honor."+

_Ms. Counselor's POV:_

Turning toward my client to observe his reaction to this rather bizarre display by the witness, I discover him staring at her with a strange, faraway glaze in his eyes. I study his expression for several moments, trying to discern why he is still looking so intently at Signora Giudicelli, when he suddenly looks down at me, and we exchange quick, knowing glances. We have spent many hours together over innumerable days preparing for this trial, and he knows my plans for Carlotta.

I push my chair back, rise and slowly walk toward the witness who scans me from head to toe, taking her assessment of me. I am dressed in a deep red, silk Armani suit. The skirt is straight and goes modestly to the knees, with the jacket also cut long, reaching elegantly to only a few inches above the hem of the skirt, the colors coordinating perfectly with the 4 inch spike heals. A border of black piping rims my jacket, matching the black buttons and black silk blouse that has a professionally tailored collar. My only jewelry is the fine gold chain around my neck which holds a crystal pendant, subtly carved in the shape Athena, Goddess of wisdom and war, which I wear on special occasions as a talisman for good luck. Signora Giudicelli looks at me with a smile that says she approves of my elegant, tailored attire, and I smile reassuringly at her in return.

I chose my attire carefully today, making sure to match colors with Carlotta's choice of clothing. And, how did I know Carlotta would be dressed in flaming red? Well, since all the witnesses will be brought to the future from their sleep, they are, of course, dressed in nightclothes. Obviously, they need clothing to wear for their courtroom appearances which lead to a dispute between the defense and prosecution teams as to how their clothes would be chosen. The compromise finally reached was for each side to choose two sets of Victorian garb from the collection of a local performing arts theater. Then, each witness will be allowed to select which outfit he or she wishes to wear.

Our new defense co-counsel, Ms. Sebbied, who is known for her extraordinary fashion sense, aided me in our selection for Carlotta. Ms. Sebbied deftly chose two dramatically red dresses of the most flamboyant styles. She anticipated that they would definitely fit Carlotta's taste. I totally trusted her judgment on this, and so I was not at all surprised that Signora Giudicelli bypassed the conservative clothing selected by the prosecution's male attorneys. And, of course, I made certain to wear my red Armani suit, hoping to make Carlotta feel, well…at ease with me.

"Signora Giudicelli, it is an honor to meet you. Your reputation precedes you!" I say in introduction, and she breaks into a broad smile.

"You testified that, and I quote, '…there ees 'ees interruptions, complaining in a deep 'orreeble voice that 'ee was to bee geeven Box 5!' Is that correct?" I begin with a sympathetic tone in my voice.

"Yes! 'ee did, during the performance of Il Muto!"

"Could you please explain to the Court what you saw him doing that disrupted your performance?"

"Well...I deed not actually see heem..." she answers petulantly.

"What did he do to interrupt, that you did not see?" I ask, hoping the jurors pick up on that rather glaring discrepancy.

"Well, 'ee spoke weeth the loud voice that interrupted me right een the middle of my song..."

"So, you heard a loud voice?"

"Si! Of courz!"

"But you didn't see him speaking?"

"No, I could not see 'eem at all!

"Well, then, how do you know it was the defendant? Did you know him personally?

"No! I most certainly do not know 'eem—"

"Had you ever spoken to him at all?"

"No! Of courz not!" She responds emphatically.

I turn to the Judge and ask, "May I have permission for M. Phantom to speak a sentence in demonstration?"

The Judge looks over at my client, smiles and says, "Yes, proceed!"

I turn and walk back to the defense table, remove a piece of paper from a file and hand it to my client. "M. Phantom, would you please read the words which are on this page?"

Looking up at me with a faint, subtle smile, he takes the piece of paper and begins to read in a rich, melodic and very mellow voice, "Why is Box 5 not available for my use?" His voice has the rich tones of the professional theater and carries easily throughout the courtroom. A multitude of gasps are audible from many of the women spectators. My own knees wobble slightly, but thankfully, I am standing in front of the defense table, and it braces me as I momentarily regain my composure.

"Thank you, Erik," I say softly with a smile, then realizing my slip, I correct in a louder voice, "…I mean, Monsieur Phantom." Then I turn and walk back to the witness stand that is on the far left hand side of the courtroom. "Now, Signora Giudicelli," I say in a gentle tone and with a supportive smile, "is that the voice you heard which interrupted your performance?"

The witness' eyes are wide and dreamy from the effect of listening to the voice, which had just floated through the courtroom. "Well….actually….no, thees voice deed not sound at all like the voice I heard during Il Muto…" the witness says with encroaching confusion and doubt.

"Then how do you know it was his voice you heard interrupting your performance?" I press the point home.

She stops, mulls this over awhile, then answers, "I do not know..."

"Very well, Signora Giudicelli, you also testified that, and I quote: "For three years, we 'ave nothing but 'ees treeks, 'ees pranks, 'ees threats!" Now, did you ever see defendant commit any of these tricks, pranks or make any of these threats?"

She looks at me thoughtfully, weighing carefully what I am asking, and then finally lets out a flustered sigh, "No, I deed not."

"You also claim that defendant replaced your bottle of throat spray with "tincture of toad." Now we do not contest that you had this misfortune befall you, namely the loss of your normal singing voice when you sprayed your throat with this horrible concoction. We understand that it was a most distressing event! Oh, by the way, Signora Giudicelli, I noticed the elegant gloves you are wearing today. Where did you purchase those?"

She sniffs and answers, "Well, theese are made by the finest glove makers in Paris, the firm of Boutin et Fils. I alwayz buy theem there."

"Is that the same glove maker you just testified where defendant allegedly purchases his gloves? Making such a fine quality product must make them popular and assure them a broad clientele, isn't that right?"

"Oh, yes! Everybodee I know–the best people een society, of course, purchase their gloves at Boutin et Fils!"

"And I am sure that the best dressed men of your acquaintance wear the finest leather gloves in elegant black made by Boutin et Fils, isn't that so, Signora Giudicelli?"

"But, of courz–always–they would wear that type of glove–only thee finest!"

"So, actually, you have seen many of your male friends wearing such gloves?"

"Si! Many!" She says, smiling at what seems to be an obvious and inconsequential fact.

"So, Ms. Giudicelli, how could you say that the fine, black leather gloves which were on the hand of the person who switched the bottles belong to defendant instead of any of a number of other men whom you know that wear the very same gloves?"

Her face suddenly falls in a perplexed, blank stare. Gathering her wits, she finally answers, "Well...I could not say that actually...I reelly do not know."

"Again, you admit, you do not know..." I point out her admission to the jury for emphasis, then continue. "Signora Giudicelli, you have accused the defendant of being the Opera Ghost. Have you ever seen or met the so-called "Opera Ghost."

"No, of courz I have not..."

"Other than an irrelevant connection between the names, do you have any tangible proof that they are one and the same person?"

"Well...no I do not..."

"So, since there is no proof that defendant is this Opera Ghost, there is also no proof that he wrote the notes that the Opera Ghost sent which you claim conspired with the management to discriminate against you due to your age?"

"Well...I guez there would not bee..."

"So, since there is no tangible proof of any connection between defendant and the Opera Ghost, and you have never seen the Opera Ghost, we will not embarrass you by discussing that scurrilous statement that you are "seasons past your prime," correct, Signora Giudicelli?

"No! We certaanly do not want to do that!" she says emphatically and with a great sigh of relief.

"I agree. So, that leaves only one other item. You just identified defendant as the Phantom of the Opera. Could you tell us if you have ever seen him?"

"Of course...I saw heem at thee Bal Masque on new year's evening. He came down thee stairs and fluffed my hat weeth heez sword...!" She splutters out with great indignation.

"And at that Bal, what was he wearing?"

"'ee waz wearing a red outfeet that clung to 'eez tall, muscular and indeed quite graceful body, and trailed theez long train behind heem...and 'ee had on a white mask." Carlotta says with clearly fond remembrance.

"A white mask? And was that a half mask like the one he is wearing today–a half mask which covers the tragically scarred right side of his face?"

"No, eet waz a mask that covered both the left and the right side of 'ees face."

"Oh, I see. His mask covered BOTH sides of the face, and presumably the eyebrows and the nose, is that correct?"

"Well...yes it waz..."

"So, the only time you know you saw the person known as the Phantom of the Opera, he was wearing a mask that covered both sides of his face, just like the ones everyone was wearing?"

"Well...yes, of courz, almost everyone waz wearing such a mask."

"Then how can you tell what the Phantom of the Opera looked like with the majority of his face covered by that style of mask?"

Carlotta seems to be a bit confused at this point.

"I ask you once again to look into the face, into the very eyes of defendant and tell the Court whether you can absolutely identify him. Can you absolutely identify the defendant as the person who put the tincture of toad in your spray? The man who wrote those notes? The man who played pranks? Please, Signora Giudicelli, can you identify without a shadow of a doubt that _this_ _defendant_ is the man who committed those acts?"

Signora Giudicelli turns her gaze to the defendant who is already looking at her with keen interest. She looks into his eyes, and his deep, sea-green eyes gaze magnetically back. Her breath starts coming in shorter and shorter gasps as though her bodice is suddenly way too tight to allow her enough air. The defendant continues to calmly and deeply gaze into her eyes. My eyes keep going between the witness and the defendant. I wait; the Judge waits; the prosecutors wait; the Jury waits; the spectators wait. No answer comes from the mouth of Signora Giudicelli, just faster and deeper gasps of breath, and then suddenly, out thrusts her answer: "NO! I CANNOT!"

I graciously nod my head toward the witness, and say, "Thank you, Signora Giudicelli, that will be all." I calmly walk past the three men seated at the prosecution table whose eyes follow me intently. Taking my seat at the defense table, I look up into the eyes of my client and see there the first glimmers of hope…and something else…appreciation.

_Mr. Broadbent's POV:_

The Judge looks down at Signora Giudicelli, uses a Kleenex to wipe some perspiration from her brow and then turns to me, "Mr. Broadbent if you have no further questions, then Signora Giudicelli is dismissed."

My two co-counsels and I exchange brief, but very aggravated glances. I have half a mind to spray tincture of toad down La Carlotta's throat myself! No, I definitely do not want to ask her any further questions, giving her the opportunity to do more damage. Standing to address the Judge, I shake my head, "No, Your Honor, we are quite done."

I can't believe what just happened and keep reviewing it in my mind as I pack files into my briefcase. We had gone over our witness' testimony with her extensively before the trial, only to have her totally blow it on the stand—brought down by the masked psycho and a she-wolf in designer's clothing. It will take every bit of our considerable expertise to salvage the damage done today by La Carlotta.

Court is adjourned for the day, and as my two colleagues and I stand and turn to exit the courtroom, I again feel that powerful gaze upon me. Looking over toward the defense table, I meet M. Phantom's eyes with my own cold, icy stare. This time, however, instead of intense hatred burning in his eyes, I see a faint glint of triumph. I show no outward emotion, but can feel my blood boil. You will curse the day, _Phantom_, that you challenged F. P. Broadbent+

Thank yous! to The Case's first-rate editors, Phanna and Rappleyea!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **In this chapter, you meet our second prosecutor, Signor Luzano, a very romantic Italian who has a keen appreciation for M. Phantom's emotional flare for living! And, you also get to see the very assertive defense attorney, Phen Brown, in action! This chapter continues with the satirical edge of the original version! Enjoy!

THANK YOU so much to those who posted reviews! We writer's SO appreciate your comments and feedback! AND…the more you review, the more we feel you are enthusiastic about our story, and the more we are inspired to post more often! So...Please! Step forward, introduce yourself and let us know your thoughts! Phanfan

**Chapter 7 Testimony of Firmin and Andre, by Rappleyea and Phanfan44**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__August 5, 2005 _

_Signor Franco Luzano's, POV:_

I, Franco Luzano, along with my two co-counsels for the prosecution push through the immense crowd walking just behind our armed escorts. It is a glorious day in this bella nazione, this beautiful country, and I must confess, I am enjoying being here in Seattle. Only in America would there be such cheering, screaming, and sometimes, jeering throngs for a criminal trial!

These people are matto, insano—crazy, insane! But what fun, eh? And I also have to admit to being very curious about this Phantom, this man who is on trial. For whether he is guilty of his crimes or not, I am very interested in meeting this musical genius. Music and opera were my first loves at the university until my father forced me to take up law. And I love music dearly to this day.

I laugh inwardly because I think that we three prosecutors must look like the "raising the bar" commercial I have seen on the American television as we walk in single file toward the courtroom. Mr. Broadbent, who goes first, is several inches taller than I am, and M. LeVere, who follows me, is several inches shorter. This Mr. Broadbent, the American who is leading the prosecution team, I'm not sure about that one. He makes my blood run cold, and I don't scare easily. After all, I am here because of my great success in my practice of criminal law. And many of the criminals, and their families, if you know what I mean, that I have put away over the years have, I suspect, my exact shoe size in their records in order to fit me with a new pair of cement overshoes!

Ah, what is this? Some beautiful women are asking for our autographs. Si, si, of course, I cannot deny a beautiful woman anything she asks! Just ask my devoted wife or my beautiful mistress! They will both tell you how much I love women! "Ciao bella," I bid them as we are forced to move on. Mr. Broadbent is glaring that intense, dark stare of his. I've seen him use it on the defendant. But no matter, he should be nicer to these spectators, that too is part of our job in this Case. Santa Madre! There are signs and placards everywhere. Some that say "Wanted: Hot Music Teacher" are obviously for the defendant. But those who say, "This Ghost is Toast" must think that he is guilty.

There is a bit of a carnival atmosphere here in the hallway. I stop one more time before we enter the courtroom at one of the vendors' tables in the hallway, drawn by the delicious smell of freshly brewed cappuccino. Si, grazia, I think I will have one of those lovely little cakes with the pink icing too. Oooo, don't tell my sainted wife. She would say it was bad for my health, but it is only because she loves me and wants to keep me around for a long time.

We take our seats in the courtroom at the table reserved for us, and I see that the defense team and the defendant have already arrived. If it were not for my two adoring women back home in Roma, I swear I would be tempted to stay right here in America. I have never seen so many beautiful women - and three of them sitting right across the aisle at the defense table! They all have their individual charms and beauty, but I have to admit that I am partial to Counselor Sebbied, and unless I'm sorely mistaken, she looks like she could have some Italian fire and passion in her lineage as well. Ah, but I am forced to cease my admiration of that delightful opponent as the bailiff announces the entrance of our esteemed judge, and court has been called into session.

"Due to the extremely unusual circumstances of this trial," Madame Judge begins, "I am waiving normal protocol and court procedure in the questioning of M. Giles Andre and M. Richard Firmin. As they owned and operated the Opera Populaire together, and we have no way of discerning the division of responsibilities between them, so in the interest of expediency they will be questioned simultaneously. I have discussed the situation with both teams of attorneys, and they have agreed to this arrangement. Bailiff, please call in the witnesses," then looking down at me with her lovely, gracious expression, the Judge directs, "Signor Luzano, if you are ready."

I stand and watch as Bailiff Henderson leads M. Andre and M. Firmin to the witness stand where an extra chair has been placed to accommodate the additional witness.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" he asks them.

Firmin, "I do."  
Andre, "We do."  
Firmin, "He does."  
Andre, "I do."

"That will be sufficient, gentlemen," Madame Judge interrupts with a shake of her head. "Please begin S. Luzano."

"M. Firmin, please tell us what your responsibilities were at the Opera Populaire."

Firmin draws himself up proudly as he answers, "I was the business manager and handled the financial side of things."

"I see. And you M. Andre, exactly what was your role at the theater?"

"I was the artistic director..."

Before he can get any further, I hear a strangled cry from the defendant. I glance over my shoulder in time to see Ms. Counselor place a restraining hand on M. Phantom's arm.

"I chose which operas were to be performed, and I handled the actors and the girls." Andre appears not to have noticed the defendant's reaction and smugly continues his answer with a twirl of his moustache. I hear titters from the spectators.

"And tell me each of you, exactly when did you meet M. Phantom, the alleged Opera Ghost?" I ask.

"Objection!" I hear behind me as the gorgeous, tall Ms. Brown leaps to her feet. "Your Honor, referring to M. Phantom as the "Opera Ghost" is nothing short of prejudicial. It has not been proven that defendant is the Opera Ghost, or that he has done or is connected with all of the actions laid at the O.G.'s doorstep. The prosecution's use of that term, even connected with the qualifying word "alleged," is an attempt to vilify him and connect him with all those alleged charges!"

The Judge looks down at me and with a stern voice, directs, "Objection sustained. Signor Luzano, neither you, nor any of the prosecutors are to use that name in reference to the defendant. It has not been proven that he is the Opera Ghost, or which of the actions supposedly committed by that person were actually done by the defendant."

"Of course, Your Honor," I give the honorable Judge my sincerest smile, and rephrase my question. "Could you tell the court each of you, exactly when did you meet M. Phantom?"

"On our very first day," begins Firmin.

"M. LeFevre -- not even gone yet," interjects Andre.

"Huge backdrop crashed to the ground," continues Firmin.

"Almost killing Signora Giudicelli," again Andre.

"Quite horrifying actually," finishes Firmin.

Neither one pauses to draw a breath during this excited volley, but they hadn't actually answered the question, so I try again. "Yes, but when did you actually MEET M. Phantom?"

This time Andre begins, "Oh noooo..."

From Firmin, "We didn't SEE him actually..."

Andre, "But M. Buquet said it was a ghost..."

Firmin, "And then Mme. Giry gave us this note..."

"So let me see if I understand this correctly," I interrupt. "Neither of you gentlemen actually saw the defendant at that time. Is this correct?"

"Yes," they answer in stereo.

"We will return to your identification of the defendant later. Now, you mentioned a note. Is this the note you received that day, M. Firmin?" I hold up the note for Firmin's perusal, which had been placed in evidence by the prosecution.

"Mme. Giry received this first note for us. SHE'S the one who said it was from the Opera Ghost." Firmin quickly corrects me. "I personally thought they were all obsessed!"

"Will you please tell the jury what is in the note?" I instruct.

Firmin takes the note from me but recites as if from memory, "He welcomed us to HIS opera house. Of all the nerve! He commanded that Box 5 be kept empty for HIS use, and he demanded his salary."

"And how much did the Opera Ghost demand as a salary?" I inquire.

"TWENTY THOUSAND FRANCS A MONTH!" Firmin sputters still outraged at the demand.

"So M. Firmin, when you and M. Andre purchased the Opera Populaire had you been told that M. Phantom was an employee or a consultant of some kind and that he was to be paid a monthly salary?" I continue my line of questioning.

"No, of course not. M. LeFevre said nothing about that and this Opera Ghost was not listed in any of the employment records. We should have been suspicious when LeFevre suddenly retired to Australia though." Firmin sneers.

"And do I need ask whether you acquiesced to either M. Phantom's salary demands or to his demands for a box at the opera?" I question him further.

"No, of course not," from Firmin,

and "No, absolutely not," from Andre.

"We were not giving in to his extortion and his lunatic demands!" they shout in unison.

"And besides," continues Firmin, "I had just promised Box 5 for the season at a tidy sum to our new patron, the Vicomte, Viscount—whatever—de Chagny."

"I see," I say with interest at the new player's introduction. "What happened next at your opera house?"

"More notes..."

"Telling us how to run his theater..."

"And threatening us if we didn't comply!"

Again the ping-pong volley of answers. I hold up more of the black edged notes for all to see. "Your Honor, I hereby submit these notes as Exhibits to the court. Each one is signed by the Opera Ghost."

"So entered. Please continue, Signor Luzano," the Judge responds.

I pounce on the word "threatening" and ask, "You said he threatened you. Can you tell us what happened? Did he make good on that threat?" I notice that as we proceed with the questioning they are both becoming a little paler and a little more subdued. Andre and Firmin also shoot sideways, anxious glances at the defendant when they think I am not looking.

Andre nervously plays with the ends of his mustache and begins to explain, "First he interrupted the production of Il Muto, angry because Box 5 was not vacant. After which I had the ballet moved forward in the program to fill the time while we waited for Mlle. Daae to change her costume to take Signora Giudicelli's place. And right in the middle of girl's bleating and sheep dipping and twirling, err, I mean girl's dancing and sheep bleating, down drops Joseph Buquet, swinging at the end of a noose. Dead!" Andre's voice has risen an octave in pitch at the memory.

The spectators and even a few members of the jury gasp in shock. The defendant is glowering at the witnesses, and I can see his bellisima attorney clutching his arm to pull him back down into his chair. Much murmuring and speculation can be heard before the judge brings her gavel down to silence the courtroom.

I have to ask the next question, "Did you actually see M. Phantom hang M. Buquet?"

"Uh, umm...

"Errrrr...

"I mean...

And then in unison, "No, we didn't actually SEE him!"

"But the dancers we questioned saw M. Phantom chasing M. Buquet around the flies above them that night. No one else could have done it. After all, he DID threaten a disaster beyond our imaginations if we didn't agree to his demands." Andre finishes.

"OBJECTION!" The tall, and clearly very energetic Ms. Brown calls out in chilling vehemence. "Your Honor, this is second-hand hearsay from "dancers" who are not present here and able to be cross examined on a charge which is of the utmost seriousness…one of the charges of murder alleged against our client!"

"I do sustain this objection, Signor Luzano," the Judge says firmly as she peers down at me, "The previous hearsay statement which I allowed only related to a minor civil charge. This hearsay relates to a felony charge and has serious consequences. This type of hearsay will not be allowed regarding such issues."

"I understand, Your Honor," I respond politely, but despite the objection being sustained, the jury will ponder on the guilt implicit in such a threat. I turn behind me to retrieve a box from the prosecution table. Opening the box I take out its contents to show to the witnesses.

"M. Firmin, M. Andre, have you seen this costume before?" I ask as I hold up what has been called the Red Death costume.

They both gasp, their eyes wide with fear and remembrance as if I'm holding out a python.

"Yyyyyes, ..."

"Of ccccourse..."

"HE wore it!" They blurt out in unison, pointing at the defendant, even before I ask the question.

"Your Honor, the prosecution submits as an Exhibit the declaration from the forensic laboratory which verifies that the DNA evidence found on this costume was an identical match to M. Phantom."

"So granted. Please continue." intones the Judge.

Andre and Firmin look at each other, take a collective breath, and then let out a shaky laugh. Firmin explains, "Well actually, it WAS pretty frightening at the time, but in hindsight it certainly wasn't the worst that happened to us at the Opera Populaire. But is WAS the first time that we had seen him in person. He brought us his new opera to perform, threatened us all, scared poor Mlle. Daae by ripping her necklace off and then he disappeared in a flash of light and smoke. That's all," he says absolutely deadpan.

"Pretty tame, really," Andre adds.

This surprises me. Perhaps they are suffering after effects from the time travel. I pursue the subject of the new opera, knowing as I do that it leads to the death and destruction that was to follow. "You said he brought you a new opera. M. Andre, what made you decide to agree to his demand to perform it?"

Andre brightens visibly at being asked a question to which he knows the answer. "Oh it wasn't our idea to perform it at all. It was the Vicomte, Viscount—whatever—de Chagny's idea! The Vicomte explained that if we performed it with Mlle. Daae in the lead..."

Here Firmin interrupts, "The phantom would be certain to attend..."

Andre picks it up, "We would make sure the doors were locked and the police were there..."

I wince now, I sense what is coming. They do not disappoint as they exclaim in unison, "AND HIS REIGN WOULD END!"

I hear the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor of the courtroom, and turn to see M. Phantom pushing back from the defense table, his anger barely contained. I think M. Phantom would make a good Italian! He has so much emotion, so much passion! Ms. Counselor is now using_ both _hands to hold him down in his chair! I shake my head! Mama mia! What a courageous woman! The Judge bangs down her gavel before the courtroom can erupt totally out of control. I think the judge got a little more than she bargained for when she allowed Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum to testify at the same time.

"Let us move forward shall we to the night of the performance of M. Phantom's opera." I begin the questioning. "Tell the court exactly what happened. Err, just one of you please." They look at each other for a moment and somehow, telepathically decide that it should be Andre who tells the story.

"Everything had gone according to our plan. We had a full house, the doors were barred so that the Phantom could not escape us, and we had plenty of armed gendarmes ready to capture him as soon as he showed his... oh, sorry, never mind. I meant, as soon as we discovered where he was hiding," Andre finishes lamely after he realizes his near faux pas.

"Anyway," Andre continues, "The opera was very strange, very different and pretty, umm...suggestive. But the audience began to appreciate it, and we were ready, just waiting for the Phantom to make his appearance. We got to a particular song in the opera, 'The Point of No Return'," here Andre stops as a light seems to go on in his head. He turns to Firmin and asks, "I say Firmin, do you think he named it that _intentionally_?"

Snickers and guffaws greet that remark, and while I can't be sure, I swear I hear a low, sardonic chuckle emanating from the defense table behind me.

Slightly offended, Andre proceeds with his narration, "Mlle. Daae and her partner - I tell you we didn't know anything untoward had happened at that point, but I suspect the Vicomte did. He was looking quite ill and very pale, as I remember it now. Mlle. Daae and her partner ascended stairways on opposite ends of the stage as they sang their duet. There was a brief moment of silence as they looked at each other when their song ended on the bridge, and then all of a sudden Mlle. Daae ripped her partner's mask off. Well, I can tell you, it most certainly was NOT S. Piangi. No sir. It was that man right there, sitting at that table, and his face was the most..."

A sharp bang of the judge's gavel startles us all. "That will be enough, sir! You have identified the defendant. Continue your questioning, Counselor." demands the judge. I note that she has a most peculiar, intense expression on her face as she says this.

"Please M. Andre, continue. What happened next," I ask. The courtroom is now so silent that you could have heard a pin drop waiting for the rest of Andre's tale.

"The Phantom, for that's who Mlle. Daae's partner turned out to be, took out a knife and severed the rope which held the chandelier. Firmin and I watched in horror as he and Mlle. Daae dropped through a trap door to some unknown subterranean level. Before our minds had time to register their escape, the chandelier crashed to the floor, possibly killing and injuring I don't know how many innocent people and setting the whole place on fire!"

The silence in the courtroom is deathlike as Firmin picks up the narration at that point. Even M. Phantom is sitting motionless in his chair.

"It was chaos, pandemonium...," he says sadly as he recounts the events of that night. "People were trampled in their rush to escape the fire. It was awful, so tragic." He and Andre look at each other sadly, "We were ruined!" they exclaim in unison.

"What did you do then gentlemen? Did you pursue M. Phantom?" I ask them.

"Andre went with the gendarmes and the crowd to look for the Phantom. Mme. Giry's daughter, Meg seemed to know a way down to the cellars." Firmin explains. "I went in the other direction to help the gendarmes get as many people out safely as we could."

I turn my attention now to M. Andre who has become very morose, although whether at the memory of this great tragedy or simply recalling their financial loss I can't be sure. "M. Andre, please tell the court what you found when you went in search of M. Phantom."

"Oooooooo," he moans sorrowfully as he begins. "We had just entered the backstage area on our way to the corridors that would lead to the downward passages, when we found the body of S. Piangi. Quite dead. And the same type of rope was found on the body as had been used to hang M. Buquet. We could only surmise that he had been murdered just as M. Buquet had been."

"Objection, Your Honor," rings clearly through the courtroom from Counselor Brown. "Speculation on the part of the witness."

"Sustained," declares Madame Judge. "The jury will disregard the witness' last remarks."

Of course I had known that this was coming as soon as I heard M. Andre's statement regarding the murder weapon. However, the jury has now heard this and what happens when one is told NOT to think of something, eh? Why that is the only thing that he can think about!

"Well," continues M. Andre petulantly at having his statement struck from the record, "It would certainly explain how M. Phantom was able to take S. Piangi's place in the opera!"

"OBJECTION! _Prejudicial and speculative_!" Ms. Brown virtually yells from her place at the defense table.

Looking at the jury, the Judge directs, "The objection is sustained. You are also directed to discount entirely this last comment."

I look at my witnesses with a wary eye, wondering what they will say next to alienate the Judge. "Now, would you please tell us what you found when you finally reached the cellars?"

"Nothing! No one. Gone, they were all gone..." M. Andre seems very far away, lost in the memory of that night.

"Are you saying that you did not see the defendant, M. Phantom or Mlle. Daae and her finance, the Vicomte, who had followed them?" I ask in attempt to clarify for the jury.

"That is correct. That is what I am telling you. They were all gone. Vanished. We never saw any of them again after that night. Not even the Vicomte! We lost our very wealthy patron!" Andre concludes.

"Thank you M. Andre. Would you please describe the cellars for us then?" I ask. At this question, both he and Firmin suddenly seem to snap out of their melancholy.

"Why, it was amazing, simply amazing!" Andre exclaims. "He lived better than we did. Those rooms were a veritable palace. Tapestries, paintings, furniture, a pipe organ and other musical instruments, even golden candelabras. Extraordinary, I tell you, extraordinary! All sorts of scenery, backdrops, props and curtains must have been purloined for use in the home of M. Phantom! And the most astounding part is that all of that stuff probably belonged to US! Firmin and I! We had bought and paid for the Opera Populaire lock, stock and barrel with our earnings from selling scrap metal." This last was uttered with a sharp look at M. Firmin as if daring him to contradict it.

And contradict it he did. "Junk, Andre, we made our money selling junk." Firmin says setting the record straight. "And junk is all that is left now of the Opera Populaire." At that both he and Andre remove large silk squares from their breast pockets, and wipe away the crocodile tears streaming down their cheeks.

My Italian heart is touched for these two kind, if naive, gentlemen who have lost everything in this tragedy. I give them a moment to compose themselves, and then I inform Madame Judge that I have no further questions.

"We will take an hour and a half recess for lunch, and when court resumes this afternoon, we will hear the defense's cross examination of M. Andre and M. Firmin," the Judge declares before bringing down her gavel to excuse us all.

I return to the prosecution's table and gather up my beautiful Italian leather brief case. As I follow my fellow prosecutors out of the courtroom, this time it is my eye that is caught by the defendant's forbidding, hostile glare. Ah yes, I sigh to myself. He thinks I am his enemy. And so I might be if my evidence convicts him of his crimes. But I only look into his eyes with open wonder, trying to discern the truth of this man's soul. Are you a crazed killer, I ask silently as our eyes meet, an insane criminal? Or, as I am beginning to suspect, are you a tortured genius, motivated by love and passion, eh? This I can understand, for I too have a musician's heart and soul.

Thank you! To our trusty, diligent and Oh! So! wonderful editor, Phanna!  
Phanfan wrote the defense objections and rulings by Madame Judge.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 Cross-examination of Firmin and Andre, by Phanfan44 and Phangirl**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__August 5, 2005 _

_Erik's POV:_

I feel a dull ache throbbing in my head as court recesses for lunch, and my arm is a bit tender from where Laura kept a death-grip on it as the two fools Firmin and Andre testified against me. Still I can't help but smile as I think of Firmin's hair, now piled so high on his head that it resembles La Carlotta's powdered wig in _Il Muto_, and Andre's whitening hair sticks every which way like he has been frightened by a ghost! Somehow it is amusing to know my old adversaries haven't changed since our last encounter.

Horatio, who has become like my shadow, escorts my attorneys and me to the room down the corridor off the front of the courtroom. Well, except for Counselor Phenelope Brown—or Phen as she insists on being called. I haven't quite managed to bring myself to call her that, for I once lived on the banks of an underground lake and the word "Phen" makes me think of fish, frogs, and snakes…a mental association I decided was best to keep to myself!

Horatio, who seems to have no compunction about fish, frogs and snakes looks around our assembled group and frowns, "Where is Phen?"

"Off powdering her nose, I suspect" Counselor Sebbied says with her usual saucy smile.

I notice a bit of color creeps into Horatio's face as he says, "Oh! Well, she had better get back here soon, or I'll send someone to haul her back whether she wants to come or not!"

Neither Laura nor Counselor Sebbied reply to this, but I am tempted to. For reasons that Horatio has chosen not to reveal to either Laura or me, after the first day of the trial our number of bodyguards doubled. Even now a man named Jeremy is standing guard outside the door, and Horatio himself has begun accompanying us to lunch here in this small room. And his comment just now confirms what I was beginning to suspect, that there are other security people on duty throughout the courthouse as well. It is strange to think of all of this being done for my benefit. There are still things about the Program's decision to intervene in my life that remain a mystery to me.

While Horatio waits for Counselor Brown to arrive, I stand watching my lunch cook in a wondrous oven that Horatio calls a "microwave." How nice it would have been to have one of these and a refrigerator back in my day! Then things like that occasion when several customers became ill from eating tainted fish in the Opera Populaire's Café would never have happened. Some of those silly ballet girls blamed me for poisoning the fish. I am almost surprised that was not added to the list of all of the other outrageous things the prosecution has accused me of committing. Of course, the men who worked at the opera always blamed me whenever one of them tripped over something, dropped or broke a prop or light and even if they were injured due to their own foolish actions! According to them, nothing untoward could happen in the opera house unless I had a gloved hand in the middle of it. But, of course, I was a handy scapegoat, I reflect with bitter recognition of the reality of that situation…after all, I could not defend myself…then.

Just as the timer on the oven chimes, Counselor Brown rushes through the door, lugging her briefcase along, and puts it down on the table with a decisive clatter. "You wouldn't believe the commotion in the hall!" She exclaims. "I practically had to fight my way through a mob of reporters on my way to the bathroom! All of them wanted to know my opinion of Andre and Firmin's testimony! Ha! As if I were going to tell them my cross-examination strategy! The fools! One of them even wanted to know what my favorite brand of cereal is! Oh, man, I need a Starbucks! Excuse me, please Erik," she says as she hands me my plate from the microwave and takes over the machine for herself, "I have to make some coffee before something unpleasant happens."

Taking my plate and sitting down next to Laura, I watch Ms. Brown in amazement as I begin absent-mindedly cutting the chicken cordon bleu on my plate. I am forcing myself to eat, but I have very little appetite after hearing this morning's testimony. She opens a cabinet above the coffeemaker which I find to be another useful invention, and rifles through the contents before shutting the doors with a clatter. Usually she is such a business-like lady, that her behavior now is quite puzzling to me. Looking quite distraught, she turns around and faces all of us. "Ok, who used up all the Starbucks?"

She takes her time looking at each of us in turn until she narrows her gaze upon Horatio. "Detective McCool," she snaps with an accusatory glint in her gray eyes. "Did you bring more? You know the rule: You empty it, you refill it."

"And what led you to this conclusion, Counselor Brown?" He says with perfectly composed features.

"You just look guilty," She replies in all seriousness. "Something in your eyes. That mischievous sparkle, I suppose."

"Well, I just hope the jury isn't so quick to pronounce judgment," Ms. Counselor speaks up in Horatio's defense with that soothing laugh of hers.

Counselor Brown doesn't answer, but instead starts scouring the cupboards again. "No worries, Phen," Horatio says with an attempt at a reassuring shrug. "I'll buy you some of that swill from the vending machine in the hall."

"Ugg!" Counselor Sebbied groans. "You would think that in Seattle of all places the courthouse coffee would at least be fit to ingest! But I think that brew is actually something cooked up by Macbeth's witches. Maybe it's even radioactive."

Ms. Brown is finally forced to give up her excavation into the cabinets and instead retrieves a salad and something labeled "Diet Cherry Coke" from the refrigerator and sits down at the table across from me. However, instead of eating, she opens her briefcase and pulls out several files.

"Hey, why don't you eat your lunch first?" Horatio asks, and she glares at him, clearly in no mood for interruptions as she looks over the files.

Horatio ignores the stare and bravely plunges ahead. "The way you were digging around for coffee tells me that you were up late last night, and knowing your reputation as I do, I know you weren't watching Letterman all that time. Taking just a few minutes time out to eat your lunch properly won't derail the case. Don't you agree, Erik?"

I look up at Horatio and see the grin on his face and shake my head to show that I won't be pulled into this argument.

For an instant, Counselor Brown looks as if she is going to make some sharp-tongued retort, but instead she takes a deep breath and relaxes her features. She is almost smiling as she says, "Well, since you do know my reputation, you must also know that I do not often lose in the courtroom, Detective McCool. And part of that reason is because I take time to do a thorough review just before I do my cross-exam. Since your security people insist that all of us have lunch here instead of a more private place, I have no choice but to review here. If that bothers you, then I am sorry, but I will eat my lunch whenever I please…_Sir_."

"Be my guest…_Ma'am_," Horatio answers. "While you're at it, why don't you tell us about your little trip to Paris? What you found there is part of your argument isn't it? I'm sure Erik would like to know how the notes and the Red Death costume got here."

I am so surprised by Horatio's statement, that I swallow the bite in my mouth without chewing it. When I find my voice, I say, "Yes, I was quite taken aback when those items were displayed here. How were they obtained from the opera?"

"I brought them myself," Ms. Brown answers with a satisfied air. "Beautiful place you had back there, by the way. I loved the statues especially."

"You actually went back to 1870's France?" Ms. Sebbied gasps, quite amazed.

"Yes, Laura chose me for that little job!" Ms. Brown says calmly, nodding at Laura, as if she is to explain.

"Well," Laura says, turning to look directly into my eyes, "when the three new attorneys took over the prosecution case, they immediately filed a motion for production of the costume and the notes. We did not have those objects, since, of course, they were back…in France and in the 19th century."

"Why did you go and get them?" I ask, still not understanding why anyone was sent back for such things.

Laura responds with her usual detailed and logical explanation. "Erik, under our laws, one side can file a motion to require the other side to produce items important to the case. In this situation, of course, we didn't have them, but the defense did have an ability to obtain them through use of time travel. After all, The Program is the only organization with that technology, so the Judge granted the order that The Program had to go back and obtain them. However, I considered this to be an opportunity for us as well. Our many conversations, Erik, had given me information about your life and I, too, could use some evidence that was only available from the past. I had a list of documents that I hoped could be found in the Opera Populaire's office when the team went back. And, Phen seemed the perfect person, with her fluency in French and her knowledge of the law."

"So, that is why I flew to Paris last week for several days," Phen now continues this fascinating story, "slogging through libraries for information about the history of the opera house which had been demolished by a bomb in World War II."

"World War TWO?" I think to myself. "There have been two world wars since my time, since 1871?" I reflect on how I have been kept from reading any books on history since my arrival in this modern world. So…world wars. I knew The Program was trying to change things that happened…to change serious mistakes that had been made. This slip by Ms. Brown begins to tell me some of the horrific realities. Somehow I will have to find a way to get my hands on history books. I resolve to find out more about what has happened in these last 134 years.

"I also learned that the French troops, which M. Phantom had unfortunately met up with, had vacated three months later," Ms. Brown is enthusiastically continuing her story, "…and so we chose a date shortly after that as our target date to obtain the desired articles. The same SEAL team that busted Erik out of the Communard's jail went back to get these things, and at the dogged insistence of Laura, they took me along as well."

"Somehow it's hard to picture you slogging around through cellars and underground swamps," Counselor Sebbied says, wrinkling her nose as if she could actually smell the swamp. I shake my head as I think to myself that she could not even imagine what it is really like to live in a cold cavern, filled with murky water and covered in clammy, reeking moss.

"I didn't actually do much slogging," Counselor Brown continues. "Though if I had needed to slog, I would have slogged."

"But wasn't it dangerous?" I ask. "The Commune…?"

"Was already over," she says. "We entered the city just after the government regained control. And even if there had been trouble, I had three burly SEALs to protect me." I notice looks pass between Ms. Brown and Horatio with that comment.

I look steadily at her now, trying to read her face to determine what she meant, and find to my amazement that I am unable to. Her face is as blank as my white mask as she confidently meets my gaze. "Why did they send you, Ms. Brown, if I may ask?"

"Of course you can," she answers. "I'm an outdoor person at heart underneath all this froufrou…" She indicates her black tailored suit with a dismissive wave of her hand. "So, slogging through swamps, as my co-counsel put it, doesn't bother me one bit. Plus I had the good fortune to be admitted into the Sorbonne for a year of study back in my college days. I am fluent in French and that was needed so I could read the documents and determine which ones fit Laura's lengthy list!

"Very interesting," Horatio interjects. "And what condition was the opera house in?"

She shakes her head as if to clear her mind. "It was sad, so much unnecessary destruction by the Communards. They even held executions in the fifth cellar. One entire wall of the cavern was riddled with bullets. And upstairs in the dressing rooms, all of the furniture and costumes had either been stolen or demolished just for the fun of it, by either the Prussians or the Communards. It was clear that both of them had been there…"

She continues on with her description of what she saw there, but I only half-listen…and I do not eat…I cannot eat. My beautiful theater destroyed…it makes me sick at heart to think of it when in my time period—in terms of my life only a year ago—it had been the pride of Paris. Back when Monsieur LeFevre listened to me, still paid me for the work I did, and the opera company, with the exception of Carlotta, was at its peak. And I was carefully training Christine to become the next bright star of the Opera Populaire. All I wanted, all I had ever wanted was to give her the recognition she deserved, the wealth she deserved…and the love she deserved.

But the end of all that had been accomplished at the Opera occurred when the French and Prussians went to war during the summer of 1870. When the Emperor was defeated in September and the new government, the Third Republic, decided to continue the war, our best male singers and dancers went off to fight. Then, or course, Paris was under siege and attack, so the rest of us were trapped like rats in a hole. Monsieur LeFevre sold the Opera Populaire to the junk dealers and departed for Australia to remove his family from the chaotic dangers of French life.

But somehow it seemed that disaster would not touch us at the Opera Populaire. We seemed to be an oasis of peace in the midst of despair. There were still wealthy patrons—like Raoul, I had to grudgingly admit—who insured that we did not starve or discontinue the productions. Perhaps the wealthy and nobility still needed their diversions. Although I no longer received my salary, I took money from my stashed savings and did what I could. I would venture on occasion out of the safe confines of the opera on some nights and leave food and money throughout the city for the poorest of the poor. But as the weeks stretched on and the situation more dangerous, I had to think of protecting Christine. I had to find a way for us to escape before the Prussians finally came in the city gates and killed us all. That was always a pressing fear behind my sometimes frantic behavior. All I wanted was to care for her and to love her honorably.

I also suspected Raoul's intentions toward her. Many times I had seen promising young ballerinas ruined by wealthy men who used them, luring them with promises of money and proposals of marriage that never came true, and then leaving them in disgrace. I could not allow such a thing to happen to my cherished Christine. I simply could not. By the time of the Don Juan Triumphant performance, I was determined to do whatever it took to win her over so we could escape together…even if I had to sacrifice my own home in the process. But the fire obviously was not the only thing to befall the Opera Populaire. It was only the beginning of its desecration. The Prussian occupation and the Communard's revolt over the summer of 1871 saw to the rest…

"Erik?" Laura's gentle voice brings me out of my sad reverie, and I read the concern in her eyes. As I look up at her, I realize that there are tears in my own eyes. She places a hand on my arm, only this time she is not restraining me …she is trying to comfort me.

But there is no comfort as I hear Ms. Brown say, "Here are the photos I took of the theater and stage area! Amazingly enough, it was hardly touched by the invading soldiers and was still in the same condition it was in the night it caught fire…."

Her voice sounds oddly excited, and I turn my head away, suddenly angry with her for feeling that way about the kind of devastation that happened there. Andre and Firmin said that several people were killed in that fire, and yet Ms. Brown sounds as if she has just found a hidden treasure. I can bear to hear no more of this, and I impatiently rise from my chair, wanting out…ready to go back to the courtroom.

"Erik, wait…" Laura starts to say, but just then Jeremy interrupts her as he opens the door.

"Time to go back to court," he reports.

I sigh in relief as everyone gathers their things together, and I am first to the door. I do not look back at anyone as I wait for them, silently, resigned, for whatever is to come next. And as I wait, one thought shrieks in my mind,

_"I never wanted it to happen that way, but I'm the one responsible after all…I really am guilty…"_

_Phen's POV:_

I hold my files with their antiquated documents, deep in thought and remembering what it took to bring them here to this modern trial. Around me the sounds of the courtroom filling up again after the lunch recess intrude, and I can't help smiling to myself and thinking, "I'm going to enjoy this!"

As the court is called to order, the Judge strides in with her robe flowing behind her and takes her lofty bench, gazing over the courtroom with the same anticipation we all feel. Looking down at me, she directs, "Ms. Brown, I believe you are the defense counsel who will be doing this cross-examination. Proceed."

I pick up my notes, stand and walk around behind M. Phantom with confident strides. As I approach the two witnesses, they look me over from head to foot, probably not sure of what to make of a tall woman wearing a black pant suit. I am definitely all business, but they clearly want to ogle me. I will get rid of those notions ASAP!

"Monsieurs Andre and Firmin, you testified that M. Phantom wore the Red Death costume at the Bal Masque and frightened you?" I begin with clipped tones.

The two men look at each other, and nodding vehemently, answer at the same time. "Yes!" Then M. Andre adds, "He was waving his sword at us!"

"I see. Did he say anything to you at that time?"

"Yes, that the 'manager's place is in the office, not the arts'!" M. Firmin responds indignantly.

"That is a very interesting statement. What did you understand him to mean by that?" I press.

"Well what would an insane man mean, anyway?" Andre pipes up.

The Judge leans forward and with a strict edge to her voice, says, "There will be no name calling in this courtroom, Gentlemen! The Court directs you to answer the question as posed!"

Andre looks uncomfortably up at the Judge, then back at Firmin who is looking decidedly nervous.

"Well, we felt it meant we, as managers, should manage the finances and stay out of the artistic side of the opera house," he finally volunteers.

"So, you understood that he meant you should leave the artistic side to those trained in the arts?" I nail him to the chair with a single look.

"Ummmm, yes!" Andre answers with a disgruntled tone.

"Now M. Phantom would know about such things, would he not? After all, he lived in the Opera Populaire and watched performances there for 25 years. And, he was a master musician on both the violin and organ. _He _was a talented artist, designer and sculptor. He would be very knowledgeable about the artistic side of the opera house, would he not?"

"Ummmmm, yes, he…uh…probably would," Firmin finally admits.

"Didn't you receive a letter requesting that you pay his salary of 20,000 francs per month?" I ask pointedly.

"Yes, we got a letter demanding 20,000 francs per month," Firmin responds.

"But it requested that amount as SALARY, is that not so?" I push this slippery pair even further into the corner.

"Well…" Firmin looks down at Andre who gives him a nod, "yes, it did say for his salary."

"Was M. Phantom an employee who had the right to expect payment of a salary?" I press.

"No! Of course not!" Firmin spits out emphatically.

I walk over to the defense table and remove a document from one of the files, looking down into the face of M. Phantom who has a distinct glimmer of indignation in his eyes. Walking over to the witnesses, I hold up the legal-sized parchment so they can both see it.

"Have you ever seen this document before, gentlemen?" I ask with a cutting edge in my voice.

Their eyes answer the question before their wits can engage to get any words out of their mouths. They obviously recognize the document and are shocked to see it.

"Umm…yes…we have seen this before." Andre answers sheepishly.

"And, what is it exactly?" I ask, intentionally moving closer to the witnesses and glowering as if daring them to lie.

"A contract for services between M. Phantom and the previous owner, Monsieur LeFevre," Firmin coughs as he finally gets the words out.

"In fact this is a FIVE year contract, isn't it?" I emphasize "five" forcefully, while looking back at the jury to see that my point is taken.

"Yes, um, it is," Firmin stutters and runs a finger between his collar and neck, while Andre takes out his polka dot handkerchief to mop his brow.

"And exactly what five years did this cover?" I turn back to the witnesses and lean even closer.

Andre and Firmin exchange nervous glances, undoubtedly loathe to answer this question. "1867 to 1872," Firmin finally says in a near whisper.

"Please speak loudly enough for the jury to hear you," I say in a commanding tone.

I sense some uncomfortable movement at the prosecution table behind me, as if one of my opponents is about to lodge an objection. But, none comes and Firmin reluctantly repeats his answer loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"And what services were M. Phantom to provide for this salary?" I ask next.

"For services of designing sets, costumes, posters—he designed and drew the Hannibal poster—and also for composing musical scores for the performances," Firmin responds in a monotone.

"And what was the salary specified in this contract that M. Phantom was to receive for these services?"

"20,000 francs per month," Andre spits out.

"The contract also provides that M. Phantom shall have the sole use of Box 5 so that he can observe both the rehearsals and the performances in order to fulfill his obligations, is that not correct?" I ask with my eyebrows raised in disbelief that they had not previously admitted this.

"Uh…that is what we understand that he had done BEFORE we became the managers and owners!" Firmin replies.

"The contract also gives M. Phantom the right to be in any part of the opera house to fulfill his duties, and gives him the right to occupy the 5th level as his residence, is that also true?"

"Yes. Um….unfortunately, it is…" Andre frowns.

Turning to the Judge, I request, "I would like to submit this into evidence. It has the original seal as was the custom for contracts of this period and the witnesses just verified it authenticity."

The Judge nods her head, "Granted."

Walking back to the witnesses, I challenge, "Did you gentlemen ever pay M. Phantom any salary under this contract?"

"No…that contract was with the previous manager and owner, not with us!" Andre said with certainty.

"So, you were not obligated to fulfill the contracts already in existence at the Opera Populaire when you took it over?" I ask incredulously.

"No! Of course not! Well…not all of them!" Firmin says with a shake of his head.

I walk back to the defense table and open another file. M. Phantom is watching me intently. I return to the witnesses and hold another lengthy parchment document up for their perusal.

"Is this document familiar to you gentlemen?"

"Why yes…it is the purchase agreement for the Opera Populaire," Firmin says off-handedly.

"Here, in Clause 8, it reads 'Monsieurs Firmin and Andre hereby agree to assume all contracts, debts and liabilities of the Opera Populaire and hold Monsieur Lefevre harmless.' So, you agreed to fulfill all previous contracts and debts of the prior management, is that correct?"

Firmin and Andre exchange long looks of disgust. I wonder if they are trying to place blame for this on each other. "Yes, I guess you could say that," Firmin finally says evasively.

"No, sir. I don't need to…you just did! That contract means you were obligated to pay his salary of 20,000 francs each month, correct?" I pressure relentlessly.

"Well…uh…yes, I guess we were…" Andre reluctantly admits.

"Did you ever pay M. Phantom anything under this contract?"

"Uh…no…." Firmin says as Andre rolls his eyes in a distinct, "I told you so!"

"Did you allow his continued use of Box 5?"

"No…" Firmin responds.

"Did he in fact have the right to move freely around the opera house and even to be present at the Bal Masque under this agreement?"

"Uh…yes…I believe so…." Andre admits reluctantly.

"So he was not trespassing at the Bal Masque, was he?"

"Well, I guess, not technically…." Andre is clearly still trying to weasel out, with nowhere to go.

I walk to the Court Clerk, hand her the document and request, "Your Honor, I would like to submit this contract into evidence." The Judge so orders.

Turning back to the witnesses, I continue, "You testified that when you went to the Fifth Cellar, you saw a variety of property which you described in detail as being stolen from the Opera Populaire, is that correct?"

"Yes!" the pair answer simultaneously.

"How long had you been managers and owners of the Opera Populaire at that time?"

"About seven months," Andre says with pride.

"When you took over the opera, did you find any records which listed stolen or missing property?"

"Well…no…not really," Firmin says as he looks at Andre for help. Andre shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head "no."

"So you have no proof that any of the property in M. Phantom's home belonged to the Opera Populaire?"

"Not actually….We just sort of assumed…." Andre says with regret.

"Gentlemen, you claim loss of income and property, even your very health because of the actions of M. Phantom on the night of the performance of Don Juan Triumphant. Can you explain your reason for those claims," I give my best Cheshire cat smile.

"Of course!" Andre puffs up his chest, ready to vent his outrage, "he went utterly crazy and cut the rope of the grand chandelier that hung over the main theater. It crashed down and caused a fire that shut down the opera house and caused injuries to a number of people. The stress of losing our business and all the lawsuits that resulted have been a blow to each of us…to our health! I have even developed a nervous condition!" Andre says, and suddenly a twitch appears at the side of his eye to prove the point.

"So the fire damage caused by the crash of the chandelier was extensive?" I ask.

"Yes, of course!" Firmin says with conviction, "We had to close the theater immediately, and it has not opened since!"

"Just how serious was the fire damage?"

"Very serious. The theater was mostly destroyed," Andre pipes in.

"Did anyone die from the fire?" I ask carefully leading my prey into my trap.

"Well! Yes! Of course! A number of orchestra members died from the fire and there were a lot of injuries, and many people suffered from excess inhalation of the smoke from the fire!" Firmin responds indignantly.

"Oh! What a tragedy!" I respond with dripping sympathy. "And, what were the names of these poor souls who perished?"

Andre and Firmin again exchange guilty glances, no doubt trying to figure out a believable answer to this question.

"Well…" Andre begins, pausing before finishing his thought, "we really don't know their names."

"Really? You can't name of the people in the orchestra who DIED…YOUR employees?" my voice is raising in tones of disbelief, and I add, "You aren't very caring employers to not even know the names of your poor dead workers!"

"Objection!" Mr. Broadbent shoots out of his chair with surprising agility for a man his size. "Ms. Brown is badgering the witnesses, Your Honor!"

"Objection sustained. Tone it down….a little, Ms. Brown," the Judge directs.

"So, M. Firmin and M. Andre, you must have received a number of claims or law suits for all this death and carnage, is that correct?" I ask, daring them to commit perjury.

"Of course, we did…many lawsuits!" Firmin says with a saddened look, as if he were thinking about all the francs that are slipping out of his hands.

I again walk back to the defense table and as I pick up a third file, I see the look on Erik's face. He is trying to control his feelings, but this time they are of intense remorse and raw guilt. My heart sinks as I realize even he is believing this fable. I smile to reassure him that this is not over, and notice, as I turn back toward the witnesses, that Ms. Counselor's hand is gently resting on top of his black gloved one.

As I approach the two very nervous men who are staring at the file in my hand, cowering from the thought of what I will produce this time, I plant myself within a foot of the witness box and speak in a loud, clear voice. "You state you have been sued for the deaths and injuries that occurred on the night of the chandelier crash. In this file are many lawsuits with claims for minor injuries and smoke inhalation." I then proceed to read the names of each claimant and their injury from the stack of papers in my file. "Gentlemen, are these the lawsuits you testified to?"

Andre and Firmin squirm and exchange guilty looks.

"Yes," Andre answers.  
"Yes," from Firmin.

"Are there any other lawsuits which I have not mentioned?" I demand in a non-nonsense voice.

"Well….there _might_ have been, it is hard to remember…there were so many!" Andre says dismissively.

"Can you specifically remember any which alleged a DEATH from the fire?"

"No," Andre answers.  
"No," Firmin fidgets.

Handing the pile of lawsuits to the Court Clark, I request their admission into evidence and the Judge grants my request. Broadbent is seething, but makes no objection. After all, the prosecution's witnesses acknowledged the authenticity of these documents.

"I see. And, repairs to the burned out theater will be very costly?" I continue with the two men whose frenzied eyes now looks somewhat like the proverbial deer caught in headlights.

"Absolutely!" Firmin replies, as Andre says, "Of course!"

Opening another file, I pull out the pictures that the SEAL team and I had taken of the theater. "Please look at these photos and confirm that they are accurate pictures of the crashed chandelier on the Opera Populaire stage and the fire damage."

The two men take the pictures and study each of them carefully, obviously becoming more and more agitated. "How did you obtain such clear pictures and in color? I have never seen such pictures before! How is this possible?" Firmin demands.

"We have this ability. Please answer the question. Are these accurate pictures of the damage done by the chandelier?" I repeat.

"Well…yes, they are!" Firmin answers.

"These pictures, of course, show that fire damage occurred only to the front half of the stage and the lower part of the curtains surrounding the stage. There is no other fire damage, just some smoke covering some of the chairs in the theater. Is that correct?" I clarify this for all those present in the courtroom who wonder what is happening.

"Yes," Andre anguishes.  
"Yes," Firmin fumes.

"So the trajectory of the chandelier was such that it could only hit the front area of the stage and indeed it did not touch any seat in the theater…not even the orchestra pit?"

"Well, yes, that is the case…" Firmin admits.

"Then how is it that people were killed by the fire?"

Firmin looks down at Andre with disgust, as if to say, "you and your ideas."

"I don't know…." Andre responds with clear unease.

"Were ANY people killed as a result of the fire? Any members of the audience, or of the opera's employees, or of the mob?" I have them cornered now.

"Perhaps we exaggerated….a little!" Andre says sheepishly.

"Exaggerated? As in, the fire actually killed _no one_?"

"That is probably the case," Firmin dejectedly concedes.

"And, just how was it that people were injured or suffered smoke inhalation?"

"I really can't say…" Andre shakes his head.

"Can't say, or won't say, Monsieur Andre? You admitted during your testimony that you ordered that during the performance, _'We are certain the doors are barred…'_ Did you in fact bar—intentionally lock—the side exit doors, the ones that are used by the audience and performers when they need to leave in case of an emergency…like a fire?"

There is a long silence as the two men stare each other down. I wait for them to decide who is going to confess.

Andre finally turns and says, "I ordered the doors locked."

"Is that the regular practice in French theaters? Is that in accordance with the laws?"

"Well, no, it isn't," Andre responds, "side doors are to be left unlocked during performances…in case of an emergency."

"So, these injuries suffered by the audience…were they caused by the people getting trapped at the doors, having to find a long way out of the building through the main lobby…or perhaps even getting crushed against the exit doors by others trying to leave?"

Firmin looks down and says with at least some sense of remorse, "Yes, that is what happened."

I simply respond. "No more questions." As I walk past the prosecution table I can see Broadbent's red-faced anger barely controlled by his lawyerly veneer. Signor Luzano has a more enigmatic look on his face. Do I detect admiration in his eyes…or something more?

The Judge addresses the prosecutors, "Will there be redirect, gentlemen?"

With his suave manner, Signor Luzano rises and responds in professional aplomb, "No, Madame Judge, we are quite through with these witnesses."

When I arrive back at the defense table, Monsieur Phantom is looking up at me with profound relief in his eyes, and he gives me a nod of appreciation. As I take my seat next to him, he sits with his usual dignified carriage, but his shoulders seem a little prouder—perhaps a little lighter—as some of the crushing weight of unjustified condemnation that he has been carrying begins to fall away.

As I take my seat, I overhear Monsieur Phantom lean over and whisper to Ms. Counselor with his usual self-deprecation, "I am still bereft over what has befallen my beloved opera house, nor does this exonerate what part I played in its demise. However," he adds with his subtle sardonic smile, "…at least St. Peter can now cross off some of the black marks that had been wrongfully placed next to my name on the ledger."

Thank yous to Phanna and Rappleyea...our very special editors!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This is another chapter which has a very good measure of the satire of the original version of The Case. Although Prosecutor DeVere is a new character in this version, he is presented with the same spirited style! We hope this will provide you a humorous interlude before M. Phantom's situation becomes more serious as the trial proceeds.

And, thank you for the really wonderful reviews we are receiving from some loyal and thoughtful readers! A pink cupcake for each of you! We are receiving a large number of hits...Could some of you other bashful fans please take the time to drop in and let us know your thoughts? Or have you all thudded? Please let us know?

**Chapter 9 Testimony of Meg Giry, by Phanfan44, Rappleyea and SebbieD**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__August 12, 2005 _

_Monsieur DeVere's POV:_

Je suis, um, moi d'excuser…I am Prosecutor Jacques C. DeVere, and of the three of us, I am the expert on Le Fantome. I have studied his history, as well as all the legends and myths surrounding M. Phantom. Le research, digging for facts, searching for the true story is my specialite. I am absolutely meticulous with my details. Always I have my many, many notes on little cards that I then make my assistant type onto a spreadsheet. This way, key words can be cross-referenced for referral. Attention to the details, ferreting out the smallest facts, this is what wins cases. M. Broadbent and his ruthlessness, his hostility. Non! That wins only enemies. Signor Luzano with his grand passion, his women—mais non once again! Too many distractions. This is why I have remained a bachelor—so that I can concentrate on my work. Mon Dieu! The disruptions a woman can bring to a household—trips to the shops, dinner parties, telling a man when and where he may smoke his pipe. Non, no, not for me. My household runs very smoothly with my efficient housekeeper and my excellent cook. But I digress...

Where was I? Ah oui, details. For example, today's witness—Mlle. Giry. Facts! I have managed to garner the facts from her in our interview this morning. She would want to stray off the subject, to talk about what she "thought" or her "feelings" on certain matters, but I would not let her. Non! We must get to the bottom of this case. That is what we are here to do. Unlike M. Phantom with his extortion, I work very diligently for the money I am being paid.

I straighten my bowtie and check my pocket watch as we three prosecutors enter the courtroom and take our seats. Not of course without M. Broadbent glaring round at everyone which is offset by M. Luzano smiling and flirting with all of the pretty mademoiselles. He seems to be quite popular with the ladies though. Mlle. Counselor and Mlle. Brown are deep in conversation at the defense table, but I see Mlle. Sebbied shoot him a flirtatious smile. M. Phantom is as usual staring sullenly at his black-gloved hands, which are folded in front of him on the table.

We all rise as Madame Judge enters, and she calls the court into session. She directs the bailiff to bring Mlle. Giry to the witness stand to be sworn in. As I approach Mlle. Giry to begin questioning her, I am surprised to hear a few giggles from the spectators in the courtroom. I look around but can see nothing out of the ordinary to cause such a disturbance. I look back up at the bench and see that Madame Judge is also trying to suppress a smile.

"Counselor, you, uh, you have something on the bottom of your shoe," she advises me in a low voice.

Horrified, I look down to discover that indeed I have a paper wrapper from one of the little cakes that are being sold everywhere stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I quickly pull it off only to find that it is now stuck to my fingers held there by a glob of sticky, pink icing. With some vigorous shaking I manage to dislodge it only to have it fly straight into M. Broadbent's beefy chest!

"Oh! Je suis tres desole, I am very sorry," I begin, but I am cut off by the judge banging her gavel down sharply.

"PLEASE begin your questioning of the witness, Counselor," Madame Judge requests.

"Certainement, certainly, Madame Judge," I answer quickly.

"Mlle. Giry," I begin, but am quickly interrupted by the mademoiselle herself.

"Meg, please call me Meg, Monsieur. Everyone else does," Mlle. Giry requests.

"If you prefer. Meg, please tell the court how long you've known M. Phantom." I ask to put my witness at ease. I can see her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap.

"Weeeelllll...I do not know M. Phantom very well, he is really more a friend of Maman's, but I have known OF him my entire life since I grew up in his opera house."

Hmm… I think to myself with some consternation at this answer. This is not EXACTLY what I was led to believe in our pre-trial briefing. However, I will press on.

"But you obviously have had a lot of first hand experiences with M. Phantom, have you not? Will you therefore tell the court what you actually do know for yourself, not rumors or speculation? Just the facts please, mademoiselle," I ask her.

"M. DeVere, I have given quite a lot of thought to that question since you first discussed this with me. We ballet rats grew up scaring each other horribly with stories about the Phantom of the Opera, and of course, the stagehands played all sorts of mean tricks on us to frighten us even more."

Mlle. Giry stops here, and I notice that she looks up shyly, hesitantly, at the defendant before continuing.

"But you asked me to tell only what I know for myself as absolute fact. I have thought long and hard on this and here is everything that I know for a fact," she says resolutely.

Why do I suddenly have pains in my stomach at the set look on young Mlle. Giry's face? In our meetings earlier, she had been very well versed in the defendant's various misdeeds and crimes that I listed for her. But something in the look on her face now makes me feel this is NOT what she is getting ready to testify about. I can only pray that I am wrong, and the pains in my stomach are caused by the horrible coffee served at this courthouse!

"I know that M. Phantom was very nice to Maman after Papa died. He would bring her flowers or something pretty for her hair. And, my very earliest memories…well, I can remember back when he read stories to me before Christine came to live at the opera house. Oooo, he has a wonderful voice for stories! I know that he would even give Maman money to buy me new ballet slippers when my old ones would get too worn to dance in," Mlle. Giry finishes her charming testimony with what can only be described as an apologetic look at me.

"Mlle. Giry, err, Meg, let us move ahead to the night of the opera Il Muto," I ask hesitantly, "Please tell us whether or not you recognized the voice which disrupted the performance and if so, whose voice it was."

"Well…actually….I am not sure... It was very deep and echoed so much, it is hard to tell whose it was!" Meg answers thoughtfully.

Mon Dieu! This girl will be the death of me! I can show you the notes from our pre-trial interview. She never TOLD me that when I spoke with her! What is it with these people from 1870 France? Why do their stories change when we get them on the witness stand? Is it being here in America in the 21st century? Or do they perhaps doubt that we can convict M. Phantom, and they fear his wrath when they all return to France? I am only surprised that the bailiff hasn't had to call the medics to treat M. Broadbent for apoplexy!

I take a deep shuddering breath, check my notes, and decide to skip ahead to M. Buquet's murder. I am absolutely certain that Mlle. Giry will link the defendant to that crime. Oui, see right here in my notes. I have meticulously cross-indexed three ways: "Buquet," "Murders," and "Phantom sightings."

"Now if you will, please tell the court what, if anything, you saw while you were on stage during the ballet segment of the Il Muto." I continue with a little more confidence now because she had told me there was a masked man in the flies.

"I saw two men moving about overhead in the flies. It was very distracting to me while I was dancing. I was worrying about either tripping over one of the sheep on stage or whether one of the men overhead would fall on me. What a night!" she finishes emphatically.

"Could you see who those two men were?" I press her.

"Well one man was definitely Joseph Buquet," Meg shudders as she gives his name, "and the other man wore a black cape and a full mask. Not a half mask, but a full mask. I know this because at one point just as I looked up, he was right overhead, and he stopped and looked directly at me for several seconds."

I am jubilant at Mlle. Giry's testimony concerning Buquet's murder, and I quickly proceed.

"And did you see what happened next between M. Buquet and the masked man in the flies?" I ask, hoping that perhaps she has remembered some additional piece of information that will be helpful.

"No monsieur, I did not. By then I was dancing across the stage and looking down—trying to avoid the sheep," Meg replies.

Ah well, I feel that it is enough that she has put our masked defendant in the flies with M. Buquet prior to his murder.

"Tres bien, very well Meg, let us move forward then to the Bal Masque. Were you also present and did M. Phantom make any threats?"

"Yes, I was there..." Meg answers simply.

"Please describe what you saw," I ask hoping now to undo some of the damage done by those twits Andre and Firmin.

"Oh, he brought the managers his new opera, and he, uh, um, very **pointedly** made suggestions as to its performance," Meg responds rather archly..

"Suggestions? What suggestions?" I insist on getting ALL the important facts divulged! And how did we go from _"threats"_ to _"suggestions?"_ My cross reference definitely says _"threats!"_

"Well…let me see. I can't remember his exact words, but Monsieur Phantom said something like Carlotta needed to learn how to act, and Piangi was too fat and needed to lose weight," Meg giggles here at what she perceives to have been M. Phantom's humor. "He also told Andre and Firmin to stay in their office and not have anything to do with the artistic side of the opera house! Of course the performers all knew that anyway! We all knew that M. Phantom was the musical genius behind the Opera Populaire's success," Meg finishes sweetly, apparently happy she is able to remember in such detail.

Exasperated, I try one more time to pry out something damaging about the defendant's behavior at the Bal Masque. "Meg, did M. Phantom do ANYTHING of particular note when he made his appearance at the Bal Masque?"

"As a matter of fact, he did!" Meg states emphatically.

I smile with expectant relief.

"What I remember most from that evening was how M. Phantom looked at her, at Christine." Meg eyes have taken on a very dreamy, faraway look. Suddenly that infernal coffee is again wreaking havoc with my stomach!

Meg continues, "As he walked toward Christine, and she to him, I could plainly see how much he loved her. He was clearly worshipping her with his eyes."

Before she can say another word, and I can interrupt her delightful, if wholly irrelevant, soliloquy, we hear it...

THUD, THUD, THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD, THUD

I control my overwhelming urge to dive for cover under the prosecution table, and instead turn to see what in the world those noises are. Sacre Dieu! It is the infamous "thuds" which I have been warned about. Women all over the courtroom have fainted dead away at the mere mention of M. Phantom's "worshipping eyes." HA! I bet THAT will make our Italian Romeo jealous!

Madame Judge peers down from her bench, and orders, "Monsieur DeVere, please hold your questioning for a few minutes while the EMT teams see to the women who have fainted!"

After the silly women have been resuscitated or removed from the courtroom, I resume my questioning of Mlle. Giry. Clearly her testimony regarding the Bal Masque is useless, so I move in for what I hope will be the denouement.

"Meg, s'il vous plait, if you please, I would like to go over the events of the final night, the night of the Phantom's opera, Don Juan Triumphant. Were you still on the stage when the character of Don Juan came on?"

"No, I had just exited the stage, and I was standing in the wings watching with Maman," Meg answers me precisely. So far so good I think as I again check my notes. Cross-references: "Don Juan opera," "Murders," "Piangi," "Chandelier crash," "Fire."

"Did you realize that the actor playing Don Juan was no longer Signor Piangi?"

"Oh yes, that was very obvious. The actor was much more handsome than Signor Piangi, and," here Meg hesitates, blushes profusely, but decides to continue anyway, "well, his body was also very tall, and…well…_very manly _in his costume."

THUD, THUD, THUD... And just as I stop my cringing and open my eyes…THUD, it happens again.

The judge pounds her gavel for order and again calls a brief halt to the testimony while the medical teams do their work. As I turn to survey the damage this time, I see M. Broadbent glowering as usual, Signor Luzano appears to be highly amused, and the entire defense team is exchanging knowing and sympathetic looks. Most interesting of all is the defendant. He alone looks totally miserable and horrified as if his obvious sex appeal is something to be ashamed of. Mon Dieu what is wrong with him? He_ is _a Frenchman after all!

"Please continue your questioning, M. DeVere," Madame Judge commands once order has been restored to the courtroom.

"Mais oui, Madame Judge." I oblige by asking Meg, "And did you recognize this actor?"

"Yes, as soon as he started to sing to Christine, I knew that it was M. Phantom." Meg responds.

"Please continue Meg, what happened next?"

"Well, they finished their duet up on the bridge. As I said, I was standing just offstage watching with Maman so I had an excellent view of what was going on. Just before M. Phantom finished singing, Christine yanked his mask off, exposing him to the managers, the gendarmes, the entire theater," Meg's voice is shaky as she recollects the events of that fateful evening. "At that point everything began happening very quickly. M. Phantom cut the ropes holding the chandelier. A trap door suddenly sprang open, and he and Christine dropped through. People were screaming and running everywhere trying to leave the theater. It was frightening, and I was terrified."

"Is there anything else you wish to tell the court about the events of that horrible night Meg," I ask softly, trying to subtly lead my witness so as not to raise an objection from the vigilant defense attorneys.

"Yes, there IS one thing more, and I think it is important. Monsieur Phantom did it to protect Christine. He protected us all really. He saw that the gendarmes were everywhere that night. We all did. They were armed, and they were moving in close to the stage to surround us. If M. Phantom hadn't cut the rope as a diversion so that he and Christine could escape, there is no telling how many of the REST of us would have been killed or wounded that night had the gendarmes opened fire," she finishes sobbing quietly.

Well! I can't tell you how shocked I am to hear this emotional outpouring! This is not good for our case! Not good at all! She has just made a martyr out of M. Phantom! A hero even! But I am a gentleman, so I offer Mlle. Giry my handkerchief for her tears.

"Thank you, Meg. I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor," I say with a slight bow to Madame Judge.

I turn and make my way back toward my seat, but as I look up, M. Phantom's fierce stare catches me off guard causing me to trip. I go flying, and unfortunately, I practically land in Mlle. Counselor's lap. Before I can right myself, M. Phantom jumps up making a sound that I swear is almost a feral growl. His threatening form towers over me, and I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can with profuse apologies to Mlle. Counselor. I cannot escape to my side of the aisle fast enough!

_Ms. Sebbied, Esq's POV:_

After the examination of Mlle. Giry by Monsieur DeVere, I feel my part in helping them sink their shaky ship of allegations should be relatively easy. I stand regally, dressed for cannon fire in my orchid pink satin suit. As usual I wear no jewelry as I want all eyes trained on my face, my expression. I look into the eyes of the jurors when I walk around the defense table. As I stride confidently toward the witness, I give her a soothing smile. I really like this young woman. She has a radiant, innocent blonde beauty that reflects the purity of her heart. She told the truth just now instead of yielding to prosecutorial pressure to give them the evidence they want. And, indeed I noticed a couple things she said that indicated she has more to say than she had been allowed by M. DeVere. Besides, that little miss has the European flair that this American Diva can only applaud…it's that or gnash my pearly, white teeth.

"Good day, Meg," I greet, allowing my secret dimple to make an appearance. Meg's body language instantly reads as relaxed and amiable to my approach. "You just testified that, 'as soon as he started to sing to Christine, I knew that it was M. Phantom,' is that correct?"

"Oh! Yes! I knew him from his voice!" She exudes enthusiastically.

"How could you be so certain based only on his singing voice?"

"Oh! Well, as I said, I had heard his voice read to me as a child and also on occasion when I was with Christine in the evenings, I heard it coming from the next room, as he sang beautiful, soothing lullabies!" Meg answers with a dreamy look in her eyes.

I wait for the sound of thudding as many women in the court will no doubt be falling to the floor at the thought of being sung to sleep by my client. THUD! THUD! Ah, yes…as I expected.

"So Monsieur Phantom sang to you and Christine?" I pursue, ignoring the thumps behind me, as well as the noises made by the EMT teams who are going about their work quietly and efficiently.

"Oh, yes! And, it was always so comforting! I have missed it in fact." Meg volunteers. She looks at Monsieur Phantom with a wistful glance, and to my surprise, he bestows upon her the flash of a sweet smile, almost brotherly in nature.

Observing his expression, my mind drifts as all I can think is, "Oh, how I wish to clasp his handsome head to my designer clad bosom and soothe all his sorrows away."

I notice everyone is staring at me and in a moment of panic, I wonder if I have voiced this sentiment aloud. But Madame Judge merely clears her throat and instructs me to move on in my questioning.

I return to the defense table and pick up my notes to help me get back my train of thought…and questions. Strolling past the jury box, my Pink Frosting nails trail along the banister as I ask Meg, "And how did you know that voice from the other room belonged to Monsieur Phantom?"

"Well, _Maman_ told me it was his voice," Meg responds as though her mother has taken God's place and therefore her word is absolute.

"So, your mother, Mme. Giry, knew Monsieur Phantom was singing soothing lullabies to Christine and you?" My mind almost trips over the words: singing soothing lullabies, and I have to preen at the fact that my lips did not.

"Oh! Yes! Of course!" Meg nods emphatically. "Maman knows all!"

I come to the point with the precision of eyeliner being applied to my eyelid. "Did Mme. Giry have any objections or concerns about his singing to you?"

Meg takes a moment to think about this, for which I am relieved. It shows the jury that she is capable of thinking on her own, without the aid of Maman. When she answers, it is with a charming Gallic shrug. I recognize it since I have practiced this shrug in the mirror many times.

"No, never. She knew him very well and considered him a close friend. She once told me he was like a brother to her!"

"I see," I turn back to the jury allowing them to see the "you don't say" look on my face. They have heard that the mother of these two little girls trusted him and that he sang soothing lullabies to them throughout their childhood. Hardly the actions of a vicious, crazed man. More like the behavior of a trustworthy, caring one.

Which reminds me…handsome head…bosom…soothe. Bad Diva, naughty Diva! I give myself a mental shake and begin to wrap up my questioning.

"Meg, you testified 'the other man wore a black cape and a full mask. Not a half mask, but a _full_ mask.' So, the mask you saw on the man in the flies with Joseph Buquet just before he died was a full mask, not like the half mask Monsieur Phantom normally wears?" I ask, with all the sweetness of a Willy Wonka bar.

"YES! The mask of the man who I saw in the flies above the stage covered both sides of his face! It was not at all like the one worn by Monsieur Phantom!" Meg says with frank certainty.

This time, I show doubt to the jury. "Are you certain the masks were different?"

"Yes! I know this because at one point just as I looked up, he was right overhead, and he stopped and looked directly at me for several seconds," Meg says with a quizzical shake of her head.

"So then Meg, are you telling the court that the other man on the flies that night with Joseph Buquet was definitely M. Phantom?" I ask with what I confess, more than a little drama. I think the hand fluttering to my throat was quite effective.

"NO, Mademoiselle! I am telling the court NO SUCH THING," little Mlle. Giry fairly shouts. "While I obviously do not KNOW who was behind the mask, I can say that I had never seen M. Phantom in a full mask until the night of the Bal Masque which was many months later."

"Is there anything else that makes you feel you are not certain of the identity of the masked man in the flies?" I ask as my intuition tells me she has something else on her mind.

I gaze back at the jury as if we have some gossip to share, then lean towards Meg, my baby blues wide and wondering. I can almost feel the air shift behind me as each juror leans forward with me.

"Yes, certainly! I will also tell you that M. Phantom, to my knowledge, never, ever stopped and stared at anyone! The man in the flies actually stopped and looked down at the dancers and me on the stage for many seconds, almost as if he WANTED us to see him! Monsieur Phantom NEVER did such a thing! People may sense his presence, but—no one except Maman _ever_ saw more than a glimpse of him! After all, that was how he earned his reputation as a _ghost_," The poor thing falls back against her seat, glancing again at our client.

But this time, he does not look back. Ms. Counselor is whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder. I cannot help but think how tired he looks, and the toughest parts of the trial are still ahead. Hmmm…Head…bosom… Oh! Get a grip! I really have to stop that image parading through my mind!

"Thank you, Mlle. Giry, that will be all," I say with a blinding smile of appreciation. As I turn around and walk back to the far end of the defense table, I see the faces of the jurors. Their eyes are rounded in surprise, or eyebrows arched in realization. Clearly the prosecution case is not adding up. I glance at Monsieur Phantom as I walk past him and see he is now looking toward Mlle. Giry with a gentle gaze. His tenseness has dissipated, and he whispers something back in Ms. Counselor's ear in a relaxed fashion. As I take my seat at the defense table, I let out a sigh of satisfaction.

Then the nape of my neck tingles, a sure sign that I am being admired. I look about the courtroom seeing many a man's eyes trained on me, their eyes dancing with flirtation. But, no—that is commonplace in my day as a Diva. This person who is admiring me right now knows what he is about! My neck does not tingle for mere flattery. With shock, my eyes fall on Prosecutor Franco—his stare is the stare of a man who worships art, and his smile reveals his particular appreciation for my technique. Hmmm, a man who can handle a woman's brains and beauty—perhaps he is more formidable than we think!

_M. DeVere's POV_ was authored by Rappleyea.!

_Counselor Sebbied's POV _was co-authored by Phanfan44, who penned the lawyerly lines, and SebbieD, who described the Divine Diva!

Profuse thanks to Phanna, our first-rate editor!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **With the testimony of Raoul, the mood of the trial begins to change and become more serious and sinister. After all, putting Erik and Raoul in the same room and allowing Raoul to tell his side of the story is galling to Erik, to say the least! We will see here how Erik reacts!

Enjoy…and PLEASE GIVE US YOUR REVIEWS! Since so many are reading this, you must be enjoying it…so please take a small amount of your time to push the little review button and kindly let us know your thoughts…

So...now…let the drama begin!

**Chapter 10 Testimony of Raoul by Barbkesq, Rappleyea and Phanfan44**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__August 19, 2005 _

_Charles Broadbent, Esq's POV: _

I drum my Mont Blanc pen on the pad in front of me with impatience as I wait for my co-counsels to arrive. We all return to our law offices each week to tend to cases that were scheduled before we were brought into this case at the last minute. Since we attorneys for the prosecution could not change previously scheduled court dates so belatedly, court hearings for this case occur only one day a week. So, I wonder if their planes from Europe are late, or whether they will make it on time today.

I have to admit, though, I am here early as I have begun to use the private back hallway to get to the courtroom. I suppose that is one thing I have in common with the masked freak we are prosecuting. Neither of us relishes running the gauntlet of spectators, media and vendors that line the front lobby. And gad what a zoo it has become out there. It gets worse everyday too! Signs, autograph seekers, coffee, cupcakes, and vendors selling every kind of junk memorabilia imaginable. I even saw key chains with a half mask on them! DeVere doesn't seem to pay any attention to it, but Luzano actually seems to enjoy this madhouse! How he got to be a world-renowned criminal attorney is beyond me. Neither of my co-counsels possesses my go-for-the jugular style.

DeVere and Luzano finally arrive and take their seats not two minutes before the Judge enters and calls court into session. Bleeding heart feminist for a judge—aaaauuurrrgh! That is only one of several items that the Powers That Be failed to take into consideration when they decided to go after The Program through the defendant. Three of the other factors the PTB seemed to overlook just happen to be seated right across the aisle from me at the defense table, and each one looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. And of course the final points they clearly did not consider properly are the fruits and nuts brought forward from the past as witnesses for the prosecution. Ah, case in point is now strolling into the courtroom with the bailiff. Every time I look at Raoul deChagny, I want to take a pair of scissors to that blond pageboy of his and whack it off.

The Vicomte steps up to the take his place at the witness stand, and the Bailiff swears him in. "Raise your right hand please. Is the testimony that you are about to give today, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"Of course! As a gentleman, what else would I do? I am a deChagny, after all!" he responds, shaking his damn sissified curls around.

The Judge instructs, "Please, Viscount deChagny, just answer the question and don't elaborate unnecessarily."

The witness incredibly replies, "My name is Vicomte Raoul DeChagny. My title is VICOMTE, not Viscount."

Raising an eyebrow at the correction, the Judge responds, "Thank you for clearing that up. My apologies, Viscount, uh...Vicomte…uh...whatever...Raoul deChagny. Counsel, please begin your questioning."

The Vicomte has already raised my ire with his snobbery, but I begin by asking, "Vicomte DeChagny, what is your affiliation with the Opera Populaire?"

"I am, or was, the patron of the Opera Populaire brought in by the owners M. Andre and M. Firmin. As you all know, my parents and I are honored to support the arts, especially the world renowned Opera Populaire. Without my patronage, that opera would not have been able to continue its performances."

"And you are married to Christine Daae?" I ask, realizing of course that not only is she the next nutcase we'll have to try to extract coherent information from, but she is evidently the central cause of everything that happened at the opera house.

The Vicomte looks smugly toward the defendant and proudly says, "No, I am not YET married to Mlle. Daae. But we are engaged, and she is now residing in the deChagny mansion in Paris. We will be married…very SOON!"

I hear a hiss of anger from the defendant, and I glance over my shoulder to see Ms. Counselor place a restraining hand on his arm. This golden-haired boy evidently has a death wish I think to myself, but aloud I only say to him, "It is my understanding that you were in attendance at the opening night of Hannibal?"

"Yes, as the patron, I was present at the opening Gala performance that evening to share in everybody's great triumph. I watched the performance from Box Five, and it was during an aria called 'Think of Me' when I first recognized Mlle.Daae. She had been my childhood sweetheart," the Vicomte responds haughtily.

"After the performance of Hannibal, did you get to meet Mlle. Daae?"

"Yes, there was a party afterwards, and since I am the patron, my attendance was required. The owners, Andre and Firmin offered to present Mlle. Daae to me, but I indicated that this was one visit I preferred to make unaccompanied. I also brought a bouquet of flowers to greet her properly."

"Please describe your visit with Mlle. Daae."

"We talked about our childhood together and something about goblins, shoes, riddles, frocks, and oh, yes and chocolates. She told me that her father had died and that she had been visited by the 'Angel of Music.'" That's it, I think to myself upon hearing the Vicomte's answer! I rest my case. They are all as insane as the defendant!

But all I ask is, "And did both of you go to dinner that night?"

"Well, she said no because the Angel of Music was very strict. I thought to myself, 'What is all this nonsense? Why would she not want to go to dinner with me? I'm nobility, what lady would not want to be seen with me?' Therefore, I insisted on dinner and said I would order my carriage and that I would be back in two minutes."

"What happened after you came back for Mlle. Daae?"

"After I ordered my carriage, I came back to the dressing room only to discover that the door was locked. Then, I heard a voice from inside saying, 'I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music.' I was banging on the door asking, 'Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?'" I heard the voice again saying, 'I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music.' I kept on banging the door but Mlle. Daae did not answer," the Vicomte responds still clearly mystified by that turn of events. I can't say that I blame the young woman. But I must keep my opinion of this effete, young snob to myself as I've been ordered to be "politically correct" for the media.

"Can you identify the voice you heard in the dressing room?"

"As I said, that night, I did not know. But I can identify the voice now as that of that man in the mask, sitting there," he replies firmly, pointing to the defendant. Ah, this is more like it. Now maybe we're getting somewhere!

"How are you able to identify that voice as the defendant's?" I pursue my questioning, trying not to get my hopes up too much.

"It was the same deep voice that I heard disrupting the performance the night of Il Muto." Raoul answers with great certainty, "I was in attendance at the performance, and I had a clear view of the Phantom in the upper walkway from where I was sitting in Box Five. He was wearing a long black cloak and black leather gloves. His face was covered by a white half mask—exactly as he is today!"

"Going back to the night of Hannibal, did you and Mlle. Daae ever go out to dinner?"

"No, I went looking for Mlle. Daae, but she was nowhere to be found. I assumed she went out with the man calling himself the 'Angel of Music.' I was rather disappointed," the Vicomte says with an aggrieved air. "Upon my return home from the Opera Populaire that night, I found an envelope with a red skull wax seal and inside the envelope was a most threatening note. I read the note and was infuriated. The next day, I returned to the Opera Populaire and demanded from M. Andre and M. Firmin to tell me where Mlle. Daae was."

"And did they tell you where Mlle. Daae was?" I ask him, wondering how stupid could he be not to have figured it out for himself!

"No, they did not know. Then I showed them the note I received the previous night."

I walk back to the prosecution's table and pick up the note that the Vicomte was referring to. I approach the Vicomte with the document and ask, "Can you identify this which has been marked as an Exhibit?"

"Yes, that is the note that was sent to me."

"Vicomte, would you kindly read the note for the Court?"

The Vicomte takes the note from my hand and reads, "'Do not fear for Ms. Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again. I remain your obedient servant, O.G.'"

"Vicomte, can you tell us who is this 'O.G.'?"

The Vicomte replies, "Well, Opera Ghost, of course!"

To which Ms. Counselor vehemently objects, "Objection, Your Honor. The witness has provided no fact or foundation for claiming that O.G. stands for 'Opera Ghost.' The Vicomte's testimony as to what O.G. stands for is entirely speculation."

The Judge, of course, backs her up, "Objection sustained."

Glancing toward the defense table during Ms. Counselor's objection, I can't help but see the defendant's smirk at the Judge's ruling. I resolve to wipe that off his face…soon!

"So, Vicomte, what happened next?"

"I demanded that M. Andre and M. Firmin tell me who wrote this obnoxious note. Suddenly Carlotta came storming in with yet another note."

"Do you remember what Carlotta's note said?"

"Yes…of course! It was more threats! It said something to the effect that her days at the Opera were numbered, and that Mlle. Daae was to sing in her place that night. He even said a great misfortune would occur if Carlotta took the lead in the performance! It, too, was initialed 'O.G.'!"

It is all I can do not to laugh aloud at this nonsense. The poor boy is obviously frightened by ghosts. However I instruct him to continue.

"Madame Giry arrived with Meg to inform us that Mlle. Daae had returned from her night out," Raoul continues, looking suspiciously in the direction of the defendant. "I wanted to see her, but Mme. Giry refused to let me, indicating that it was better for Mlle. Daae to be alone. Mme. Giry then proceeded to deliver to the owners, Carlotta, and myself another one of these threatening notes reiterating the demands for casting Mlle. Daae as the Countess in Il Muto. It also said that Box Five was to be kept empty and threatened that if it wasn't, a disaster beyond our imagination would occur. I saw the note and it was signed like the others, 'O.G.'"

I then address the Judge, "Your Honor, our handwriting experts have analyzed the writing of this note that the Vicomte has just verified is the one he received the evening of the Hannibal performance. These handwriting experts have signed a declaration stating that they have identified the writing in the notes as that of the defendant. I hereby request that this declaration and the note be submitted into evidence."

"Both documents are entered into evidence. Please continue, counselor" responds the Judge.

"What did you do, if anything, in response to these notes by the defendant?" I ask.

"I ignored them. He was in no position to say how the Opera Populaire should be run. I've done more for this opera house than he has. Without my patronage, he wouldn't even have an opera house where he could boss people around and issue threats. It was my duty to see that all his demands were rejected," he replies with intense emotion.

"So, after all of these notes, did anything else noteworthy occur at the Il Muto performance, other than the interruption to which you already testified?" I ask him.

"Of course!" deChagny responds. "After the defendant's interruption, I continued to remain in Box Five to view the rest of the performance, during which Carlotta lost her voice and started croaking like a toad. The owners told the audience that Mlle. Daae would play the role of the Countess. The defendant clearly got just what he wanted. It was during the ballet, just before Mlle. Daae was to come on stage, that one of the stagehands, Joseph Buquet was brutally killed. His body dangled from a rope and was then dropped to the stage. There was so much chaos. Everybody was shocked and in a panic. The rumors flying around the theater that night all said he was killed by the Phantom," the Vicomte finishes with an accusatory glare at the defendant.

"Objection! 'Rumors flying around the theater' constitutes hearsay and prejudicial, at that!" Ms. Counselor's voice rings throughout the courtroom.

The Judge wastes no time with her ruling, "Objection sustained. The jury is to disregard that statement."

"What did you do after this happened?" I am really interested now to hear just how brave or foolhardy our young Vicomte is.

"I went to find Mlle. Daae to make sure she was alright. She was upset and not making any sense. She said we weren't safe backstage. THEN she said that the Phantom of the Opera would kill me, and that he would kill and kill again."

"OBJECTION! Again, Your Honor, that is hearsay and, indeed, hyperbole of the most inflammatory kind!" Ms. Counselor says with her special vehemence for defending M. Phantom.

The Judge again does not bat an eye, but looks directly at the jurors and tells them, "Objection is sustained. Do not consider that comment in your deliberations!"

"Continue," I direct my witness.

"She led me up to the roof top where she thought we would be safe. She was clearly frightened of this man, whoever he was. I tried to comfort her. We professed our love for each other and passionately kissed. Shortly thereafter, I asked for her hand in marriage."

A low growl emanates from behind me, coming from the general vicinity of the defense table after deChagny's last statement. I don't turn around to see who made the sound, but I seriously doubt it was Ms. Counselor. Trusting she has her client under control, I continue with my questioning, "Did you see the defendant any other times after the night of Il Muto?" I ask next, all the while wondering what kind of idiot would stick around the opera house with a homicidal maniac on the loose.

"Yes, unfortunately I encountered him on several occasions," the Vicomte answers ruefully. "The first time was three months later at the Bal Masque. Mlle. Daae was wearing the engagement ring I had given her on a chain around her neck, because for reasons unknown to me, she said she wanted a secret engagement," he says, shaking his head in consternation. He obviously still hasn't figured out that he was being two-timed. He continues, "The Phantom appeared in a Red Death Costume wearing a full mask. I didn't know who he was at first, but I recognized the voice once he spoke. He said he had written an opera called Don Juan Triumphant and demanded that it be performed. Again he came with the demands. He then drew his sword and brandished it very threateningly toward the crowd."

Walking over to the prosecution table, I open up my brief case and remove my little surprise. This is a treasure that took some finding, but was finally tracked down to a collector in Japan only yesterday and express flown to Seattle overnight. I can see out of the corner of my eye that the defendant is suddenly sitting bolt upright with a look of astonishment on his face—well, at least the half I can see!

"Is this the musical score which the Defendant presented to the managers at the ball?" I ask as I hold up the charred but still intact leather portfolio.

The Vicomte blanches in surprise to see the Phantom's opera portfolio in my hands only inches from his face. "Why y-y-y-yes it is," he finally manages to stammer out.

"And will you please tell the court the initials inscribed on the front right under the title of the opera?" I continue.

"O. G.," deChagny states clearly as a glimmer of understanding begins to dawn in his brain.

"Thank you Vicomte deChagny," I turn around to generally address my audience, "While the defense has ably pointed out for us that we do not KNOW who O. G. is, after all, I suppose it could be the English composer, Orlando Gibbons, the defendant HAS claimed authorship of the opera Don Juan Triumphant, and he, himself, used the initials 'O.G.'on its leather cover." Another snarl is heard from the defense table. I ignore it and turn back to address the Judge, "Your Honor, the Prosecution would like to place the original Don Juan Triumphant manuscript into evidence along with the collector's certificate of authenticity."

"So granted, please continue Counselor," the Judge responds with what seems to be a slight tone of disappointment.

"Vicomte deChagny, let us return to the Bal Masque. What were you doing while M. Phantom was 'brandishing his sword' as you testified?"

"I was standing by Mlle. Daae's side. I sensed that Mlle. Daae was in danger from this man so I snuck out to get my sword without him noticing. When I came back just moments later, he and Mlle. Daae were on the Grand Staircase. She had a look of fear on her face. He roughly snatched the ring from my fiancé's neck and stole it, telling her she is chained to HIM and that she belongs only to HIM! After this outrageous display, he fled back up the staircase. There was a flash of fire and smoke, and he escaped by falling through one of his floor traps," Vicomte deChagny finishes his recital, clearly worked up at the memory.

"What did you do next?" I inquire of the Vicomte.

"I sought to defend my fiancé," he answers. More likely you sought to retrieve a very valuable heirloom diamond engagement ring, I think to myself as Vicomte deChagny continues his narrative, "I jumped into the floor trap after him and wound up in a maze of mirrors. Images of the Phantom in a Red Death costume completely surrounded me. Thankfully Mme. Giry arrived, showed me to safety, and I then followed her to her room." The Vicomte sounds quite shaken as he recalls his experience with the crazy masked man.

"You said you had an encounter with Mme. Giry. Why did you follow Mme. Giry to her room?" Gads! That will be another one of the nuts I'll have to deal with!

"Yes, I did! I demanded to know what was going on at the Opera Populaire and who is this Phantom of the Opera who Christine calls the 'Angel of Music.' She then told me a story of how she rescued the defendant when he was nine years old from gypsies who held him captive in a cage, beat him daily, and then exposed his face to reveal his deformity. Apparently, she helped him escape by hiding him in the opera house. She described the defendant as an architect, designer, composer, magician, and a genius," the Vicomte tells the court. Obviously this Mme. Giry and I use entirely different words to describe the violent lunatic sitting at the defense table.

"What was your reaction to her story, if any?"

"I didn't believe most of her story, but even it were true that he was a genius, it was plain to me that genius had turned into madness," Raoul says with a firm nod of his head, sending his annoying hair into motion again.

"What did you do after your encounter with Mme. Giry on the night of the Masquerade?"

"After the masquerade and my conversation with Mme. Giry, I knew that my fiancé was not safe from this madman."

"Objection, Your Honor," Ms. Counselor again interrupts, "the witness is engaging in name-calling, which is totally inappropriate and very prejudicial to the defendant!"

"Objection sustained." The Judge then warns the Vicomte not to engage in any further name-calling and directs me to continue with the testimony.

I'm anxious for the Vicomte to testify to his being attacked by the defendant in the cemetery, so my next question is directed toward this end. "Will you please tell the court, Vicomte, when you next saw the defendant?"

"I knew Mlle. Daae wasn't safe at the opera house, so I stayed by her side. I even slept outside of her dormitory at the Opera Populaire to protect her. The morning after the Bal Masque, Christine decided to go to the cemetery to visit her father's grave."

"Did you accompany Mlle. Daae to the cemetery?"

"No. She went alone. I was asleep, and I did not know she had left on her own. I woke up to find her missing. I knew she was in imminent danger though," he testifies. It is all I can do to keep myself from snorting in disbelief at this statement. He really is clueless, and I cannot wait until we can question Mlle. Daae as there seems to be much in her behavior as the Vicomte's 'fiancé' that is not adding up.

Vicomte deChagny continues, "I looked out the window and saw her being driven away by someone wearing a hooded cloak. I found out from the driver, who appeared to have been assaulted, that she was headed to the cemetery. I jumped on the first available white stallion and rode to the cemetery. When I got there, I found Christine being called to her father's grave by the Phantom, again pretending to be the Angel of Music, actually calling out to her, 'I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music.' I told Mlle. Daae to wait and that whatever she believed, this man, this _thing_ was not her father."

Ms. Counselor jumps to her feet, but before she can even get her objection out of her mouth, the Judge says in a very testy voice, "Objection sustained! Vicomte deChagny, please be advised that name-calling is absolutely NOT acceptable here in court! Jurors you are to disregard that statement!"

The Judge nods for me to continue, and I see in her eyes an unspoken warning to control my witness. I wonder how anyone is to control these prosecution witnesses! They all seem to do and say whatever they choose!

"Please tell the court what ensued," I prompt my witness to move the action along.

"I pulled my sword out of the casing ready to defend myself but I did not brandish it or wield it in a threatening manner. He jumped down on me from where he had been hiding above her father's mausoleum, and with his sword drawn, he viciously attacked me. Of course, I had to defend myself. In the course of which, he sliced my arm with his sword, causing a gaping wound. I lost a lot of blood, but continued to fight, until I was able to disarm the Phantom and pin him to the ground. After all, I am a far superior swordsman than he. And, gentleman that I am, I spared his life, and brought Mlle. Daae safely back to the Opera Populaire," the Vicomte finishes his story with a smug look of self-satisfaction, and I can only wonder why he didn't finish off the mad man when he had the opportunity.

"Extremely noble of you, I am sure, Vicomte," I say although he misses the sarcasm in my voice. "I would like to go over the events of Don Juan Triumphant. There was prior testimony of your participation in a plan to capture the defendant. Can you explain what the plan was and your involvement in it?"

"MY plan," he begins quite proudly, "was that Mlle. Daae would perform the Phantom's Opera, Don Juan Triumphant. Christine would play the part of Aminta, to lure HIM to the performance! I made sure that all gendarmes were armed. My job was to direct them from my seat in Box Five to capture the Phantom once he could be identified.

"And Mlle. Daae agreed to this plan?"

"Of course, she loves me, and she was afraid of the Phantom. She wanted him out of our lives."

I hear an agonized "NO!" emanating from the defense table and turn to see a pained look on defendant's face along with disbelief and barely controlled anger. The Judge bangs her gavel and orders, "Please, no one is to interrupt the witness!"

"So what happened the night of Don Juan Triumphant? Did the defendant appear? Was your plan successful?" I ask, knowing of course that it wasn't or we wouldn't be holding this idiotic trial. Even at four times my normal fee, I'm quite sure at this point that it will not be worth it!

"Well…the Phantom actually appeared on stage! I never suspected he would have the gall to appear in the production itself! He was singing the part of Don Juan to Mlle. Daae. When it was time for Mlle. Daae to sing, she looked up to me and signaled that the Phantom was on stage, which of course I already had figured out," the Vicomte says with an indignant tone. However, I instructed the gendarmes not to do anything just yet. I wanted to wait until the Phantom was in a good position for them to take their shots at him! Mlle. Daae continued to sing and she pretended to be seduced by him. What a brave little actress my fiancé is," deChagny exclaims in admiration. I hear some snickers from the spectator section at this remark, but he plows on undeterred. "They both continued to sing as they ascended the stairs to the bridge. When they were together on the bridge, the Phantom was holding Mlle. Daae and then he began to use my own words to win my fiancé's love! I was appalled at this sight! To think this monster would use my words to seduce my fiancé!"

"Objection, Your Honor, I again ask that Your Honor instruct the witness to refrain from name-calling," the ever vigilant defense attorney calls out.

The Judge responds, "Objection sustained." and this time she verbally orders me to control my witness. If only I had control over ANY of these witnesses!

I take a deep breath and say, "Please continue with your testimony, Vicomte."

"At that point, Mlle. Daae had had enough, so she unmasked the Phantom. This sent HIM into a rage. He cut the rope, crashing the chandelier, and kidnapped my fiancé," the Vicomte exclaims in one breath.

"Please continue, Vicomte deChagny. I am sure the court and the members of the jury are quite anxious to learn of the fate of poor Mlle. Daae."

The Vicomte eyes me curiously for a second, but I keep my expression benign and so he continues, "Mme. Giry volunteered to show me the way to the Phantom's lair. I followed her lead until we reached the spiral staircase which she said led to the fifth cellar. Suddenly, Madame Giry stopped and told me that she would go no farther. I became suspicious as I knew she was sympathetic to the Phantom, but I thanked her for her "help" and she left me. I proceeded to descend the staircase, and had only gone a few steps from where Madame Giry had stopped, when suddenly the floor gave way, and I fell into a pool of water. An iron grate immediately began to descend upon me. I realized that this must have been a trap set up by the Phantom to prevent me from getting to Mlle. Daae. Obviously, Madame Giry knew about it. That is why she did not want to proceed any farther."

At this point, I am beginning to respect the defendant's ingenuity. However, as I knew she would, Ms. Counselor vociferously lodges an objection, "Objection, Your Honor, this is entirely speculation on the part of the witness and there has been no testimony demonstrating that Madame Giry was attempting to lead the Vicomte into a trap or that a trap was set up by the defendant."

"The Objection is sustained and that portion of the testimony shall be stricken from the record and is not to be considered by the jury," Madame Judge replies.

"How were you able to escape from under the iron grate?" I ask, grudgingly admiring the grit this effeminate little nobleman has shown in the quest of his true love.

"I saw below that there was a wheel that could be turned," he answers, "so I swam underwater and using all my strength, I was able to turn the wheel and the iron grate moved upward, freeing me. I climbed out of the pool, and by slogging through some more passageways and crossing an underground lake, I managed to arrive at the lair of the Phantom of the Opera."

"When you reached the lair, what did you see?"

"I saw HIM, the Phantom, and I saw Christine in a wedding dress. She looked distraught and terrified."

"What did the defendant do when he saw that you had followed them?" I inquire.

"Well! He raised the portcullis and allowed me to enter. Once again, I should have been suspicious," the Vicomte sniffs. "Immediately upon my entering the lair, he bid me welcome. Then the portcullis abruptly closed, and I turned for just a second at the noise it made. When I did, the Phantom then threw a rope around my neck, slammed me against the portcullis and tied me to it. I had forgotten to keep my hand at the level of my eyes! He didn't give me a chance," the Vicomte whines. I want to put my hand OVER my eyes at that stupid statement! "Hand at the level of his eyes" - what the hell does that mean? As if keeping his hand up was his biggest problem at that point. But I'm actually eager to hear the rest of this bizarre tale, so I ask him to continue.

Vicomte deChagny proceeds with his story, "The defendant went to get another rope and placed it around my neck, yanking it tighter and tighter. I struggled to get free, but the rope was too tight. I still have a nasty rope burn around my neck and chest to prove it," here the Vicomte stops speaking and pulls down his cravat to expose what does indeed appear to be a rope burn. This is the first time I've seen it though. WHY can't these people remember things like this when I ask in the pre-trial meetings? But the Vicomte is continuing his story, "He then forced Mlle. Daae to choose between him or me. If she chose him, he would spare my life, if she did not, he would kill me. My fiancé was crying and saying that HE, her Angel of Music had deceived her. I begged her not to throw her life away for my sake."

At that, the Vicomte's emotion erupts and pointing to the defendant angrily, he yells, "Why did you make her lie to you to save me? This man, this MONSTER showed no compassion," he screams to the court.

Even before Ms. Counselor can lodge the objection that even I know she must, we all hear a loud crash as the defendant leaps to his feet overturning his chair. I turn toward the sound and see that he is homicidal hatred and rage personified. Whether or not the defendant is guilty of the murders he's been accused of, I KNOW he'd gladly strangle the young Vicomte with his bare hands right now in front of us all. Ms. Counselor grabs his arm with both hands and pleads with him to sit back down as the bailiffs descend on him. All the while, Madame Judge is furiously banging her gavel in an attempt to restore order to the courtroom. I look at my witness and notice that he has gone pale in the face of what he just inspired.

"ORDER, ORDER IN THIS COURTROOM!" the Judge yells over the din. "Counselors I will order you both one last time to restrain your client and the witness. I WILL NOT have the animosity that they have toward each other make a travesty of this trial. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" she finishes, incensed at the outburst.

Ms. Counselor and I both emphatically reply in the affirmative. The two bailiffs continue to stand behind M. Phantom who is again seated. I observe that Ms. Counselor now has one hand constraining his forearm and the other on his shoulder, obviously attempting to pin him in his chair. Good luck, I think to myself. It's going to take someone a heck of a lot bigger than you are to hold that maniac down. The defendant is breathing hard, but at least he is sitting still. I turn back to my witness and ask, "Vicomte deChagny, since I see you sitting here in this courtroom before me, I know that you survived and regained your freedom. Please recount the details of how that happened for the court."

The Vicomte takes a steadying breath and continues, "He told her, Mlle. Daae, that it was time for her to choose. She looked over at me and mouthed silently that she loved me. With amazing courage, she proceeded to wade through the water to the Phantom. She told him he was not alone. Then she cleverly put on the ring that he had stolen from her, and she even kissed him twice. I couldn't believe she convinced him of this charade. I knew she was only pretending that she would stay with him so that he would let me go. She loves me. She could never love him," deChagny spits out. I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye, and there is an uneasy moment as we wait to see what the defendant will do. I hear his sharp exhale, but there is no further outburst so I ask the Vicomte to finish his story.

"Luckily her plan worked and...HE let her go. Mlle. Daae is the one who untied me from the portcullis. I instructed her to give the ring back to the Phantom. For her to wear it would be a nasty reminder of him. She agreed wholeheartedly and gave him back the ring. We left in the boat, relieved that it was all over," the Vicomte finishes his testimony with a weary sigh.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor," I say to the Judge.

As the bailiff escorts my witness from the courtroom, the Judge recesses us for a lunch break. I notice that the Vicomte very wisely refrains from looking at the defendant, who of course is still breathing fire in his direction. DeVere practically runs out of the courtroom he's so undone by the psycho's temper, but Luzano strolls out casually, letting his eyes roam the crowd looking for a pretty woman to invite to lunch. I shake my head in disgust and start toward the exit.

That is when I feel it. I feel HIM looking at me. His eyes follow me, and I can feel the daggers in my back. Oh well, he'll either be in prison if we win this case or in France some 130 years in the past if we don't. Either way, he doesn't scare me a bit. After all, what happens to him is that dame's problem.

Barbkesq wrote the excellent testimony, Rappleyea added in the unique personality of Mr. Broadbent and some of Erik's reactions…Phanfan44 contributed some of Erik's responses, Ms. Counselor's objections and Madame Judge's futile attempt to keep order…Oh! Yes! And the little surprise by Broadbent. And…profuse kudos to our whip-snappin' editor, Phanna!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Well, now we find out how Erik reacts to Raoul's testimony! There are SO many hits for The Epic Case and so few reviews! PLEASE, if you are reading this, let us know your thoughts! If you show more interest with your posts, we will be encouraged to post more often, as well! And, with this episode, Erik begins a ball rolling that ends up having far-reaching consequences! Enjoy!

**Chapter 11 The Phantom of the Courthouse, PART 1, by Phanfan44 and Phangirl+**

_Seattle, Washington  
August 19, 2005_

_+Horatio's POV:_

As I stand in the hallway outside the defense team's private room only minutes before court reconvenes from lunch recess, I realize that today was fated to be strange from the minute I heard the racket in the kitchen at 0500 hours this morning. So it should be no surprise what happened just after Raoul de Chagny testified…no surprise at all.

This morning, just after I heard the crash of broken glass, my eyes were barely open before I was grabbing my gun from my nightstand and running down the hall to investigate.

I crashed through the kitchen door with weapon raised and shouted, "Freeze! Hands in the air where I can see them!"

Something dropped on the tile floor with a thud in the darkened room and a voice demanded, "Horatio! What are you _doing_?"

I blinked in surprise to see Erik standing by the open refrigerator in his black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. I had just the tiniest glimpse of the right side of his face in the dim light before he turned around and lowered his head. "Please put that gun down, Horatio. I am the only one here."

Even so, I took a quick look around the room before I lowered my weapon. "What the hell are you doing, Erik?" I demanded as I turned around and flipped on the light switch. "I thought someone had breached security and come to kill you! If this were a year ago, I would have shot first and asked questions later!" When I turned back around, I saw the pool of red splashed on the white floor. "Is that blood?"

"No!" Erik responded, still not turning around. "That was a bottle of ketchup. I dropped it when I was looking for the salami. That was the noise you heard. I will clean it up. Now just go back to bed."

Just then I noticed the loaf of bread and block of cheese on the kitchen table. "You were making a sandwich? Why didn't you ring for my housekeeper? She would have done it for you."

His words were razor-sharp as he said, "Because for once I just wanted to do something for myself, Horatio. Until I came here, I had only Madame Giry to care if I lived or died, and now suddenly I am surrounded by security officers, household staff, attorneys, and pariahs of the press every minute of every day. I could not sleep, and all I wanted was to prepare myself something to eat, and now you come charging in here ready to shoot me for it!"

I put the gun on the table and stepped toward him. "Look, I'm sorry. You're right. I over-reacted. Old habits die hard, I guess. Uh, pardon the pun."

"Apology accepted," he replied stiffly. "Now, not to be rude, but would you please leave?"

I knew he didn't want me to see his face, and never in all the weeks we have been living in the same house, have either of us been in a situation like this one. I had never even seen what I am seeing now, the tortured topography of old scars on his back—permanent remainders of his time with the gypsies. Always before when we had spoken to each other, he had been dressed head to toe in his formal nineteenth century outfits, and I had always worn the clothes and persona of a street-wise cop. But suddenly, there we were, each faced with what the other man kept carefully hidden from the world, and I decided this had to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

"Turn around, Erik," I said firmly. "I'm not leaving. Turn around and look at me."

"Oh, I understand!" He bellowed back. "You want to see the Phantom in all his glory! I have to say I expected better from you, Horatio!"

"Erik! Just shut up and look at me!" I ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

I knew I had his attention then, because his muscles tensed, and he straightened up, placed his hand up over the right side of his face and turned around. The look in his left eye was stormy as he locked gazes with me, and I have the feeling that he was wishing he had a Punjab's lasso just then.

I held my arms out away from my body and took another step into the harsh florescent light that will not let me hide any longer. "So, you have scars, pal…" His eye traveled down the length of my body, and his mouth actually fell open when he saw my legs. "Join the club, Erik," I said quietly and stepped even closer so he could not miss a single red jagged line or discolored patch of skin that ran down from the bottom of my briefs on my right leg to the top of my foot. I did a slow turn in front of him so that he can see the similar wounds on my back and side.

"Horatio…I had no idea…What…hap-? No, forgive me. It is none of my business."

I couldn't help but grin at the expression on the visible half of his face. "I'm making it your business," I said. "I wouldn't have let you see me if I weren't ready to tell you about it."

"Is this why you were given a Purple Heart?" he asked.

"Ah, you know about that, huh? Jeremy must have told you."

Erik nodded. "He did. But he never said that you—that this—happened to you."

I shrugged. We were in the same unit. You know, once a SEAL, always a SEAL kind of thing. We don't talk much about our old missions."

"A what?" He asked as he shook his head. "Your unit of soldiers was named after an animal? Why not something like the 'lions' or the 'bears' then?"

I had to laugh at this and indicated for him to sit at the counter with me. "We'll clean up the ketchup later," I said. "Come sit down and make your sandwich. I think I'll have one too."

He seemed reluctant to take his hand down from his face but he finally did and seated himself on a bar stool to my right so only the left side of his face was visible. As we made our sandwiches, I made a point of not looking too closely at him.

After we settled in to eat our impromptu gleanings, I explained, "SEAL stands for Sea, Air, Land. It's an elite special operations force in the U.S. Navy, and that is what we do, attack from those three positions, carrying out missions that ordinary forces can't easily do without being caught."

"And you are a SEAL?" Erik asked with interest. "You were wounded and given the medal for that?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before giving him an answer. "I was a SEAL. Not anymore. Not after this. And no, I didn't get the medal for having this…" I looked down at my leg and shook my head. "The medal came a couple of years earlier. I got shot in a battle with terrorists in Afghanistan in '01. No, this…I can't say how this happened. It's classified. And, really, I don't like to talk about those days anymore. Having lived through the Siege of Paris, you know what war is like."

"Yes, I do know. After leaving the opera house, I wandered around Paris for a month which was during the early stages of the rebellion. The fighting was vicious. I saw the dead and dying. But the effect on the ordinary people was the worst. They were in constant terror of their lives and because of the fighting, could not earn money to buy food, so there were sick and starving children everywhere. I imagine war is like that wherever it happens," Erik said with a sad shake of his head. "Jeremy only told me about your medal because he wanted me to know that I was in good hands."

"So, now you know why I reacted as I did," I told him with a grin. "Like I said, old habits die hard."

"I am just thankful you did not shoot first and then ask questions," Erik answered with an incredulous shake of his head. "I am also glad you are not working for the prosecution!"

"That reminds me, Erik. Counselor Brown called last night. You had just gone to bed so I talked to her. She just wanted to make sure that you were ready for today, since Raoul de Chagny is testifying. You going to be OK with that?"

"It seems I have no choice but to be "OK" as you say," he answered resolutely. "I have to face him sometime."

We ate quietly for a few minutes, but then he had something else to say. "Counselor Brown called? That surprises me. I thought it would have been Laura. Sometimes I don't think Ms. Brown cares for me. She is an odd person, I have to say, Horatio. She is quiet most of the time, and even when she does talk she seems to be growling at the world. How well do you know her?"

"I know her reputation more than anything," I answered carefully, trying not to sound judgmental of the good Phen Brown, Esquire. "She has handled some nasty cases for the District Attorney's office here, and won all of them. I don't really know her beyond our work. Cops and prosecutors rub elbows quite often."

"Wait! Ms. Brown is a prosecutor?" Erik looked like he was going to choke on his salami. "Then why is she working with me?"

"Well," I said, "who better to know what Broadbent and his cronies would do?"

"You do have point," Erik replied. "That sounds like good strategy."

"You saw how she had Andre and Firmin squirming, didn't you?" I laughed. "They looked scared to death of her! She is one of the most fearless attorneys I have ever seen. In spite of what you may think of her personally, you do know that fearless attorneys are just what you need right now, don't you, Erik? And believe me, Phen Brown is one of the best."

A knowing little smile flashed across Erik's face. "You like her, Horatio. I can tell."

I was nearly choking now. "WHAT? That is ridiculous! We're just colleagues, nothing else. She hardly even gives me the time of day!"

Erik shrugged. "Right. So you protest."

"I do protest, Erik. Phen Brown is not the woman I'm in love with."

"Oh, yes!" Erik smacked the table with his hand. "I nearly forgot the beautiful Navy officer in that picture you carry around in your pocket. You are still smitten with her, correct?"

"Correct."

"Then what happened?" He asked with the look of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting bird.

He was testing me. I knew he was. He was trying to see if I would let him see inside my heart. At first I was I not a happy camper about this, but then I realized that he was trying for the first time to really reach out the hand of friendship. Before now I was just someone intruding in his life, but now for whatever reasons, he was reaching out to another person.

"My wounds happened," I began.

Erik nearly came straight out of his chair. "What? She left you because you were injured in battle?"

"No, I wasn't finished," I said, signaling with my eyes for him to be quiet long enough for me to tell the story.

He gave an apologetic nod, and I continued. "One second I was in the middle of an ambush about to die, and the next I was waking up to the sound of a sweet voice reading that passage from the book of Psalms: "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil…" And then there she was, so beautiful and smelling like vanilla perfume. And she was looking down at me like a guardian angel. For a second there, I thought I had died. I even remember asking her if I was in Heaven."  
Erik looked at me and shook his head.

"It sounds corny and stupid, I know!" I laughed. "But what can I say? I was on morphine and about every other drug you can name, and I thought I was tripping out! She smiled at me and told me that no, I wasn't in Heaven, I was only in Okinawa, Japan. That was how it started. She was there when I first woke up, was there every day from then on. She was there when I heard that two of my men died in the same explosion that almost killed me. She was there when I learned to walk again, and I started to think she would always be there. But after a while I found out that my physical injuries weren't the worst ones I carried. You know what I mean, Erik."

"Let me guess," he said with a tired sigh, no doubt reflecting back on the daily counseling sessions he has had with Freuda since moving into my home, "…you had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Still do," I informed him.

"You do? But you seem so…so…"

"Normal? Don't sound so shocked. That was only two and a half years ago, and like I said if I had caught you digging around in my fridge last year, I probably would have shot you. It was the weirdest thing how it all happened. I recovered from the bullet wound in Afghanistan pretty fast, and I jumped back into action. I had to. We were in the middle of a war over there. Still are actually. I told the counselors I was Ok and away I went. But this time all of it crashed down on me. Not just O'Neal and Sanchez, the two guys I was with in the ambush, but all the other things that happened too from way back in Afghanistan. I got help, of course, but sometimes it still bothers me."

"And this is what made her leave? …what was her name, again?"

"Grace," I told him. "Lieutenant Grace Chamberlain. And I think it was a factor. Of course she already had an off-and-on boyfriend back in the States, but we became very close as I was recovering. Too close almost."

"Too close?"

"Yes, because you see, I had connections there in Okinawa. That's why I was on that mission in the first place. We deployed from there. When I found out my career as a SEAL was over, I still wanted to stay in the Navy. So, I managed to get assigned to a desk job there while I was recovering. This put me directly in Grace's chain of command. I couldn't have both the Navy and her. In hindsight, I think I was stupid to play things the way I did. I felt like I had to prove myself, had to stay in the military no matter what, or I wasn't good for anything. But more than anything I wanted revenge on the men who killed my buddies. So, I stayed in Okinawa, and because I did, I outranked Grace, and according to the rules, I couldn't have a personal relationship with her."

"That doesn't seem fair," Erik said. "You loved her, and it sounds as if she must have cared for you too."

"In spite of it all, I wanted to believe she did," I continued. "But then her boyfriend decided he wanted to be serious and suddenly asked her to marry him. I was devastated, but I had to pretend to be happy for her. And I never told her how I really felt. It was too late."

"But you still carry her picture," Erik observed.

"Of course I do. She gave me a reason to keep fighting on instead of giving up. And no matter what weird turns our lives took later, I still love her for that. I may not have made it without her."

"Do you ever see her anymore?"

"No. It's for the best, trust me."

"That doesn't seem right," Erik pronounced.

"Nope, but that's how things are," I said. "Life bites sometimes."

"And you haven't fallen in love with anyone else since then?" Erik asked. "Is it because of…"

"Yep. The same reason you hide, Erik. I've gone on a few casual dates since back then, but I don't know how many women could handle seeing this every day. You know, in a way I envy you, man."

"Me? Whatever for?"

"Because even when you wear a mask it is clear to everyone that it is there for a reason. One could almost think it's a bandage. Everyone knows right away with you. But me, now…well, look you never had any idea about me until this morning, did you?"

"No, of course not."

"So, I had to sit down and tell all of this sad story to you instead," I continued. "And the thought of trying to tell a woman I care about all of this and seeing the shock and pity in her eyes? I just don't want to deal with that."

"Well, I'm glad you told me, Horatio," Erik answered. "It seems we have something in common."

"Yes, it would appear that way, Monsieur Phantom," I said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a broken bottle of ketchup to dispose of. And might I suggest that if you don't want to run into the cook or anyone else, you head back to your room, because they will get up soon."

"Yes, I think that would be prudent."

"Oh, and Erik? Not a word of this to anyone, or I will Punjab you myself!"

Erik smiled and took off back to his room. Our ride to court a short time later was heavy with silence. So, I had no way of knowing just how he would react to the things Raoul de Chagny said on the witness stand, no idea at all…until he escaped from us.+

_Erik's POV_

_Courtroom, Testimony of Raoul deChagny:_

"THIS MONSTER…!" is all I hear yelled madly from that insolent blonde boy's mouth. _Enough! _My mind and body rebel against this venom spewed at me by a man whose sole purpose even before he met me has been to destroy me! Reflexively, I jump to my feet, hearing only, as if in a distance, the heavy oak chair clanging to the floor. Every muscle in my body strains to do battle with him and finally resolve this hatred that rages between us. My senses are focused totally on him. I can see him cowering back in his seat. His lawyer is turning around, glowering at me, daring me to act.

But, I can sense something else, too. Something that is holding me and drawing me back from the rage I feel coursing through my veins. I feel hands grasping my left arm, tugging, and a voice _imploring._ In the din of the courtroom I hear the banging of a gavel and raised voices but now, suddenly, this pleading next to me draws my attention. I see Laura looking up at me, her beautiful, dark eyes wide with fear and warning. I begin to focus on what she is saying to me as I now also see two fully armed bailiffs coming toward me.

"Erik, _please, please _sit down, quickly! They will arrest you and take you away! Please, Erik, please _don't let that happen!" _Her pleading tone somehow breaks through the fog of my anger, and I pause. She has told me that the Judge can send anyone to jail who disrupts the courtroom. I look up at the bailiffs who are rushing toward me. I also see on the Judge's face the expressions of both sternness and compassion as she pauses, waiting for my next action. With her aged, wise eyes, she is trying to give me a warning. The banging of her gavel has ceased, as have the loud rumblings that for a few seconds came from the spectator's section.

Now I see everyone frozen like marble statues. Everywhere I look they are watching me with an intensity that I find oppressive. It is up to me…it is solely my decision what to do next. Laura has warned me during our meetings in her office that I could be sent to jail if I do not control my anger during this trial. Imprisoned in a cell…confined against my will. For a second the gypsy cage flashes in front of my eyes, and my anger flames up again mixing with the humiliation that I had felt. But then, I remember Freuda…her telling me I can control these flashbacks. I can control and redirect my anger of what has happened to me in the past…what has been done to me.

I look back down into Laura's upturned face and see her eyes silently begging me to consider what I am doing. Suddenly I realize I cannot do anything that would cause her pain or disappointment in me. The bailiffs set the chair upright. Letting out a huge sigh of resignation, I lower myself into the chair, all the while looking into Laura's eyes. When I sit down, I put my hand over hers, which are still on my forearm, and try to reassure her that it is over. I give her a look of deep resolve that I will control myself. She gives me a smile and nod of her head in acknowledgement, but I notice that she does not move her hands from my arm.

The testimony continues, but I am barely listening any longer. What Raoul said about Christine keeps thundering through my head which is now pounding mercilessly. His words keep replaying over and over….the hideous ones when he said that Christine loves him, and that she is afraid of "the Phantom." He said she only wanted ME out of THEIR lives! Then, those final, crushing, brutal words: "Why did you make her_ lie _to you to save me? This man, this MONSTER showed no compassion."

_Compassion? _Who EVER showed me ANY compassion my entire life in France? _Monster_? Was I truly the ONLY monster? Was it not monstrous how I had been forced to live, to hide so as not to impose my deformity on my fellow humans and always shy away from human contact? Was I really making Christine lie? Was everything she did, that she said…was it all a lie? Did she truly want me out of her life? Was everything—even the kisses she finally gave me after all that happened—only a masquerade meant to save Raoul? These thoughts now force their way into my mind, into my being, into my soul. Thoughts I had not ventured to entertain before…too painful…too overwhelming. I sit stunned, staring at my hands, silent, unmoving, not really hearing anything else that is said. I don't know how much time has passed, but it is finally over. Raoul is leaving the courtroom, and the crowd is stirring as people move to the exits. I pull myself back to the present, to my body, and look at Laura for direction.

"It is lunch recess. We need to go to our private lunchroom. There you can rest for a while…talk if you wish to," she says with a reassuring smile, but her probing eyes tell me that she is deeply concerned about me. As for me, I am numb and confused and don't know what I think or feel. Almost wanting NOT to feel. Not right now. I must control myself…if only for Laura's sake…for the promise I made to her. With all my will, I stand, pulling myself to my full height, shoulders back as if nothing has happened…just as I have had to pretend, to act, so very many times before in my life.

Silently, I follow Laura to the door at the front of the courtroom which leads to the private corridor and our lunchroom. Counselor Brown and Counselor Sebbied are close behind me, saying nothing, but I can feel their eyes upon me, wondering, as if waiting for me to flail out again in anger. At the doorway, Horatio and Jeremy open it for us to pass through. They both always stand in the courtroom, just inside the doorway, guarding me. But when I look into Horatio's eyes now, there is a look in them I have never seen before. I cannot tell what it means, it is so intense that I wonder if he, too, thinks I am a monster and capable of murder. Is everyone now believing Raoul? Are they all wondering who…what…they are defending? Do they all feel they have made a mistake to put so much effort into such _a thing, a madman, a monster_? As I walk down the hallway, the two men in front, Laura at my side, and the two other attorneys behind, I feel as if I am suffocating. My throat and lungs constrict so I can hardly get my breath. I need space. I need to think. I need to be _alone_.

When we get to the door of our private meeting and lunchroom, I turn around and force the words from my mouth, "I would like ten minutes to myself…alone…please." My pleading eyes settle on Laura, knowing she is the one who will understand, will support my request. Laura looks up with glistening eyes. My God! I wonder to myself…what does SHE think of me now?

"Horatio, it would be alright for us to wait here in the hallway for ten minutes to give Erik a little time to himself, wouldn't it?" she says immediately, her tone more of an order than a request. That tone is not missed by anyone, and Horatio nods his head in agreement, looking at me with eyes that give silent consent.

I express a simple "thank you" to Laura and Horatio and disappear into the room, shutting the door quickly behind me. I know exactly what I am going to do. My plan is already set. I have often looked at the single tall window in this room while eating my lunch. Wasting no time I go straight to the window and test it. There is an inside latch which swings open with a little tug, and I pull up on the window. It is an old building and has the ancient counter-weight pulley system built into the frame of the windows that I am accustomed to in my century. Luckily the mechanism is in working condition and using only a moderate amount of force, it opens up three feet—just right for me to squeeze out.

I look out the window. I am familiar with this side of the building and know that it faces a rising hill and a small forest instead of the parking lots. I am sure that there will be no one to see me climb out. More than anything I would love to hike over that hill and just lose myself and disappear into the mists like a true phantom, but I know that cannot happen. I know that on the other side of that hill is one of those hellacious freeways, and I cannot get a ride from anyone without being immediately recognized. I am aware that my picture has been everywhere—in newspapers, in magazines and even in this new, strange machine they call television. I would be recognized and turned back to the police. There is no escape for me. But, for at least a little while, I will go where I choose, do what I want and do some thinking…about what Raoul said…about Christine…. I desperately need some freedom from these eyes watching me…always watching…and now, I have no doubt… they are wondering whether I am indeed a murderer and a monster.

There are narrow ledges across the façade of the building, probably to serve both ornamental purposes and for escape from a fire, and they are wide enough to hold me. Lifting myself out is no effort. I have an agility and strength from climbing the flies of the opera house all my life. Although we are on the fifth floor of the courthouse, I have no fear of heights, and I find a firm footing on the ledge a few feet below the window. As usual, the sky is overcast with gray, threatening clouds, and a wind whips against my clothing, so I carefully hug the wall. The cool, fresh air is a relief after the choking confines of the courthouse, and I take in a deep breath, feeling free, at least for now. I quickly work my way to the far corner of the building, where there is a metal ladder attached to the building. With a little maneuvering, I thrust my tall frame over the side of the metal hand railing that surrounds it and land squarely on the steps. Wasting no time, I hurry down the several flights of steps until I reach the ground.

I see a doorway nearby and test the door handle. It is not locked! Ah! Good fortune is truly with me today! I slip into the dark of the room, closing the door silently behind me and staying still until my eyes adjust to the darkness of this space. As forms take shape, I realize this is a storage room for equipment that is used to tend the lawns and gardens. Many tools, like hoes and rakes are familiar, and other mechanical devices are similar to those used at Horatio's estate, where I reside. As my eyes fully adjust, a pathway between the tools can be detected which leads to a door on the opposite side of the room. I carefully walk to the door, lest I rattle anything or cause any sound.

Opening the door just a few inches, I look out into the adjacent room. It is large, with rough-hewn walls and lit only by the overhead, blaring, uncovered light bulbs. Strange to see uncovered light bulbs. For some reason they must be considered ugly by this culture since there are always coverings over them, but to me they are fascinating and really quite delightful in their own right. I would have loved such clear, steady light to work under in my eternally dark dwelling.

Seeing no people in the large room, I enter it and scan its wall, looking for an exit. My plan is to find the enclosed stairwell, go to the top floor and find a vacant room where I can just sort my thoughts and deal with my gaping wounds caused by Raoul's lacerating words. I observe that this room contains much unused furniture and a number of tall mechanical devices. Some appear to be furnaces, not too dissimilar from the ones I have seen at the opera house.

"_Just what do you think you are doing here?" _A voice from behind startles me. I swivel on my heel, just in time to confront a figure barreling toward me….

Profuse Thank Yous to **Phanna** and **Rappleyea**, our intrepid editors.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Due to the amazing and sincerely appreciated FIVE reviews that were submitted for the Chapter that posted yesterday, and per my previous promise to immediately post the next Chapter should such an earthshaking event occur, without further adieu, here it is:**

**Chapter 12 The Phantom of the Courthouse, PART 2, by Phanfan44, Phangirl+ and Rappleyea++**

_Seattle, Washington  
August 19, 2005_

_++Erik's POV:_

…The man charging at me like a wild bull is tall and large, with iron gray hair, a full beard and moustache. This is all I notice before I step aside to avoid his fist as it flies at my face. Hurtling toward me so fast, he nearly collides with the door, and I use the brief moment before his next onslaught to coil the muscles in my body for my response. I spin around and do not wait for him to fully recover, but land a hard blow to the side of his head as he whirls back around. He staggers, but quickly recovers and feints a punch to my face. When I avert my head, he hits me in the ribs. Then he gives me a hard shove into the wall. My head slams into the rough bricks with dizzying force, and for one sickening instant, the world goes black.

"I'll kill you, Freak!" The man growls behind me, and I step aside again. This time his fist connects with the wall, and he roars in pain. He is distracted for a few seconds, just long enough for me to get my hands around his neck and begin to strangle him. In the harsh glare of the naked light bulbs, I see his face turn red and his eyes bulge. They are blue, I notice, cold icy blue…and full of hatred.

"Who are you?" I hiss. "What are you doing here?"

His nails claw at my hands, and I tighten my grip on his throat. He staggers as his lungs attempt to gather air, and I slam him into the wall. He seems to regain his strength and shoves back, and we fall down together on the hard floor.

For a man his size, he moves surprisingly fast as he scrambles to his feet and kicks at me. I grab his foot and roll to the side, and he crashes to the floor like a fallen tree. I jump to my feet and lunge at him preparing to take advantage of his position for another blow.

Just as I am about to kick him in the ribs, a shrill yell shatters the air. "Hold it right there! Both of you!"

Without turning my back on the fallen man, I glance up enough to see a second man running toward us, a long metal pipe raised in his hands. The first attacker pulls himself up with an effort and scrambles over to a strange piece of equipment. I make a move after him, but I don't want to turn my back on the second man who is barreling toward us. I hold my hands up to show the man with the pipe that I have no weapons.

"Stop right there!" He commands. "Don't move an inch!"

The room seems to spin for a few moments, and I hear the rush of footsteps on the floor. I turn slightly to see the bearded man racing for the same door I had entered, his arms around a black box with wires dangling from it.

"Stop!" The second man yells, but it is too late. The attacker is already gone.

"Damn!" I curse to myself silently, still trying to catch my breath. "I have grown careless and complacent to allow myself to be caught in a situation such as this. Rescued by an old man wielding a pipe! Unbelievable!" I think with a shudder.

Before I, too, can escape, the old man cries out stupidly, "It's him! It's the Phantom of the Opera!" I am tempted to scare the daylights out of the old fool, but instead I simply turn and bring my finger to my lips in a gesture meant to silence him. To his credit, he seems to understand my meaning and stops a few feet away. I take a moment to look closer at him.

He is dressed in a way that I have not seen before. His clothing appears to be all of one piece, both the shirt and the trousers. But he is covered from head to foot with either soot or oil as even his face is smeared with a black substance. He grins at me then as if we had just shared a great joke, his teeth and the whites of his eyes appearing unnaturally white against the grime on his face.

"I came down here to escape from all the madness for a while, only to be attacked," I tell him, feeling that I owe my rescuer an explanation. I wait for his response, wondering what he will do next.

"I can understand that young fella," he says quite unexpectedly. Then, with a laugh, "Can't say I cotton much to most people myself! That's why I work on this equipment - no one bothers me down here!"

My head is throbbing, and I am feeling a little dizzy so, I lower my aching body onto a wood crate and lift my hand to my forehead, which is throbbing unmercifully. I feel blood running down the left side of my face from a cut over my eye. I take a handkerchief out of my pocket, and am startled to see the initials on the corner, "LC." It is the same handkerchief Laura gave me the first day of court. I put it on the gash in an effort to staunch the flow of blood and realize ruefully that it might be ruined now. Another curse escapes my lips. If it is possible for me to look worse than I already do, I am sure I will now with a cut and a lump on my head. Now is when I need to resort to my full mask, I think darkly. The news reporters will no doubt exploit this to their scurrilous ends with their speculations regarding this injury.

The old man watches everything I do, but he quickly averts his gaze when he sees me looking at him. He suddenly notices the storage room door is open and exclaims, "That door is always supposed to be locked! Is that how you got in here, too?"

"Yes," I answer in surprise, "but it was already unlocked when I entered."

"Well, that's not good. Security in the courthouse has gotten very strict since that trial began…well, son, you know…YOUR trial! That door is always locked, so he must've broken in, and you just happened along right afterwards. I've gotta go lock up that door right away!" I watch as he trots to the storage room door and disappears, still holding his pipe up, ready to hit anyone who may be lurking there.

"He's long gone, son," the old man assures me when he returns, "and that door is now locked with my key. You can't go back out that way."

"I had not planned to," I respond wearily. My head is really pounding now. Despite my foul mood, I linger a moment longer and ask out of curiosity, "Exactly what do you work on down here?"

"Why on the old furnace, of course," he chuckles and adds, "I've kept her going for a good ten years or more past when she should have been sold for scrap," he tells me with evident pride.

It occurs to me that I would like nothing better than to stay down here and tinker on the furnace with the old man. To lose myself once again in the dark underground far from the probing scrutiny of the crowds, far from the courtroom which has become just another cage for me, and far, far from the unending lies and slander which has followed me across an ocean and a hundred years. I wince as I gingerly remove Laura's handkerchief from my head. With a heavy sigh, I glance at my pocket watch and realize time is passing by too quickly. My life is no longer my own, and I know that I will eventually have to return to the courtroom today. I wish the old man "good day," and nod my good-bye to him. Sadly, as I rise to go, the strange thought occurs to me that I will never see him again.

"It's probably best that you're movin' on. You know, I have to report what happened to security right pronto," the old man's gravelly voice breaks into my thoughts. "So, you best get movin' if you don't want to be caught just yet!" He adds with another grin. He then points me to a door on the other side of the room.

I cross the room somewhat gingerly, each footstep sending a pounding sensation to my head. Opening the door, I peek out into a short, dark hallway. I quietly slip out and down its length to the doorway located on the opposite wall and open it, finding myself in a large room full of books.++

_  
+Counselor Phen Brown's POV:_

I can hardly wait to get out of the courtroom during the lunch break, and slipping through the omnipresent army of security guards and reporters is easy for me to do. I have learned all of their tricks by now and can usually move freely through the courthouse to the odd isolated places I have managed to find to hide in during quiet moments like this. There is only so much of the media circus I can stand before I get irritated and have to fight down the urge to slap someone silly. And right now those someones are Raoul de Chagny and "Faunty" Broadbent.

"Faunty!" Just the sort of nickname I would expect for a stuck-up snob like him. It was all I could do to keep from jumping up when Erik did and hurling my chair into Broadbent's broad side.

Hmm, _broadside_? I've been reading too many nautical novels again. Well, I have to do something on the nights when I can't sleep, something other than dig up information about my enemies, such as their nicknames, or brood over the past…

I take off the ridiculous glasses that I wear to court everyday, and I find the rarely used back stairwell. I then take the steps two at a time, glad to have the chance to run, even this short distance. There is a guard at the door that opens onto the roof, just as I knew there would be, but he offers me no resistance as I walk past him and out into the fresh air.

There is a secluded place at one corner of the building where I immediately go and set down my briefcase. Next I remove my blue suit jacket to get more comfortable. A few seconds later, I'm lying on a stone ledge on the roof with my briefcase for a pillow, my cell phone only a few inches from my nose, its alarm clock set to ring in half an hour. Half an hour of freedom, that is all I am allowed before I have to go back and face the endless scrutiny of the world. I look up and see a flock of pigeons soaring overhead, their gray and white wings standing out against the sky. I smile when I see them and then close my eyes. Only half an hour to try to sleep and not to dream…or to remember… But I can't help it. Of its own accord, my mind wanders back…

"I'm tired of taking second place in your life, Honey. I'm tired of always waiting for you to come home. When is it ever going to end?"

I looked up into the stormy blue eyes of the man I loved, and try to smile to reassure him, even though part of me agrees with him. "What are you saying, Rick? You want me to leave now? Right in the middle of a trial and let innocent men go to prison?"

He tried to reason with me, which I knew he would. "The trial hasn't started yet. You said yourself it isn't scheduled to begin for another two months. Can't they get someone else to take your place? It was one thing when you went to different states, but now here you are thousands of miles from home, and who knows how long this case will take?"

"I can't leave," I said. "You know I can't. I have my duty. These men are being accused of something they didn't do. All they did was their jobs and now they are being used as scapegoats. I have to make things right. Please, just be patient a little while longer."

He sighed a long sad sigh. "I didn't mean to go off like that. But I haven't seen you in weeks, Phen. You don't look well. You've lost weight and your eyes… My God, I've never seen you look so exhausted. Even your sister Jenn is so mad about it she is ready to storm your boss' office and demand he take you off the case."

"She wouldn't dare!"

Rick smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course she wouldn't. Jennifer doesn't have the same fire that you do, Phen. But she is worried, too. Both of us are. We worry constantly about you being here alone so far from us, especially with all that's going on in the world. Americans are targets for terrorists all over the globe."

I grasped his hand and kissed him gently. "I know, Babe. I know. Which is why I have to stay here and see this case through. I have to win this one, Rick. I have to remind the world who our true enemies are. It isn't these men. It's the ones they and thousands of others like them are trying to protect us from. Please try to understand that. I miss you and Jenn too. You know I do, but ultimately it's for you that I stay."

He's quiet as I run my fingers through his strawberry-blonde hair and silently beg him to understand. "Just tell me one thing," he finally says. "Please say that you are still going to be able to come home for two weeks. You owe me at least that much."

"Yes, of course I am," I said. "I have it in writing."

"Do you promise?"

I smiled at him. "Cross my heart, hope to die…."

He shook his head, and mischief danced across his face. "Not good enough. I should make you write it down in one of those contracts that you lawyers are so fond of. I should make you swear under penalty of perjury or something really dire that in two days you will be on that plane to D.C. with me. Maybe you should even write it in blood or something."

"Blood, or something?" I laughed. "My, aren't you the dramatic one?"

"Well, yes, I am an actor," he said. "An actor who wants you to be there on his next opening night. I promise you it will be one hell of a show."

"Then I promise you I WILL be there…"

I sit up on the bench so fast that I knock my cell phone down onto the roof. It lands several feet away with a clatter.

_Falling…crashing…._

I feel my knees shake as I stand up to retrieve the phone. Ironically enough it had been an urgent phone call that canceled my plan to go home with Rick and Jenn. A new development in the case I was defending had occurred only the night before I was to have boarded that charter plane with them.

I grasp the phone in my hand and look out past the city skyline to the blue waters of Puget Sound that reach out to join in an eternal embrace with the Pacific. If only I too could reach into that vast sea…

_Falling…crashing_…one small charter jet forever lost in that endless ocean…

And now like the Sound, I too long to reach out and hold Rick and Jenn close…if only for one single moment…one last precious moment to say goodbye…

As if on cue, that damned cell phone starts to ring, and I think for one wild instant that I will hurl the stupid thing over the side of the building. But when I see the name of the person on the other end, I answer it quickly.

"I told you never to call me on this phone! Especially not here!"

I listen to the urgent voice on the other end, and I immediately know that it is time to answer the call of duty yet again. "Yes. I understand. I'm on my way."

I run back to the ledge and put my glasses back on and instinctively reach for my jacket. But then I see it there, dark and cold, the one thing I have to put on first. The one thing I may yet have to use.

I am so accustomed to strapping the shoulder holster on that I could do it with my eyes closed. In fact I usually do it in the dark, in one of my favorite hidden corners of the courthouse far from the reach of the metal detectors at the front entrance, and the gawking eyes of the security guards, spectators, and reporters.

The GLOCK 26, or "Baby GLOCK" is small, compact, and snuggles nicely under my arm. Out of habit, I take it from the holster and double-check the magazine, though I know it is already loaded with ten 9 mm Luger rounds. Satisfied that my trusty weapon is battle-ready, I holster it and pull on my jacket. With the buttons firmly fastened, there is no way for anyone to know that the gun is even there.

Picking up my cell phone and briefcase, I sprint back to the door. The guard is gone, as I knew he would be, and I am free to roam the courthouse at will. "Court was getting a bit boring," I say with a smile of anticipation. "But now… Now it's time to do a little hunting."+

_  
Erik's POV:_

I step cautiously into the oak-paneled library and easily hide behind ancient, tall bookshelves filled with dusty books that smell faintly of mold and mildew. No doubt this is the law library for the courthouse. I quietly move along the far side of the room, protected from view by the tall rows of shelves. Some people are sitting at long oak tables arranged in the center of the room and I make sure to stay hidden from their prying eyes. I inspect the room and discover that there is an office next to the entrance door. Luckily, the woman working in the office sits at a desk with her back toward the door. With the stealth of a panther, I edge to the door and open it soundlessly.

Looking out in the hallway, I can see that it is empty. I continue out the doorway and go to the stairwell at the end of the hall walking hastily past the elevator. Obviously I will not be using that. When I get to the enclosed stairwell, I break into a run, wanting to climb to the top floor as quickly as possible. All I want now is to find a private place away from prying eyes and gossiping whispers to just sit and think.

As I bound up the ancient stairwell, my shoes pound a cadence against the wood steps, with my head injury pulsing and my heart pumping an ever quickening beat of anger as my mind again returns to Raoul's condemning words! "Christine lied!" "Monster!" "Christine lied!" "Monster!"

Totally wrapped up in my tormenting thoughts, I am unprepared for the door on the fourth floor landing to burst open and a young woman collide into me. Crashing together in total surprise, we both get the wind knocked out of us. The rather petite young woman takes a step back from me in obvious shock. Her eyes grow as huge as Carlotta's when that croak came out of her throat, and the young woman finally breathes out, "It's…YOU!"

Anger rises in me at yet another confrontation. Somehow I doubt she will be as understanding as the old man was. She is probably one of the curious spectators who have come to gawk at the freakish masked phantom. I draw up to my full height and glower down at her, having no desire to engage in any discourse.

The visibly shaken young woman takes a step back and her eyes sweep over me from head to toe and back to my face. Then the unexpected happens. She starts to wobble on her feet and before I can even ask if she is alright, she has crumbled! I dive forward to catch her before she hits the floor. I have heard such things happen behind me in the spectator's section of the courtroom—this horrendous fainting phenomenon, but I had never witnessed it. I am shaken to the core! Am I so horrible to behold that I have such an effect? Maybe I was right all those years to hide away. I wonder how Laura and the others tolerate me at all?

I pick up the young lady, and she seems as light as a feather, much lighter than Christine who is tall and stately. She is breathing normally, and I feel she will resuscitate quite soon, as most of them seem to do. Looking at the door she entered through, I decide I must at least leave her in the main hallway where others will spot her to give her assistance. I open the door and look out into the hallway. No one is there, so I enter and gently place her on the floor, putting her reticule under her head. I again check her breathing and pulse. Both seem normal. Placing her hands across her waist, I stand, turn and slip out the doorway, continuing my race up the stairwell to the top floor.

When I arrive there I look out into the hallway. I see a few people at the far end getting on the elevator, and I wait until they have gone. Then I step into the hallway and walk to a doorway labeled "Conference Room." That sounds like a good place to just sit and think. I turn the handle on the door and find that it is not locked. The small room I enter is rather stark, furnished only with a long table and chairs around it. At the far end is a wide, tall window, which faces the hill and trees. Perfect. I pull up a chair and sit down, breathless from both the rapid climb and the unexpected encounter with the young lady and her "thud," as I have heard it called.

My emotions raw and jumbled with so many colliding thoughts and conflicting feelings, I contemplate the skies as if I will find answers or comfort there. All I find, however, are patches of blue between the graying clouds. The darkening sky seems to overshadow the lush forested hills. Rain is threatening to fall, as it does so often here, adding to the gloom of my mood and musings. I seem to still be surrounded by water, but here it falls like tears and turns everything deep green, totally unlike the dark, dank, dampness of my underground lair.

I know I can never return to living underground. Indeed the lair is no longer my home…it is a place of death and destruction…and not only of my making…much of it caused by the horrors committed during the Commune. Despite what Horatio told me about his time in the military and the scars I saw on his body, I cannot help but think that this city in this time period is so fortunate. They could not know what it is like to have cannon fire exploding at any time, day or night, on them, as we suffered in Paris during the siege by the Prussians. This world is so wealthy, has so much food and comfort, and none of the horrible fears and ravages that we Parisians suffered during our century. When I go back to France—then remembering the pending Case, I ruefully correct myself, _if _I go back—how will I ever adjust again? What awaits me there after many more months of war and death and disease have taken their toll on Paris?

Indeed who awaits me there intrudes back into my consciousness. My mind spins uncontrollably back to what has preoccupied it since Raoul's testimony, completely unable to free myself of those damning words. "Christine lied…" Raoul said she lives with him in his family's mansion now, and they soon will wed. He says Christine does not love me, never did, and only lied…pretended to care for me…but only to save him. So, is that why she returned the ring after all? He told her to bring it back to me so it would not be in her possession as a reminder? My breathing becomes ragged as I consider what it means if that was truly her meaning…her intention. My hands pound the table in front of me in disbelief…in outrage.

Searing emotions flood my body. What IS the truth? I NEED to know the truth! I love Christine…but did she not love me…at all? She MUST feel something for me, her Angel of Music, her teacher. How could she not? I felt it in her sweet kisses. I cannot be wrong about that! Watching the clouds shifting in the sky, buffeted by the moving hands of the wind, I think back.

When Christine came to the Opera Populaire, she was a precious, beautiful, but sad little girl. Her beloved father had just died. And, I, too, mourned him because her father was also _my friend_. Indeed, the only friend I ever had other than Antoinette Giry. Indeed, it was Antoinette who introduced us.

I bend over in the chair and place my forehead in the palms of my hands, thinking back, remembering how it all began. I had written short compositions which Antoinette loved hearing me play on my violin or the organ when she would come for her weekly visit. She told me they needed to be heard, to be played by others.

So, on one occasion when the famous violinist Gustav Daae came to the Opera Populaire to perform, she had brought him to the lair with her, unbeknownst to me. I was utterly shocked to see someone else emerge from the boat, but it was too late to protest. Gustav was the most genial, truly kind man I could ever imagine, and he immediately made a jest and put me at ease. He never mentioned my mask or asked me about it. Instead, he insisted I play for him, and I did, on both the violin and the organ. That day he instructed me on the finer techniques of the violin, the first of many such days. He often asked to take with him some of my compositions. I felt he was merely being polite, but I later learned he actually performed them in concert, and even negotiated a contract with a music company, giving me all the proceeds from the publication and sale of my work.

So, it was with the deepest shock that I learned of Gustav's sudden illness and death. Antoinette, being his closest friend, was named guardian of Christine, and she then came to live with Antoinette and Meg in their small apartment in the opera house. I overheard Christine crying the night she arrived. I now look up at the window as I hear the winds outside the courthouse begin to lash the newly falling rain against the windowpane.

Crying. So much crying. I could not stand to hear this tiny girl hurting so very much. It was more than I could bear. But, I did not want to go into the room and frighten her with my mask…my appearance…so I just started singing to her from the other side of the wall. She quieted and stopped sobbing, and I assume fell asleep. I went each night to check on her, and often heard her crying. The loss of her father was overwhelming to her, so each night I would sing. My singing continued until it became customary. After a period of time she started joining me, singing with her sweet voice. I run my hands through my hair, remembering how much I had looked forward to our nightly strange duets. Sometimes I would bring my violin and play for her. And her voice…well her voice became as the angels with my tutoring …

Then, one day a couple years ago, when I was watching her dance on the stage, I realized that her body, her hair, her face, her lips, too, had become like the angels, and I was totally smitten. I loved her and wanted us to go on forever, sharing our music and our lives. Why could that not be? My heart and mind seek an answer to so many questions. Was sharing our lives asking too much? Was she not as enraptured with music, with our singing as I had been?

The night of the gala performance SHE had asked to see me, to meet me. I thought our relationship would continue to develop from its long, nine-year foundation. And, in my lair, when I sang to her, I felt she was in accord with my feelings…and then…she fainted. When she awoke, she seemed to be caressing me, only to suddenly remove my mask without any forewarning. Nothing is more devastating to me than that…NO ONE removes my mask! And I did NOT want Christine to see my face! I was shocked, and I know I reacted with anger. Nothing was ever the same again, and then Raoul came into her life as a suitor.

But I search my memory, and my breath stops as I remember her on the stage in Don Juan Triumphant. I can still see her hair flowing down her shoulders, the red rose in full bloom and that spark of passion in her eyes when we sang again to each other. Why could it not have been just her and me and the world not intruding?

The sky outside the window begins to blur, and I realize it is from the wetness forming in my own eyes. There in the lair she had kissed me so dearly, so sweetly, but I had sent her away. I could not risk her being caught by the crazed mob out for my blood…and I could not force her to go with me unless it was her own choice. My eyes scan to the highest clouds as my heart is breaking because I knew then, and I know now, that no matter how much my world, my life depended on her being with me, I could not in the end either force her or sacrifice her. Ever since she put that ring in my hand and closed my fingers over it, I had felt…hoped…prayed it meant her heart was still mine, and we still had a chance…maybe…sometime…somehow…

A tear escapes and flows down the side of my face, shocking me out of my reverie, and I wipe it off angrily. But today…now…Raoul has said it was all a lie…She wants only him…She wanted only to be rid of me…And why should I not believe this? Am I not so repugnant that I was shown as a freak when I was a child? Angrily I try to force myself to face the truth. I had been shunted away, hidden, all my life…and now people faint at the sight of me! How is a gargoyle, a monster to expect to be loved? The rain rages against the window, and I wonder how much time has passed.

I look at my pocket watch and realize it is just after 1:00 p.m. I know court begins in half and hour, and I do not want to be late and cause more embarrassment to Laura than I already have…at least any more than it must be to have me as a client. I reflect that only someone as compassionate as she has always been would even consider taking on such a monster. I rise slowly from my chair, pause for one last look at the clouds, blowing freely…

I turn and walk to the door, ready to look out. It is now time to let Horatio and his security team find me. Imagine my surprise then when I open the door and find Horatio himself standing there looking at me as if he is ready to explode. He reaches out, grabs my arm and snaps, "Come with me. Now, Erik! And don't try any more stupid stunts like that! I don't have either the time or the patience for your games, Monsieur Phantom!"

I open my mouth to protest, but he raises his finger at me. "Don't even start! I can see that you're bleeding. Let me guess, a fight?" He mutters a few curse words under his breath and dials his cell phone. "Jeremy, I have Erik secured. I'm taking him to the seventh floor men's room. Bring a medic up here. Thanks." He returns the phone to his coat pocket and taking an even firmer hold on my arm. "Now come with me."

He is completely silent as he leads me down the hall, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his body stiff. Without question, I have angered him, and were my head not throbbing in so much pain, I likely would respond in kind…

"Security!" Horatio yells into the bathroom when we arrive. "Everyone out!" Moments later three fearful-looking gentlemen rush from the stalls, take one look at me and flee from the room.

I turn to him and say, "Now if you do not mind, I want to wash my hands."

Horatio looks down at my upturned palms. "Wait! You can't do that! What is that on your hands? It looks like beige paint. Did you touch wet paint anywhere?"

"No," I tell him, "After the fight, I talked to the custodian in the basement and then came up here. Well, there was this one woman I saw who fainted, but…"

"This man you fought with. Who was he and what happened?" He says in harsh, clipped tones.

I quickly recount my tale and all the while Horatio stands staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest. His lips are twisted in such a way that he very closely resembles a snarling watchdog.

I no sooner finish my story than Jeremy Nichols, one of the other security officers comes into the room and stands by the door as a guard. With him is another young man, who also has brown hair, and carries a medical kit. It strikes me, even in this odd situation that all of these security officers look alike. The same haircuts, same hair color, the same dark drab suits.

"I'm Matt McBrighton," the new man says with a civil, almost sympathetic tone. "Let's take a look here."

"Swab his hands for trace first," Horatio commands. "There is some kind of substance on them. I want a sample sent to the lab. I also want you to scrape under his nails for skin cells."

Neither Nichols nor the man who calls himself "McBrighton" give a single word of argument, or even think there is anything in the least bit odd about these orders. I however, would dearly like to know what it means to "swab hands for trace" and why it is necessary for them to scrape under my fingernails. But none of the men say a word except for McBrighton as he carries out his duties. At last he is finished swabbing and picking at my hands and finally tends to my head.

"Nasty contusion there. Looks like you smashed it pretty hard. We're going to have to keep a close eye on it." He addresses this last sentence to Horatio, who nods very briefly and then resumes glaring at me. After he daubs away the blood, McBrighton applies some kind of liquid to the cut on my head.

"Liquid bandage," he explains. "Kind of like super glue. Better than stitches and a whole lot more comfortable." After that, he takes some kind of plastic package out of his kit, kneads it in his hands and then places it on my head.

"Hold that there on the bruise," he instructs. "That's dry ice in there. The pack will turn cold very quickly. Keep it there for the next twenty minutes. I'll get you something for that headache."

As soon as he is finished, Horatio says, "Now come with me. You need to go apologize to Laura. She was nearly out of her gourd with worry for you!"

"What? Out of her gourd?" Perplexed at what this implies about her, I shake my head, and the pain stabs at me again.

Horatio now wastes no time laying on the guilt rather heavily. He snaps, "'Mind,' Erik! She was out of her mind with worry! When I last saw her, she was actually shaking with shock from discovering the conference room empty! How could you do that to her? You had better make amends fast, or you might end up looking for another team of lawyers!" I feel another deep stab. This time it is not from my head, but is of surprise and regret at how Laura reacted. And I am the one who did it. I certainly did not mean to cause her such anxiety, but now I realize that Horatio is right. I must make amends.

Nichols finally breaks his silence by laughing, "And you thought getting into a fight was tough! Just wait! Now you have to make peace with a woman!"

"That is enough!" Horatio spouts. "Both of you escort us back to the defense meeting room. If he gets any ideas and tries to escape again, just shoot him and save the jury the trouble of convicting him."

I look at Horatio in disbelief, remembering our early morning discussion in his kitchen. And just for an instant I have to wonder if he really would shoot me.

"Well, that is something you never expected to hear, huh?" He says as we leave the bathroom, with Nichols and McBrighton following close behind. A bitter smile slowly worms its way across his features. "After all the resources, time, and people The Program has committed to helping you, I would think that you would be more appreciative and cooperative. This isn't some damn game, Erik!"

"I do apologize," I say, and this only angers him more.

"Don't waste your apologies on me. You have no idea at all do you?" He spits out. "Well let me tell you something, pal." He grabs my arm again, and I turn to look at him. And that is when I see it in the depths of his brown eyes…something I have often seen in my own. I want to pull back from him, as from a hot flame, but I cannot. The anguish I see in Horatio's eyes is so very deep and so very familiar. He seems to struggle for several moments to say something and finally he succeeds.

"People have died for the work that The Program is doing, Erik," he says in a broken whisper. "Good men. No, the best men there are…men of honor. So, don't you ever do something so stupid and heartless again, do you understand me? Don't disgrace their memories like that or you will be fighting me next. Got it?"

I am so stunned by what he says that I speechless. I just nod at him and lower my head, reflecting on what he has told me. He motions for me to follow him. "You're going to go see Laura now," he says. "And you are going into that lion's den alone."

As we open the door to our private meeting room, it is clear that Laura is pacing up and down the small space. No one else is in the room, and I see the expression on her face and swallow hard. I keep the bandaged side of my face turned away out of her view. This is not going to be pleasant. Laura is definitely not in a good mood. There is a fire in her eyes that I have never seen before. We met often in her office the seven weeks before the trial started, and still have a long weekly meeting between each of the court days, and she has always been understanding and compassionate. But I see something entirely different now…a challenging set to her mouth and shoulders. I can tell before she says a word that I am in trouble, so I decide to remain silent and assess her wrath before I speak.

"Erik, what on God's green earth were you thinking? Instead of going over final preparation for Raoul's cross-examination, I have spent this last hour and a half wondering about where you were and would you be back in time for the court session?..." Am I seeing clearly I wonder to myself? Are her eyes glistening with tears? "…and wondering whether or not you were safe!" These words surprise me, causing me to turn and look at her directly.

"Good grief! What happened to your forehead?"

"A fight," I answer as simply as possible.

"A fight? With whom?" she says with a strained voice.

"I do not know. A man attacked me in the basement!"

"Are you alright? The bruise looks terrible!" she says with dismay.

"I am alright. The wound has stopped bleeding, and I have been given some medication for the pounding head." I assure her.

"I am so sorry," she says with a tone of genuine concern. But then she looks into my eyes with renewed sharpness, "Does anyone know about this other than Horatio?"

"Well, Nichols and the man who bandaged the wound. And…there was the janitor in the furnace room…and a young woman who…uh…ran into me in the stairwell…" I answer sheepishly.

"A janitor and a woman! Well, then, you realize we can't keep that secret! They will be telling this to every reporter in this courthouse! It will be repeated endlessly on the news. You know that the Powers That Be want the time travel technology owned by The Program. They are trying to discredit the Program because it brought you to this century to save your life! The PTB will use any excuse, no matter how trivial and exploit it, blowing it out of proportion in every news media, and you just gave them fodder for their propaganda!" her anger can no longer be contained.

I cough and clear my dry throat, getting out a rather feeble, "I apologize."

"Erik, I need more than that! I need your promise not to do this again. We are all trying to help you…You have to make a commitment to help us…to work with us!"

Then it bursts out of me, no longer able to remain unspoken between us, "But why do you want to help a monster…a murderer?"

Laura's eyes get large, and she gasps. "So, that is it…. You felt after Raoul's testimony that is what we think of you? I see…" I watch as she walks around the conference table and stops in front of me, looks up and places her hand on my arm. "Well, Erik, I don't think you are a monster, nor does Horatio or any of your defense team. What was done to you during your life WAS monstrous. When you act out emotionally it is because of your anger at the world and how you have been treated. But….no I do not think that you are a monster or a murderer. The people we are bringing from the past to testify at this trial, I hope will shed light on the truth and verify that. That is what I believe about you…"

I am stunned at these words. I had assumed these people would act…would think…would do what I had always experienced in my life in France. But they are different…they can see beyond the façade…they look deeper to try to see the truth that is hidden. My mind reels at this realization. I had not believed this was possible! I look down into Laura's eyes and say with conviction, "Laura, you CAN TRUST me. I will NOT fail you!"

Laura nods her head in understanding, but her eyes communicate an intensity that hits my very soul, _"I will hold you to your word,"_ she responds.

_+Horatio's POV: _

The door barely closes behind Erik and Laura, and Jeremy Nichols and Matt McBrighton have barely had time to return to their posts, before Counselor Brown comes down the hall with her leather briefcase in hand.

"My client is secure, I take it," she says with an edge to her voice.

"Yes, ma'am. Nothing like a good old GPS tracking dot in the sole of an unsuspecting shoe."

She cracks one of her rare smiles and shakes her head. "You didn't tell him that's what you did, surely?"

"What do you think, Phen?" I say, adding an even sharper edge to my voice than she had to hers.

She pushes back a lock of brunette hair and straightens her suit jacket before replying.

"Yes, you're right. The idea of satellites and gadgets like that are definitely not something from 1870, and the less he knows about how you keep track of him, the better. We can't have him running off barefooted next time."

"Yeah, that would be something, huh?" I chuckle and shake my head again.

"So, we are going back to court, correct?" She says as she shifts her briefcase from one hand to another.

"Yes. Erik will be there."

"Good," Brown says with a firm nod. "See that he is, Detective. This wouldn't sit well with the Judge if she knew he had gone fugitive on us."

"No, ma'am I agree," I reply. "And now I'm certain Ms. Counselor will make sure Erik knows it too."

She gives one final nod and then strides down the hall with her back straight and rigid…as if she is a gladiator about to go into the arena and take on the lions.

I can't help but feel sorry for those poor lions.

Several minutes pass, and I continue to guard the door to the conference room, taking some very small satisfaction in the fact that I know Ms. Counselor is chewing Erik's ears off good. About ten minutes after I deliver Erik to her capable hands, my cell phone rings.

The voice on the other end is tense. "Sir, I think you had better get down here to the basement right away."

"What happened, Jeremy?"

"There's been a _murder_, Sir."+

_KUDOS and profuse Thank Yous to our diligent and creative editor, Phanna!_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Welcome to all the new readers! And, thank you for all your GREAT reviews! Well...here is a chapter that runs the gamut from humor to tragedy, but this is indeed a turning point in the story. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 13 A Bad Court Day, Sebbied and Phangirl321**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__August 19, 2005 _

_Counselor Sebbied's POV:_

I no sooner return to the courthouse after a delicious lunch of herb-crusted chicken breast and salad when my Diva senses begin tingling.

_Hmm, either someone has broken into my home and stolen my new feather boa or something is amiss with our client._

Hedging my bets, I head toward the defense team's private meeting room instead of the bathroom. Whatever has my alarm bells ringing is more important than a possible stray lettuce leaf caught in my teeth—that is how dedicated I am to this cause.

"For the love of pink cupcakes!" I groan after throwing open the door and seeing Erik's face in full playground-brawl glory.

Laura hovers a few feet away, her frown fierce, but her expressive eyes so worried. "We have ten minutes before court resumes. The press is going to have a field day with that injury!"

The look Erik sends her is filled with regret. "Again, Laura, you have my most sincere apologies…I would never want to cause you such distress after all your efforts to clear my name."

My heart gives a soft pitter-pat as he throws his large frame into the nearest chair, folds his hands contritely and stares down at them. He seems so young to me at times, and I have to remind myself for all his intelligence and ingenuity, he is just beginning to navigate even the simplest of relationships.

When Ms. Counselor moves to stand in front of him and bends to touch the cuff of his sleeve, he lifts stormy blue-green eyes.

"I know you didn't seek out a fight, Erik. I just wish you hadn't gone off alone and left yourself vulnerable to such an attack. We are all living under constraints and change during this trial, and because of that we need to think of others before acting for ourselves." She straightens and gives him an almost pleading smile, "I don't want to fail you either."

Despite the painful looking cuts and bruises, Erik's face relaxes under the warmth of Ms. Counselor's words. The corners of his sculpted lips quirk ever so slightly and then immediately return to his customary set line. But I know what I saw. Erik had smiled.

At this point I am dabbing at my eyes with a violet handkerchief trimmed in silk. "This is better than a Lifetime original movie mixed with a bouquet of red roses!" I sniffle prettily and tuck my scented hanky away in my pocketbook. "I love a good make-up scene."

They break eye contact at once. Erik suddenly finds his ruby cufflink fascinating while Ms. Counselor rushes to the long table and begins to stuff documents, and what looks like some napkins from this morning's donuts, into her briefcase.

Her voice is all business. "I am going to check to confirm that court will proceed at 1:30 as scheduled. We have eight minutes left, and I am praying that the press as well as the spectators have all eaten at the same restaurant for lunch and developed cases of food poisoning. Our client and I may have 'made-up' as you say, but we still have a big problem on our hands."

As Ms. Counselor opens the door to speak with the bailiff, my mind is whirring and clicking like a gorgeous Movado watch.

"Make-up…Made-up….make-up! Laura," in my haste to share my brilliant idea, I drop all forms of lawyer-speak. "I can make Erik look as if he just woke from bed after twelve hours rest and a day at the spa."

The cufflink suddenly looses its hold on Erik, and he stares up at me. I can see his brain working even as a very male look of horror crosses his face.

Laura quickly turns to face me as she closes the door, her brow furrowed. Her doubtful eyes rest on my tiny Coach purse. "It would take a lot of make-up, Counselor Sebbied."

I hold up my bag and give them a magician's wink. "It's not the size of the bag, Laura." I unlatch the gold buckle and row after row of make-up and must-have Diva accessories unfold to the floor. "It's the magic in it."

We both turn to Erik. It is up to him, of course, and this transcends a mere application of cosmetics. I would have to touch his face.

I know what I am capable of, and I know Erik can trust me with this task. I have come to care deeply about our client and all he has endured, so I would set fire to my vast wardrobe before causing him any embarrassment or hurt. But he has to know it, too.

All of us hold our breath, waiting for Erik's response.

"You wish to apply paint to my face?" Erik finally ventures in a curious tone.

Ah, the scientist has introduced himself to the thespian, I think with a small thrill of hope.

"If you will allow me. I can cover the damage done by the fight. This would prevent further gossip about your _alleged_ violent nature."

"I agree with Counselor Sebbied," interjects Laura softly. "I would hate to have the jury's opinion negatively effected because you were attacked and tried to defend yourself."

I do not know how Ms. Counselor is able to stand there without thudding as our client levels the full weight of his intense stare upon her. Then again, from what I have learned about my co-counsel, when she has a cause that is close to her heart, nothing will deter her. And as it is, if Erik acquiesces to my idea, I'm going to have to deal with being so near to that delectable, smoldering, hunk of a Phantom. How will this Diva remain unaffected? Forget Laura, I have my own thud-proofing to think about.

My mind runs through various options:

1. Clothespin on my nose so that I can't smell his beguiling male scent.

2. I am pretty sure I can do this without drowning in the sea of his eyes as long as I don't look directly into them.

3. Touch, hmmm, that will prove to be difficult; I'll use a bigger brush and sponge so that my fingers don't skim against his smooth skin.

4. Taste, well Counselor, for goodness sake, you don't have to lick him.

5. Ears. As long as the man doesn't break into 'Music of the Night,' I can keep from licking him. There, I can do this.

I give myself a mental pat on the back and turn my gaze to Erik in time to see his hand rise protectively to touch his mask. He looks at me, and the realization of his raw vulnerability, which he hasn't learned to hide, washes over me and my inane little list crumbles to dust in the face of his very real concern.

Although I am known for my perfectly shaped tears and the lovely turquoise hue my eyes turn when I cry, this is no time to show Erik the sadness I feel for his past. I keep my voice level and utter a simple promise. "I will not touch your mask, Erik."

Fingers still resting on the white leather, he flicks a glance to Laura and then back to me. Giving a clipped nod, he concedes to my proposal, "Very well, you may paint me."

Without giving him time to think, I transform into uber-Avon-lady. "Well, Erik," I say as I push my brown curls up away from my face, "I had been thinking you were a "Spring" with your fair coloring, but now I'm not sure."

"Spring?" His brows draw together.

"He is a Winter. Dark hair, deep, sea-green eyes," Laura adds with great conviction.

I hide my smirk as I rummage through my palette de beauty, Laura sounds very certain of her client's color tones.

"I agree Laura, he is a definite winter. All ice on the outside, pure fire within, eh, Erik?" I brandish my first bottle of green concealer, ignoring Erik's harrumph of exasperation.

As I dab a little color on a triangular sponge, Erik eyes it with bemusement.

"You are going to put green on my face? Will that not draw further attention to it?"

"Actually," I dab a bit of the smooth concoction on the red, swollen areas, "The green diffuses the light and hides any red more effectively underneath the flesh toned foundation I will apply on top."

"That is quite interesting," he murmurs.

We are so engrossed in our conversation my first contact with him comes and goes without a ripple of issue. I select three different tints of flesh colored foundation and use them to shade and contour. Not a word passes between us, and I am conscious of listening to his breathing. The man even breathes sexy, I complain to myself. So I concentrate on my blending.

The last of the foundation is smoothed in. "Erik, your skin is in remarkably healthy shape for a man who spends all of his time indoors."

His eyes sparkle like the sun on the sea. "You are suited to your new profession Counselor. Spend my time indoors? How diplomatic of you to characterize my life in such terms."

I avoid his devastating sparkle by turning away and running my finger along the various compacts of setting powders. I select "ivory" with a confident flourish. "Be that as it may, I know what I see...you must use some type of cream on your skin."

When I lean toward his face again, I am surprised to see he is blushing. Ms. Counselor is looking on, her head cocked to the side. With a light touch I dust the powder down the length of his sharp jaw and realize that the devilish cleft in his chin can be just as mesmerizing as his eyes. Focus, Diva! Think about those lovely Manolos with the kitten heel you saw today.

Erik's hands grip his knees, and he exhales roughly. "Since I know you will not desist with your questioning, I will answer you. I have created my own ointments and creams. I have made extensive studies of the healing properties of various plants, and I find the science of creating different unguents to be very interesting." Erik pauses here, and I see him clench his jaw and furrow his handsome brow in consternation before he continues in a tight voice, "My mask is very irritating, so I experimented with various," he flounders for a word, "ingredients. I have concocted several mixtures to soothe and heal the irritation. But I never wore women's cosmetics!"

His loud denial startles me, and I drop my sponge.

Luckily, I have finished and after picking up the sponge, I lean back to survey my handiwork.

"You are amazing, Counselor," Laura compliments. "He almost looks as if he has never seen a fight in his life."

" 'Almost' is not good enough," I mutter.

"Did you not hear me? I never wore cosmetics of any kind." Erik grumbles, seemingly concerned about that issue.

"Of course you didn't wear any make-up, Erik." Laura waves her hand in the air as if to brush aside the silly thought.

I am rummaging in my bag again. "I never thought you used any such thing! I always credited your heightened color to your passionate feelings."

"What did you say?" Erik's voice is a shocked whisper. When I turn back around, he is standing, dwarfing me with his height and breadth. "Are you trying to tell me that you credit me with passion rather than fury?"

"You might as well get used to this Erik. Counselor Sebbied does not see an angry, vicious madman any more than the rest of us." Laura rubs absently at the charm on her necklace as he sits back down again, seeming to be calmed by her words.

He casts me a disgruntled glance, so with an apologetic look, I hold up a make-up brush dusted lightly with Sunset Coffee blusher. "This is the final touch you need Erik."

He jerks his face to the side offering his cheek, "If you must," he answers in the most dramatic, put-upon voice I have ever heard as he closes his eyes. Laura and I exchange a grin over his head.

Three quick brush strokes, and I am done. "There!" His face is blemish free with a healthy glow of color.

"You still look manly, Erik!" Laura reassures him. "We have no time for mirrors as there is exactly 35 seconds left to get to the courtroom. Counselor Sebbied, thank you for doing this. I owe you a big margarita…raspberry right?"

I have no time to nod as she hustles us out of the private room. As we walk down the corridor, I feel a strong hand wrap around my own and squeeze it firmly before releasing it.

Still keeping stride with Laura, I look at Erik and whisper. "You're welcome." I cannot deny that I am thrilled with his gesture, since they do not come easily, if at all, to our client.

The courtroom is full, and we receive quick glances from various people and some sighing from the female spectators. A distant thud is heard at the back of the courtroom. Nothing unusual. I know the three of us now have our hearts beating at a normal pace. We passed inspection!

We take our seats and suddenly my mind blinks the word 'frankincense.' Aha! So that is the exotic scent I could smell so faintly on Erik's skin. I promise myself to share this delicious tidbit of information with Ms. Counselor. I think she would find it interesting to say the least.

But her mind seems to be on other things as she looks around the room with a frown. "Where is Phen?" She whispers. "Have either of you seen her?"

"Not since we dismissed for lunch," I answer. "She's usually here before we are!"

Laura does a quick look again, just as the Judge sweeps into the room with her robe billowing impressively behind her. Bailiff Henderson calls everyone to stand, and it is during the commotion of the spectators sitting back down, that Counselor Brown suddenly appears beside us, sliding into her seat and smiling apologetically.

She settles in, and leans toward me slightly. As she opens her briefcase, I catch a whiff of vanilla. I am so surprised that I whisper to her, "Nice perfume, Phen. Going for a softer image now?"

She stares at me as if I've suddenly broken out in a bad case of acne. "What?"

"This is the first time you've worn perfume since we started working together. It's nice. I'll give you some makeup pointers after court today if you really want to glam things up."

She just rolls her eyes at me and turns to look straight ahead.

Then again, maybe not, Ms. Rambo, I think to myself as I too turn my attention to the business at hand.

The Judge gives her gavel a quick rap and waits in silence until the room becomes quiet. Then she says with utmost gravity, "I must announce that court will adjourn for the day. By the order of the Seattle Police Department and the courthouse security officers, the building is to be evacuated. Officers are standing at the doors to escort all personnel, spectators, and journalists from the premises. Everyone is to remain calm and exit the building in an orderly fashion. There is no reason whatsoever to panic. Good day to you all." I smile at the way she said "journalists" as if the word is a profanity, and I have to silently agree with her on that assessment. Those people are real pests!

I look first at Phen, then at Erik, and finally at Laura, and all of them look as baffled as I feel. "Do you think this is because of the fight?" Erik whispers. "I swear I didn't seriously hurt that man! He ran away!"

"I hope not," Laura answers. "Thank goodness for the makeup!"

"There is only one person who can tell us for sure what is happening," Phen says. "We need to find Horatio."

"If those cops will let us," I say, nodding toward the officers at the door. "I wonder what on earth has happened."

"Well, I'm not just going to wonder," Phen says stubbornly. "I'm going to find out." She closes her briefcase with a loud snap and stands up. She shoots one narrow-eyed look at the prosecutor's table and then leads our group through the door that leads to the corridor we use to get from the conference room to the courtroom, with the body guard stepping in beside Erik and Laura.

Despite the orders from the judge, a mob of reporters is clogging the hall, pressing in on us as we fight our way through, dodging the cameras and microphones that are shoved at us.

One especially annoying insect with a red fuzzy microphone yells in my face. "Counselor Sebbied! Does this evacuation have anything to do with your client? Is his life in danger?"

"I don't know anything more than you do!" I say, fighting for breath as the crowd pushes in closer. "Now get out of here, like the Judge ordered!"

"Yeah, or it will be your life that is in danger!" Phen snaps and brandishes her briefcase like a shield. "Don't you people worry that something serious might be happening? Now, MOVE IT!"

Her voice rises over the din and by some miracle all the reporters take a step back, and we are on our way out. At the door of our conference room, we are met by four security officers.

"What is going on?" Laura asks what is on all of our minds. "This afternoon was to have been Vicomte deChagny's cross-examination!"

I recognize one of the men as Jeremy. He seems to be in charge of the group, as he says, "We really aren't at liberty to say, ma'am. We don't even have all of the details. The Vicomte has been sent back to his time and will be brought back when the trial resumes. For now, we are under orders from Horatio to escort each of you home and to remain with you until further notice."

"Are we in some kind of danger?" Erik asks. Jeremy looks curiously at the perfectly smooth skin on Erik's forehead for just a second and then averts his eyes. Erik nods slightly and answers his own question. "You are not free to say, are you?"

"I'm glad we understand each other," Jeremy answers. "Now, we really must be going. I have cars waiting outside for each of you. Erik, you're with me."

There is barely time for us to say a quick goodbye before we are whisked away by our respective officers. As my car pulls away from the courthouse, I take one look back and wonder what is happening there. But just then, we couldn't have known what was to happen, nor have the foggiest clue about the tragic chain of events that had been set into motion when Erik disappeared this afternoon.

_Horatio's POV:_

This day just keeps going from bad to worse. First there was Raoul De Chagny's damning testimony this morning, then Erik's escape, and now this…the brutal murder of Henry Albertson, an elderly janitor while he was at work in the courthouse basement.

As if this weren't enough, the press is all over this, camped outside the police perimeter we have set up around the courthouse and waiting like jackals for the tiniest tidbit of scandal, even now several hours after I ordered the evacuation of the courthouse. I can only imagine what wild stories they are perpetuating as truth. In fact, I have someone monitoring the news stations right now, with strict orders that if certain things do make their way to the airwaves, I am to be called immediately. Then I'll run out to the news dogs, give a quick myth-smashing press conference and threaten to arrest them all if they don't leave. And, by God, I will do it too! This is how annoyed I am.

But right now, I have forensics experts from the Seattle Police Department busy processing the crime scene, and Captain Reynolds one of my superiors at the Seattle Police Department has just arrived for a briefing. With him is one of the Time Travel Program's top men, Admiral Benjamin Brooks.

The admiral wastes no time on small talk, but strides into the room and sweeps off his hat, his face stern. His thinning dark hair is close-cropped, and he uses his impressive height to full advantage as he commands, "Talk to us, Horatio. How did this happen?"

I sense something in the Admiral's voice—not blame exactly—but something akin to it, but I do not take the bait. Instead I address the issues at hand. "I got the call around 1:25 P.M., just a little over half an hour after Erik Phantom was attacked by someone down here. Albertson broke up the fight and scared off the attacker.

Captain Reynolds is several inches shorter than the Admiral, but he too wears his red hair short, and sports a thin moustache. "Do you think he did it, McCool?" He says in the same no-nonsense tone the Admiral used.

"No, Sir, I don't. During the time the killing took place he was first with me and then in a conference room with Ms. Counselor. I personally stood guard at the door while they spoke. Jeremy Nichols found Henry Albertson's body while I was there, in fact. I called Joe Carson to cover for me, and I came straight down here. Albertson's wallet was still in his pocket and contained one hundred dollars. According to the payroll office, he was in the habit of cashing his paycheck every week. We can assume that he carried cash with him at all times."

"He still had his money, so robbery wasn't the motive," Reynolds muses aloud. "That shows premeditation… Did he have enemies?"

"None that any of his co-workers knew of. And as far as we know he had no close family here. He didn't mix with others much, but preferred to work alone here. He has no police record either."

"Just what I was going to ask," Admiral Brooks comments. "Do we have the weapon or a ballistics report yet?"

"No weapon as yet," I answer. "But we did find a shell casing on the floor."

"A shell casing?" Reynolds raises an eyebrow. "That seems odd. Usually if someone goes to the trouble to plan a murder they don't leave such an obvious clue behind. What kind of bullet was it?"

It is painful to say these next words, but I must. "A nine millimeter Luger, Sir."

"Oh, hell!" Admiral Brooks mutters. "Every cop in this city probably uses that type of bullet! Am I right, Captain?"

"Pretty close," Reynolds says and swears under his breath. "Yes, GLOCK 19's are our standard issue pistols, and Luger nine millimeter is the standard ammo. In fact, Detective McCool here is wearing a 19 right now."

"And so is everyone else on our security team," I say. "And likely half the criminals in this city are carrying GLOCKs. But as a precaution, I confiscated all of the security officers' weapons and tagged them immediately after the shooting. We are all carrying replacements now. But we may not have a full ballistics report until Monday, even with the lab working overtime this weekend."

Admiral Brooks begins to pace back and forth muttering, "If this gets out, Horatio… If this gets out! Nine millimeter Lugers! If the media even suspects that it was either Phantom or one of our guys, we can just kiss this trial and the Program goodbye!"

Captain Reynolds listens to this outburst with his arms folded firmly across his chest, and wears a carefully detached expression on his face. But knowing him as I do, I can sense his rising tension. And finally, he gives voice to it. "I don't want to sound like I'm saying 'I told you so,' Admiral, but I did advise you to use a team that was made up entirely of Seattle PD officers for security at Monsieur Phantom's trial. I know my men. But these commandos you brought in here to assist…how do you really know they can be trusted?"

Admiral Brooks' gaze turns icy in an instant and his mouth hardens into a thin line. "These commandos, as you call them, all served their country with honor, Captain! Including Detective McCool here! You seemed to have no trouble trusting him when he first joined your precious Seattle Police Department!"

Reynolds' expression stays cool and detached. "Well, I think you'll agree that Horatio was uniquely qualified to serve with our Counter-terrorism Unit, Admiral. And in the past year he has been with the department he has done an exceptionally fine job. I can't vouch for the rest of your security personnel however, since I have never worked with them."

"Well, I can vouch for them," I interject. "I have known most of them for several years. And the others, well, they come with the highest recommendations and commendations."

"But that still leaves the ugly possibility that one of them compromised your team," Reynolds persists. "Unfortunately we have to take that into consideration. And now since this poor old man has been killed, this is no longer just a security issue. Now the Seattle Police Department will have to be involved. Everything you know, I want to know, got it? In light of your other…ah, affiliations, shall we say, Horatio, I have been very lenient until now. I haven't complained about you taking time away from your other cases to head up the security team, but now you will report directly to me on everything that happens in this courthouse."

"That may not be entirely possible," Admiral Brooks says. "There are agencies involved in The Program that take precedence over your department, Captain Reynolds, if you understand my meaning. And this is not just a jurisdictional squabble. Some things you simply do not have the clearance to know."

Reynolds composure finally snaps. "Then get me that clearance! There was a murder in my city, Brooks! I don't want to be left in the dark with a crazed killer on the loose!"

"Ah! I understand!" the Admiral says with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. "Since bottom-feeding reporters from all over the world are outside this building at this very second, you don't want to look like you've lost control over your department! Well, I'm afraid that what you want isn't possible. And that is just the way it is. My people stay in charge here."

Brooks and Reynolds stand there staring each other down for several seconds, looking like two gamecocks about to tear into each other. But there really is no question of who the winner is. Admiral Brooks has the clear advantage of having support from government agencies that outrank the local constabulary, and Reynolds knows it all too well.

"Fine!" He spits out. "But when we catch our killer, I get first crack at him, Brooks! And don't you forget it either, McCool! Whatever other deals you have going, you still work for me!"

"Ah, I believe he's on loan to you, actually," Brooks corrects. "Right now his first obligation is to The Program."

Reynolds then turns to me, his eyes sparking with fury. "By God, McCool, if I didn't need you on the Counter-terrorism beat so badly, I would kick your sorry butt into the street right now!"

"Noted, Sir," I say with dead seriousness. "But I thank you for your consideration of my posterior."

For one doubtful moment, Reynolds looks as if he really might try kicking me into the nearest gutter, but I have to give the guy credit for this little bit of self-control. "Let's just remember who the bad guys are, here," he says quietly. "It's whatever low-life killed Mr. Albertson."

"Agreed," Admiral Brooks replies coolly.

"Now, what can we tell the press?" Reynolds asks. "Their speculations about the courthouse evacuation are running the gamut from the almost plausible to the outright ridiculous. They now know that someone has died, thanks to some eagle-eyed photographer who caught sight of our guys loading the body bag into an ambulance, but we haven't released Albertson's name or the details of his death of course, but we have to say something to them."

"Not yet, we don't," I say. "And at this point it's better that we say nothing at all."

"Very well," Reynolds agrees reluctantly. "You're right. We can't have the public thinking that every cop in this city has gone bad and shoots innocent people."

"Exactly."

"So, when I go back out there, I'll hedge and dodge," Reynolds says with a resolute nod. "Let me know if there are any breaks, Horatio."

"I will, Sir."

Reynolds leaves then and Admiral Brooks sighs a heavy tired sigh. "I thought he was never going to leave! Tell me what's going on, Horatio. Whatever it was that you didn't want to say in front of Reynolds. I know something is on your mind."

"We have serious problems here," I say quietly.

"I take it something more serious than just a simple murder. Tell me."

I do a quick look around for listening ears and lower my voice even further. "Our people, and I just mean SEAL Team Bravo, not the police, found evidence of sabotage."

"What? Where?"

"In the camera system for one, and also in the electronic locking mechanism on the door at the end of the building. When Erik came down from the window, he came through there and was almost immediately attacked by a man with grey hair and a beard. He already made a sketch of his face for us. Mr. Albertson interrupted the fight, and the attacker ran behind one of the air conditioning units here. Seconds later he ran out with his arms full of electronic equipment. We've reviewed all of our hidden camera footage, and well, quite simply, Sir, there was a half hour time lapse on each of our cameras."

"How could that be? Why didn't someone catch it?"

"It was all very cleverly done," I answer bitterly. "The cameras appeared to be functioning, but what was playing on them was not what was actually happening in the building at the time. Whoever did it, hacked into our computers and created the false images."

"The man in the basement?"

"He's my guess. With a laptop and the right know-how he could have done it."

"So, while the cameras were down, he came and killed one of the men who saw him down here before he could alert security. But he is probably long gone by now."

"Perhaps not," I say. "I had Erik's hands swabbed for an odd substance that was on them. And since he choked his attacker…"

"You scraped under his nails for skin samples!" The admiral exclaims excitedly. "Brilliant, Horatio!"

"Let's hope it turns up something," I answer.

Admiral Brooks looks at me probingly. "There's something else you aren't telling me. I know you well enough to tell, Horatio. What is it?"

"I suspect that the residue on Erik's hands was makeup, Sir. And if that is the case…then, well, the Program isn't the only organization in the world that uses certain, uh, tactics to get things done. So it is still possible that the killer…"

"Was posing as one of us all along!" Admiral Brooks finishes for me. "Is everyone accounted for? Security personnel, lawyers, your housekeeping staff?"

"Yes. The defense team and Erik all went home, under extra guard, of course. And only with the other Bravos. Jeremy is with Erik, Matt is with Ms. Counselor, Ben is with Counselor Sebbied, and Joe is with Phen. Each of them has a backup nearby, but since they are to be in such close quarters, I wanted only our guys with them."

The admiral nods in satisfaction. "Good thinking."

"I'll be going by to check on Phen when I finish here."

He raises his eyebrow at me and smiles. "Oh? Any special reason?"

"Yes, actually," I say, frowning at him. "We won't have the full autopsy report on Albertson until at least tomorrow, but I would be willing to bet that he was shot more than once."

"Why?"

"Do you remember the Ramirez case?"

Brooks thinks for a second then snaps his fingers. "Yes, I do now. It was all over the news right before Erik's trial started. But I don't remember the particulars, except that Ramirez was working undercover for the Drug Enforcement Agency."

"Right," I answer. "I was in charge of that investigation. He had infiltrated a gang here in Seattle that was smuggling drugs for a cartel in Mexico. Just before he was caught, Victor Ramirez found a connection between the cartel and a well known terrorist group. When I saw Albertson's body, there was something very familiar about the way he was killed…it was similar to how Ramirez was shot."

"Could it be coincidence?"

"I don't think so, Sir. And not just because of the way they were positioned and tied up. I also don't think so because I headed up the investigation, and the attorney who is working on the Ramirez case for the D.A.'s office is none other than Phen Brown."

The admiral lets out an epithet and shakes his head. "Does she know all the details of this yet?"

"Not yet, but she will soon."

"So, you think this is a copycat crime, Horatio?"

"In a way it is, Sir. But if I had to make a guess, I would say that the murder was meant to scare the defense team, particularly Phen."

"Why her, specifically?"

"That is what I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."

I no more get these words out of my mouth than my cell phone starts to ring. "Yeah, McCool."

"Sir, we found something that you should see," one of the forensics guys says in an excited babble.

"Please, tell me it isn't another body!"

"No, Sir, it isn't. We think we may have found the murder weapon in a storage closet on the seventh floor."

"I'm on my way!"

"What is it?" Admiral Brooks is almost babbling too.

"Come with me! I'll explain on the way!" He runs after me as I race for the back stairs. On the first floor, we take the elevator, passing several officers from various agencies in the halls.

The officer in the Seattle PD Crime Scene Investigator's jacket is grinning as he holds up a clear plastic bag with a snub-nosed handgun inside. "A GLOCK 26, Sir." He holds up another bag with several bullets inside. "Eight 9 millimeter hollow point Luger rounds."

"Thank goodness it isn't a GLOCK 19!" Admiral Brooks sighs. "We would never hear the end of it from Reynolds!"

"And that isn't all," the crime scene officer beams. "Come with me to the stairwell for the piece de la resistance!"

I feel like rolling my eyes at him, because some of these forensics people are real nutcases. I follow as he breaks into a quick trot and reaches the door to the stairs. "We'll be going nearly all the way back to the basement," he tells us and jogs down the stairs.

The ground floor landing is cordoned off with yellow police tape, but there doesn't appear to be anything there. "Looks blank, eh?" Our guide beams. "It's just an ordinary black tile wall. What is there to see? Well, wait a second and then look."

He flips the light switch on the wall and everything is thrown into darkness. He is practically laughing as he says, "Here this will help!" and turns on a small black light. "Now look!"

And there it is in the garish violet light, a small five-pointed star with a circle around it. Beside it is written in a hurried scrawl: **H O G S S.**

Admiral Brooks actually gasps. "My God, Horatio! Is that really what I think it is?"

"Yes, it is," I answer. "That…_is blood_."

Many Thank yous to our invaluable editors, **Rappleyea** and** Phanna!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Well, with five reviews yesterday for the previous chapter, here is the next one, per my promise!! Thank yous and pink cupcakes to each of you who has been leaving your wonderful reviews and comments!! They are truly appreciated by us writers!! Now, on to the new chapter where we see Erik's resolve to maintain his 'cool' sorely tested! And, a new character arrives with a secret and a mission...Enjoy!**

**Chapter 14, Cross-exam of Raoul deChagny, by Rappleyea++, Phanna+ and Phanfan **

_August 21, 2005_

_Seattle, Washington_

_++Erik's POV: _

CLICK - _...Lance, kiss me... _  
CLICK - _...storms in the Pacific north-... _  
CLICK - _...the New England Patriots traded running back... _  
CLICK

I desperately try to tune out the cacophony of sound that accompanies each successive 'click' of the device Jeremy is holding. He has incessantly clicked that thing for over an hour as we both wait for Horatio's return. Is this a nervous habit of his, I wonder? Whatever his reason, I know that he has driven me mad and has kept me from reading the history book which I took from Horatio's library. I had hoped to read some of the forbidden material in Horatio's absence today.

CLICK - _...our new Jinsu knives... _  
CLICK - _...BAM!_

If he doesn't stop immediately, I won't be responsible for my actions! But even as I picture myself giving release to my growing irritation, I know that I shouldn't take my anger at the insufferable fop, the Vicomte, out on poor Jeremy. With extreme will, I force myself to concentrate on the book.

**CLICK** - _We interrupt our regular programming for a breaking news story. _

I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable CLICK. But for some reason, Jeremy has become transfixed by whatever it is on the screen. I look up to see what finally has gained his rapt attention.

I see only an attractive woman holding a microphone, obviously a news reporter as I've learned from my time in this century. She is looking into the camera earnestly. I continue to listen.

_Reporter: BMM News is the first to bring you this breaking news story. BMM was approached today by Beatrice Arnold, and we have her here with us to give you her exclusive story. Good morning, Ms. Arnold. How are you feeling after what must have been a terrifying experience for you at the courthouse last Friday? _

_Arnold: Oh yes it was horrible I tell you, just horrible. I am so lucky that I managed to get out alive._

_Reporter: Please tell our viewers exactly what happened on that fateful day, Ms. Arnold._

_Arnold: Well, I had just opened the door to take the stairs down to the break room, when suddenly the Phantom of the Opera barreled into me and knocked me down! I was terrified as I was alone on the landing with him, and no one would have been able to hear me scream for help._

_Reporter: I'm sure that must have been terribly frightening for you Ms. Arnold to be trapped like that by an alleged murderer. Please describe how the Phantom looked at that point._

_Arnold: It is almost too gruesome for me to remember. He was very disheveled, and he had a gaping wound on his head which was bleeding profusely. He had obviously been in a horrible fight._

_Reporter: Please give our viewers the details of what else you saw that day, Ms. Arnold._

_Arnold: Well, of course I didn't actually SEE the Phantom murder that poor old man, but he WAS running up the stairs from the basement where the murder had just taken place._

_Reporter: Did the Phantom say anything to you knowing that you had just witnessed him leaving the scene of the murder?_

_Arnold: No, he never spoke a word, but he was very angry and breathing hard as if from some extreme exertion._

_Reporter: We only have a minute left Ms. Arnold. So very briefly would you tell us how you managed to escape from the Phantom?_

_Arnold: Somehow he caused me to lose consciousness, and when I came to, he was gone. I can only assume that he heard someone coming and he fled before he could be caught. That is probably what saved my life._

_Reporter: There you have it folks - a first hand, eye witness account of last Friday's tragic events at the Seattle courthouse where the trial of the Phantom of the Opera is taking place. BMM will continue to follow this breaking story and will bring you up-..._

**CLICK! **The screen goes black and that hateful woman's voice is silenced. Neither of us speaks. My fingers dig into the arms of the chair as I struggle to maintain control of the rage that boils within me.

"HOW,_ HOW?_" I sputter unable to get the words past my constricted throat. Jeremy seems to understand what I am asking, and he finishes for me -

"How are they allowed to do that?"

"YES!" I explode. "How can BOTH of those vile women stand there and blatantly lie, practically accuse me of murdering that old man?"

" 'Practically' is the operative word here, Sir. You notice she admitted that she didn't actually 'see' you murder the man. By saying that, she implied that you DID murder him, but she didn't see it. So technically what she said was true: she didn't see the murder."

"But how can they get away with that? This woman has implicated me in the murder of that old man to, what, thousands of people around the country who watch this news program?" I am shaking with anger at this gross misrepresentation, as my mind reels with the injustice of her words. As Jeremy responds, trying to explain this to me, I force my attention back to what he is saying.

"First of all, Sir, I'm afraid the number is more like 'millions' of people, and they are all around the world, not only in this country. All news is now global in scope and coverage. Secondly, what you just witnessed is how it works now. News agencies usually aren't guilty of out and out lying, but all of the news is slanted and biased to make any situation or event sound exactly how the Powers That Be want it to sound. Whatever suits their agenda. What you heard today was a perfect example. They are out to smear you, and by extension, to ruin the reputation of The Program. You have just witnessed their tactics. First, implication and innuendo, and then repetition. There is a saying that if you repeat a lie often enough, it is accepted as truth."

Jeremy finishes his explanation and sits looking at me warily, expecting me to explode. Perceptive young man. My anger has been steadily growing the whole time he has been speaking, and I know I have to get out of the house and away from people. I bolt out the door, before Jeremy is even aware of my intentions. I am not called the Phantom for nothing!++

_August 26, 2005  
Seattle, Washington_

_+Zoe's POV— _

I, Zoe Grenville, sit in the courtroom waiting for court to reconvene. I am here a little early this morning but some of the spectators, or should I say some of the audience waiting for the performance to begin again, are starting to sift into the courtroom.

When the Judge dismissed the court last Friday, no one really knew what was happening. But over the next few hours the news media announced to the world that there had been a murder in the courthouse. There have been many TV interviews about it, and one in particular with the lady that had seen M. Phantom during the lunch break that day. The lady kept inferring that M. Phantom might have something to do with this murder! I am sure that I will never know the whole truth, but I find it incredible that people can be lead so easily by what they see on television. In my opinion, this man is no murderer!

I have attended every one of the court sessions. Nothing could keep me away. I think back to my first time walking into the courthouse to attend this trial, one of the most unusual trials in history. It was hot and sticky and my long skirt was clinging to my legs from all the humid heat July could deliver in Seattle. But, my high-necked blouse still felt fresh as I walked through the security area.

There were so many people! And, there was such a circus-like feeling with the news media, the vendors, the signs, and the many people just mulling about in their different versions of conservative clothing. Anyone who is allowed in the courtroom has to adhere to a strict dress code for this trial so that the witnesses will feel comfortable and not be jolted by our modern clothing, so no t-shirts, tank tops or mini-skirts are allowed. They are requesting that the women wear dresses or skirts that are at least knee-length and for men, a shirt, tie and a jacket are required. I felt comfortable in the outfit I had chosen--a modest deep blue skirt and white blouse. They fit my 5'7" frame nicely and complement my blue eyes, whitish blonde hair and gently rounded figure.

I knew I had to attend this trial, and I may have an important part to play in this affair. Luckily, I have the advantage of a friend at the courthouse. I have known Bailiff George Henderson since my college days. George is my best friend's dad, and I have spent many happy hours at the Henderson's home. I called him up a few days before the trial started and convinced him to reserve a seat for me as close as I could get to the defendant. He chuckled but did manage to get me a seat a row back from the prosecutor's table and close to the center aisle for the span of the trial

When I walked into the courtroom to take my seat that first morning, I heard the excited hum of whispers and loudly announced speculations of what was to come. These people were waiting for the show to start, not a trial. I remember feeling exasperated with this unfeeling attitude and wondered how people could be this way. I kept waiting for the hot dog vendor to stroll down the aisle shouting "Hot dogs for sale, hot dogs for sale" and cotton candy to be sold….WHAT is wrong with these people?

When the defendant, M. Phantom, walked in that first morning with his attorney the background noise in the courtroom grew even louder in volume, and I just wanted to turn around and tell them to all be quiet. Why is this a public trial anyway? Why not closed? Of course, I wouldn't be allowed in either then, and I must be here. I have no choice.

I couldn't take my eyes off of him as I watched this incredibly sensual man glide across the courtroom with the agility and grace of a large black cat. I have always been partial to dark-haired men. There is something very compelling about them that draws me to them. But M. Phantom is even more striking. In person he is charismatic, breathtakingly masculine and heart stopping in his splendor, more than I could ever have imagined. He exudes maleness.

My attention is jerked back to the present. A wave of excitement is running through the room and voices are raised in what sounds like gaiety as the gossipmongers pass along the newest tidbits. I am trying to ignore them so I distract myself by thinking about the witnesses who have testified.

Carlotta was, well…Carlotta. Absolutely over the top, but she does have a beautiful singing voice, that is, if you like full _bel canto_ opera. The opera managers, Andre and Firmin were absolute fools and confirmed it during their time in the witness box. Little Meg Giry was so sweet. And I could see the soft expression that M. Phantom had for her during her testimony. I chuckle when I think about the fact that, unintentionally, she was such a positive witness for M. Phantom.

And all the Thuds! Oh my goodness! Even the lady next to me thudded, and I had to move aside so that the EMT team could care for her. I haven't thudded but my heart beats faster, and my pulse quickens whenever I glance toward M. Phantom.

Since I listened to Vicomte Raoul deChagny's testimony last Friday morning, I feel like strangling the man. I used to have respect for him. But no more! I could Punjab the man myself for all of the nasty names he called M. Phantom. What an utter self-centered, egotistical, unbelievably vain, pompous, uncaring, name calling…ahh…ahh….HAIR TOSSING MAN! And that horrid Mr. Broadbent wasn't helping! I would like to wipe that devious smirk off of his face with a good sound smack!

But I am also learning a lot of background during this trial. History was never my favorite subject so I did not know all that was going on in France during this turbulent time. And I see now how M. Phantom was trying to protect and help everyone. He is not that man depicted in the movie that seemed to go off the deep end and do things that just didn't make sense!

From where I sit, I can clearly see much of the perfect side of his face. On the first day, I watched him the entire time. He was so tense during the reading of all the charges. M. Phantom often tries to maintain a stoic expression and not reveal his feelings to the scavenger-like spectators. One exception was Friday morning during the Vicomte's testimony when the audience got what they wanted. The Vicomte was insufferable! He had no right to say all of those things, and I don't blame M. Phantom one bit for his reactions!

I don't like the arrogant Mr. Broadbent and the way he twisted everything in his opening statement and also during the Vicomte's testimony to make it sound so horrid. But I guess that is his job. S. Luzano definitely has a roving eye for the beautiful women, and M. DeVere reminds me of Hercule Poirot. Ms. Counselor, Counselor Brown and Counselor Sebbied seem to be very well prepared. Sometimes M. Phantom's feelings boil over, and Ms. Counselor appears to restrain him. In my eyes, Ms. Counselor always seems to try to protect him and to buffer him from the emotional roller coaster this trial has become. I wonder if she feels any attraction to this incredible man since she is constantly near him and touching him, and if her heart starts pounding as mine does, in his presence. All MY emotions are in conflict and sometimes I cannot help but feel that I want to sooth away all of his many torments.

Bringing myself out of my reflections about all that has happened, I glance toward the door where M. Phantom and his defense team are now entering the courtroom. Once again my eyes follow the dark, mysterious man. The noise in the room spirals upward, and I just sigh. Will this poor man ever be able to lead a normal life? I sense that the defense team will prevail. They must. It would be unthinkable if they were to fail.

And I also wonder…is he _the one ?_ +

_Laura's POV :_

Erik reaches for the handle of the door that enters into the front of the courtroom, taking my arm to hold me back as he opens it. I look up, smile and nod my "thank you." He responds with a grim tautness in his lips. Not a smile, almost a grimace. I look into his eyes and try to communicate in this fleeting instant that I understand his reluctance to have to listen again to Raoul deChagny…and to be exposed to scathing public scrutiny.

When we enter the courtroom the rumble of conversation from the spectators increases in pitch, as all eyes focus on Erik. The prosecutors, the jury and the spectators—all stare at him. How can any of us really know how this makes him feel? And, after all the speculation surrounding the murder and attempts by the PTB and media to implicate him, how much more does he hate being here in the spotlight of the courtroom? I watch him as he sits down in the chair next to me, and I reflect that throughout his life Erik has only experienced the extremes of human contact--either being shunted away—hidden from human eyes, becoming no more than a ghostly apparition—or the focus of intrusive, gawking attention in the gypsy tent and now, here, in the courtroom. Suddenly I feel only compassion and understanding that he fled from all of this just one week ago.

But, sadly, so very much has happened because of that. He is under a barrage of new media speculation about whether he is guilty of the old man's murder. The police, of course, have not charged him. Horatio, who ironically is in charge of the investigation, is working ceaselessly trying to put the puzzle pieces together, clearly believing Erik's innocence.

I study Erik, assessing how he is doing. He has resumed his usual courtroom pose. His back is rigid and his black-suited shoulders held up with dignity, as he stares at his folded hands which rest on the defense table. He seems to be ignoring the voices that can be heard behind us, but I wonder if in fact he is listening intently.

One voice rises above the general discussion—a shrill female voice. "Yes, I heard that if the poor thing had not passed out, he would have had his way with her, as well!" I see Erik's face flinch and his jaw tighten, and know that he, too, heard that.

I can no longer restrain myself. I very deliberately turn in my seat and face the spectators, scanning the faces, seeking the woman who said those vile words. Her shrewish voice again rises above the general din, and I spot her two rows back, almost directly behind Erik. She is still broadcasting her speculation, as I stare pointedly at her. I do not move my relentless gaze until the person she is speaking with elbows her and points in my direction. The woman turns her head and looks into my eyes which are communicating unequivocally my warning to cease and desist spewing her scandalous venom. She gets the point, lowers her eyes and shuts up.

Turning back to my notes, I distractedly study them in preparation for my cross-examination of Raoul, trying to control my own emotions. I reflect that it is not like me to get so emotional, yet I cannot seem to help it. I hurt for Erik's traumas and am angry over the woman's words. What is happening with me? I sort my files, all the while struggling with these thoughts and feelings which I seem not to be able to control.

The Judge enters the court, her black gowns flowing behind her, and the bailiff calls the court into session. When Raoul, Vicomte deChagny is brought in, the Judge directs the bailiff to swear him in once more. The Vicomte glances nervously at Erik before taking his seat in the witness box. I stand and walk around the defense table, slowly approaching the witness who is dressed in a light tan morning suit with white vest and cravat—one of the two outfits Counselor Sebbied chose, of course. Feeling he would choose one of the light suits she chose rather than the black ones selected by the prosecution, I decided to wear a modest ivory Armani suit today with a long silk jacket that nearly reaches the hem of my knee length skirt. As I approach him, the Vicomte's eyes scan me, head to four-inch spike heal shoes, and he smiles approvingly. To him I appear to be JUST another woman. I smile back.

"Vicomte deChagny, you said that you and your parents were honored to support the arts, especially the Opera Populaire?"

"Yes, of course! But for our patronage, the Opera Populaire would have closed during the Prussian attacks of Paris!" He says with a toss of his head, sending his golden tresses in a swaying motion around his delicately sculpted face.

"Why did you take particular interest in becoming patron of the Opera Populaire, rather than one of the other operas or theaters?" I ask with a steady, unassuming voice.

"Well, actually, my elder brother, Phillipe, may he rest in peace, had been particularly interested in the Opera Populaire for the year before he died, and I wanted to continue supporting it in his memory."

"Do you know why Phillipe had chosen the Opera Populaire to bestow his largesse?"

"Well," Raoul hesitates, and seems to frown, "Phillipe seemed quite pre-occupied with that opera company and would often go to watch even the rehearsals. I believe he made friends with the owner and the Mistress of Dance, Mme. Giry, which, of course, seemed rather strange. After all, they are below our class, but when I asked him about it, he would always end the conversation. Then, when he died, I felt that this was something I should continue in his honor."

"Vicomte, you testified that you are currently engaged to Mlle. Christine Daae, who is living in your family's mansion in Paris, is that correct?" I hear a chair squeak as it scrapes heavily across the wood floor, and I look back to see that Erik has pushed back from the defense table, but he remains seated and silent. Counselor Sebbied, who sits next to him, puts a gentle, calming hand on his forearm.

"Yes, of course. We hope to marry soon."

"But you are not yet married. Why is that?" I ask pointedly.

"You see," Raoul actually begins to stutter, "uh……um…..my father has not yet given his consent to my marrying Mlle. Daae, and I am not of age to enter into such a marriage without his consent."

"Vicomte, could you please explain what you mean by "enter into such a marriage?" I persist.

"Well…uh…Mlle. Daae is not of the nobility, after all, everyone knows she is an opera performer. My father feels that is not a suitable marriage." Raoul answers with a catch in his voice, refusing to meet my eyes. From behind I hear the loud intake of breath. Erik just had some of his suspicions confirmed that when Raoul gave Christine the engagement ring, Raoul's father had not given permission for the marriage. I do not look back at Erik. I must keep my concentration.

"Vicomte deChagny, you testified that it was while Mlle. Daae was singing an aria during the Gala performance at the Opera Populaire that you first recognized her as someone who had been your "childhood sweetheart," is that correct?"

"Yes, I did!"

"How old were you when you knew Mlle. Daae?"

"I was 12 years old."

"And how old was Mlle. Daae?"

"She had just turned seven years old and was visiting our estate with her father not long before he died."

"So, she was seven and you were twelve. Could you really consider yourselves 'sweethearts' at that very young age? Or were you merely playmates?" I ask with insistent tone.

"We…." Raoul is struggling to justify what he previously testified to, clearly with difficulty. "...uh, played together and were really quite close!"

"So, at the age of seven and twelve you were already romantically involved as sweethearts are?" I ask with incredulity.

"Well…no, of course, not! That sort of thing would not have been proper!"

"As you say," I look back at the jury and note that they are paying intense attention. Good. "So, when her father died shortly thereafter, did you remain in contact with Mlle. Daae, since she was such a close friend?"

"No….not exactly…." Raoul shakes his head dismissively.

"Just 'exactly' how many times DID you have contact with Mlle. Daae between her visit at the age of seven and your seeing her on the stage singing in the gala performance?" I zero in on this not inconsequential point.

"Well….uh….none." Raoul mumbles his answer.

"Could you please speak up so the jury can hear you, Vicomte?"

"NONE!"

I nod my head in "thank you," to the Vicomte. "You promptly introduced yourself to Mlle. Daae following the performance that night, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And, you invited her out to dinner that very evening, correct?"

"Yes! Of course!"

"Did you know how old she was, Vicomte?"

"Yes, it had been nine years since I had seen her last, so that would make her 16 years old."

"An unmarried young lady, sixteen years old requires the consent of her parents or guardian before going with—or even being in the company of—a man, does she not?"

"I knew her mother and father were dead, so I didn't think I had to ask permission!"

"But normally, it would only be proper to ask the consent of the parents to take a young woman out for the evening…even if it is only for dinner?"

"Well…yes…normally…it is what would usually be done…" he reluctantly admits.

"Do you mean by "normally" that it was 'proper ethical and social behavior' to ask permission?" I will not let him off this hook.

"Uh, yes…."

"And, did you ask Mlle. Daae if she had a guardian so that you could ask for such permission?"

"Well….no….," he looks down and begins to study his white gloved hands.

"Did you reassure Mlle. Daae that you had a proper chaperone arranged to accompany you and her to this dinner?"

"No, I didn't tell her that."

"Did you even make such arrangements to have a proper chaperone accompany you and Mlle Daae to this dinner?"

"Uh…no, actually….I did not."

"Vicomte, if a man takes a young, unmarried woman out for the evening, without the consent of her guardian and without a chaperone, how would that be regarded by the rest of society?"

"It would be….frowned upon," he volunteers reluctantly.

"When you say 'frowned upon,' do you mean that the young woman would suffer consequences, such as a damaged reputation?" I want to make this point unequivocally clear to the jury that the social norms for the 19th century are totally different, and that there are dire repercussions for a young woman who is seen to be "loose."

"Uh….yes." Raoul blurts out.

"So, a guardian who had NOT been asked for permission for the young lady in her charge to be taken out for the evening and furthermore had NOT been give assurances of a proper chaperone…Well, that guardian would be in her rights to prevent it from happening, would she not?"

"Well…yes, the guardian would."

I look back at the jury and can see from their expressions that they are following this questioning with great interest.

"Vicomte, moving on to the night of the performance of Il Muto, you testified that when you heard the voice interrupting the performance, you looked up and saw the defendant in the walkway around the upper dome of the theater. You described him as wearing a long black cloak and that his face was covered by a white half mask, just as he is wearing today. Is that correct?" I again look at the jury and notice most are writing. I trust they are taking note that Erik is clearly identified as wearing a half mask, contrary to the man that Meg witnessed in the flies when Buquet was killed—a man who wore a full mask and took time to make sure the dancers saw him clearly.

"Yes! I am certain. Just like he is today. He was only there for a moment, but I could briefly see his eye and the one side of his face as he turned and went through a doorway on the side of the dome."

"You alleged, however, that defendant DID cause Carlotta to croak so that Mlle. Daae would be given the leading role of the Countess, didn't you?"

"Yes! He caused the disruptions in the play—first he interrupted with his echoing voice and then used his trickery to cause Carlotta to croak!" Raoul's chin goes up in haughty assurance.

"In fact, Vicomte, you previously testified that the defendant 'clearly got just what he wanted' when it was announced that Mlle. Daae would play the role of the Countess because of those actions, isn't that correct?"

"Yes! Absolutely! He got just what he planned!"

"Joseph Buquet was murdered shortly thereafter, wasn't he?"

"Yes!"

"Killed even before Mlle. Daae performed, correct?"

"Yes…just minutes after he went through the doorway!"

"So, Mlle Daae did not perform at all in the part of the Countess because the murder totally stopped the performance, isn't that correct?"

"Well…of course it stopped the performance. How could the opera continue after someone was killed right there on the stage?"

"Yes, Vicomte, you are quite correct! It is obvious to anyone that the opera would totally stop if a murder occurred on the stage! But that also prevented Mlle. Daae from performing the leading role, did it not?"

"Yes….I guess it did," Raoul says with a frown as he begins to understand where my questions are going.

"So, if the defendant killed someone before Mlle. Daae performed—knowing that would stop the performance entirely—he would clearly NOT be getting 'what he wanted," isn't that true?"

"Yes…." Raoul is now clearly connecting these dots.

"So, you allege that the defendant uses his voice to disrupt the program, and then does something to cause Carlotta to lose her voice solely to serve his ends of obtaining the opportunity for Mlle. Daae to perform the lead in the opera. So, why would he kill Joseph Buquet just at that moment when it was certain to stop the performance of the opera before Mlle. Daae sang the lead?"

"Uhhhhhh, I don't know…." Raoul impatiently tosses his curls, trying to dismiss the illogic of his testimony.

"Vicomte, did you see the man who was in the flies who killed Monsieur Buquet?"

"No, I did not see him. I did not have a view of the flies from Box Five where I was sitting," he replies dismissively.

"Vicomte, you testified that you next accompanied Mlle. Daae to the rooftop where you felt it was safe. Was it safe there?"

"Well, yes, as I said, it was just the two of us, and we talked for some time. I comforted her, and we professed our love to each other!"

"So you were totally uninterrupted? Totally undisturbed?"

"Yes! Of course!" the Vicomte is becoming exasperated by my questions.

"Were you aware that Monsieur Phantom was also on the rooftop for the entire time you and Mlle. Daae were there?"

"NO! That's not possible!" Raoul spits out.

"Christine had a red rose in her hand when you arrived at the rooftop, but dropped it into the snow, did she not?" I ask while glancing back at Erik to check his reaction. Obviously he had told me this during our conferences going over the events, but I was concerned that it would reopen old wounds. I catch him gritting his teeth, but he continues to focus on his folded hands.

"Yes, she was carrying a red rose all the way up to the rooftop, but shortly after we arrived, she dropped it. How would you know?"

"Because Monsieur Phantom witnessed it. Did Monsieur Phantom make any noise or do anything even to make his presence known?"

"No…I did not know he was there!" Raoul is now looking at Erik in disbelief.

"So a man who is alleged to be a violent murderer stands silently in the shadows while you are, shall we say, having a rather personal conversation with Mlle. Daae, which probably would be quite distressing to M. Phantom, and yet he made no threat toward you of any kind?"

"No," Raoul very reluctantly admits, "…he did not."

"When you followed Monsieur Phantom into the mirror room during the Bal Masque, was the defendant holding a sword, or a gun or a rope or any weapon in his hands?"

"Well, no…" Raoul says with hesitation.

"Were you holding a weapon?"

"Yes, I had my sword drawn, and I was very ready to use it, too!"

"Yes, I am sure you were," I agree as I look back at the jurors. "While you were in the mirror room, did M. Phantom harm you in any way?"

"No," Raoul responds..

"Did he restrain you or lock you in?"

"Uh…no," Raoul shakes his head, again tossing his coif.

"What WAS M. Phantom doing in the mirror room?"

"Well, he was playing tricks on me. He kept moving around beside the mirrors to confuse me!"

"He confused you? So you could not stab him with your drawn sword?" I ask with a shade of sarcasm in my voice.

After a long pause, Raoul blurts out, "Yes!"

"When you arrived at the cemetery, did you also have your sword drawn as you approached M. Daae's mausoleum?"

"YES! Of course! I had to be ready to defend myself against that…"

"VICOMTE! You are admonished NOT to name-call in this court room!" the Judge's voice breaks in like a lightning bolt.

After pausing a beat to let the Vicomte's nerves settle in after the Judge's vehement admonition, I ask, "So, you approached the defendant with YOUR sword drawn and threatening?"

"Well, I was ready!"

"And, Vicomte, you said in your testimony that you are a 'far superior swordsman' than the defendant, is that correct?"

"Yes! And, I pinned him to the ground!"

"You have no doubt been very well trained in swordsmanship, as befits your station, isn't that correct, Vicomte?" I persist.

"Well, yes, of course! I have had private lessons from some of the best swordsmen in France!" Raoul replies proudly.

"Quite superior to what M. Phantom was able to obtain in the fifth cellar under the Opera Populaire, no doubt, Vicomte?"

"Objection!" Mr. Broadbent jumps to his feet, his beefy jowl bouncing in agitation. "Ms. Counselor is badgering the witness and introducing information not in evidence!"

"Objections sustained," the Judge rules.

"When you had M. Phantom 'pinned to the ground' why did you stay your hand?"

"Uh…." Raoul appears incensed at this question, "Mlle. Daae asked me to."

"Had Mlle. Daae not stopped you, what were your intentions, Vicomte deChagny?"

"To rid him permanently from our lives!" He spits out angrily. Gasps and groans are heard throughout the courtroom, but I quickly swivel on my heel to look at Erik. His visible eyebrow is raised, and his eyes blare with deep green flames. His gaze meets mine as he nods his head in confirmation. He had told me this is how Raoul would answer this question. Although I see him breathing rapidly, Erik remains in control of his emotions. I am glad I had prepared him for this question in advance. Turning back to the witness, I continue, "Vicomte, you then participated with the owners of the Opera Populaire in their scheme to trap Monsieur Phantom during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant?"

"Yes, of course! We needed to stop him!"

"To stop him from what, Vicomte?"

"To stop him from his blackmailing…from writing notes…from well…disrupting performances…and, he had killed someone!"

"But you testified that you could NOT see who killed Joseph Buquet. How did you know it was Monsieur Phantom who killed Monsieur Buquet instead of someone dressed like him, wearing a full mask?"

"Wearing a full mask? No, he was wearing only a half mask! I am sure that is what I saw!" Raoul vehemently protests.

"Yes, indeed you did! But the man who killed Monsieur Buquet wore a full mask, and his doing so prevented the very thing you said Monsieur Phantom was trying to accomplish—Mlle. Daae's stepping into the lead in Il Muto. So, again, Vicomte, how do you KNOW for certain that it was the defendant who killed Monsieur Buquet?"

"Well…" Raoul looks down at his hands and shakes his head, "I really cannot say for certain."

I pause to let that statement hang in the air. I look at the jurors. They are busily making notes. Broadbent on the other hand, is sending me daggers with his eyes.

"So, you allege that Monsieur Phantom was blackmailing the owners of the opera house, but are you aware that he had a contract for services with the opera house which the owners were breaching by not paying his salary?"

"Uh, no…I did not know any such thing," Raoul is now appearing confused.

"We have entered that contract into evidence and the owners have acknowledged its authenticity. So, if there was no blackmail, and you don't really know that he killed Buquet, that leaves 'writing notes' and 'disrupting performances,' as the reasons for "stopping him." Now what was it you arranged for that purpose?"

"I made arrangements to have gendarmes at the performance of Don Juan Triumphant!"

"You also previously testified that they were to be armed, isn't that correct?"

"Uh, yes…." Raoul looks nervously toward Erik who is sitting totally still, just gazing at Raoul with obvious contempt.

"And why did you want them to be armed with guns? Was that so that they were prepared to shoot Monsieur Phantom?"

"Well…yes, I guess so," Raoul shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"If the gendarmes shot those guns in that theater filled with many performers, and hundreds of people in the audience, others could also have been shot, perhaps even Christine, isn't that correct?"

"Uhhhhh, well, yes," the Vicomte is now visibly sweating, as he mops his forehead with his gloved hand.

"But, you certainly wouldn't want him writing notes and disrupting performances, now would you?" I say with a sardonic tone.

"_Objection!"_ Broadbent jumps up, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

"_Sustained!" _the Judge answers without missing a beat.

"Finally, Vicomte deChagny, you went down into the lair and were tied up to the portcullis, isn't that correct?"

"Yesssss..." Raoul says with obvious embarrassment.

"Despite the animosity between you and the defendant, he let you go, and indeed he allowed you to leave with Mlle. Daae, isn't that correct?"

"Yes! But I got this rope burn around my neck from that!" and, again for emphasis, the Vicomte pulls down his cravat and exposes the brownish scar.

I can now see the scar from a very close vantage point, and it is as I had suspected. It is a most unusual rope burn. I turn around and walk back to the defense table, stop in front of Erik and look down at him. I reach over and pluck a couple Kleenex out of the box that sits on the defense table and return to the witness.

"Vicomte, that rope burn does not appear to be healing very well. In fact it appears to be just about that same as it looked when you last testified." I watch as Raoul shifts nervously in his chair and studies the tissue in my hands. "I was wondering if you would mind wiping this tissue over that scar?"

"OBJECTION! That is NOT proper courtroom procedure! AND, that could be prejudicial!" Broadbent yells out, somewhat irrationally, in flummoxed exasperation.

"Yes, Your Honor, I agree with Mr. Broadbent that what we may learn COULD be prejudicial to this witness, or to the prosecution case. But, it most certainly may prove to be very relevant, both to the facts and to the credibility of this witness!" I point out calmly and logically, looking from Mr. Broadbent's almost humorous, red-faced rage to the Judge's very dignified and cool demeanor.

The Judge nods her head in agreement with my argument, and quickly rules, "Objection overruled. This indeed is a salient point that goes to the facts and to the credibility of this witness. Vicomte, please do as you have been requested."

Suddenly Raoul's eyes get large with full understanding. There is a long pause as I hold out the Kleenex for him to take. Finally, with resignation, and one hand holding aside his cravat, he takes the tissue and sweeps it across the "scar" which promptly smudges. I hold out my hand for him to return the evidence to me, and I turn and display the Kleenex for the jury to see clearly, now covered with a sticky brown streak…stage makeup.

"Your Honor, I would like to submit this into evidence," I say with an eyebrow raised in humor at the Vicomte's failed ruse.

"So admitted."

"I have no further questions." As I walk past the prosecution table I notice Monsieur DeVere glaring in disgust at the witness, Signor Luzano stifling a grin, and Mr. Broadbent fuming. Sitting down next to Erik, I get the best reaction of all…his eyes glimmer with suppressed glee.

_Kudos and thank yous to our editors, Phanna and Rappleyea! _


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Well, The Epic Case is about to take you on a roller coaster ride. Remember what those monster rides are like? When they begin, you take a long, slow, steady ride up to the top of that first humongous drop? Well, that is where you have been, and now, with this chapter you are at the very top of that crest, looking around and getting ready for what is to come! So, enjoy!**

**Chapter 15 REFLECTIONS, Sebbied++, Phangirl+ and Phanfan**

_Saturday, August 27, 2005  
Seattle, Washington_

_++Counselor Sebbied's POV  
An interlude in C Minor_

Ben pokes his shiny head into my boudoir. "You sure you don't need anything Counselor?"

"Oh. I am fine Ben, thank you. I'm just going to indulge in my daily reaffirmation beauty regime and then take a long, hot, plumeria bubble bath." I wave gaily letting the feather trim on my peach peignoir flutter. "I'll call you if I need anything."

I smile at the roll of his eyes and then turn to the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that line one end of my bedroom. My gaze meets his across the room. He doesn't seem in any particular hurry to leave as his hand rests on my doorknob, and he glances about my luxurious bedchamber with a curl to his lip.

I open my mouth wide and begin to sing. "I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright!..."

The door slams shut, and I jump into action, pressing the 'play' button on my sound system as my singing continues through the speakers..."And I pity. Any girl who isn't me tonight...I feel charming..."

The peignoir is quickly removed revealing my scarlet and black skin-tight work out ensemble. I place my palms together at my heart chakra, close my eyes, and bow my head. "Namaste."

Then I begin my hour long series of an intense combination-- yoga, pilates, muscle isolation, and meditation. This work out was created specifically for me by a monk of the, Wee-hoo-Grovelat-Diva's-pheet order. Surprisingly, they had internet access and have been following my career.

I am glowing profusely as my hour draws to an end. My sound system has now played my voice belting out such tunes as: "You're so vain," "I'm too sexy," "Look at me I'm Sandra Dee," "Can't touch this," "Bootylicious," "Material Girl" and "Diamonds are a Girls Best friend" ...just to name a few...

I tiptoe to my set of doors, press my delicate ear to the paneled wood, and overhear, "Yeah, Joe...she's been twirling and primping around her bedroom in her underwear for the past hour...how the hell should I know? Some pink color I guess. Trade with me? You wouldn't be askin' if you had to listen to her singing."

On the other side of the door, my mouth drops open. I have a lovely singing voice! I have had voice lessons by the best of the best. I stifle my ladylike growl and continue to listen.

"Hey, she's stopped her yodeling, I'm gonna check on her again. Gotta make sure that Princess Counselor hasn't broken a nail or something. How the heck did I get stuck with guarding the one called Diva?"

And how did I get stuck with a no necked, bullet headed, bulldog of a man? I wanted to shout this question through the door. Really, when the guards were assigned imagine this Diva's complete pique at having the least attractive man to protect my body. But it wasn't simply about looks; Ben was a boor, or a bore…or both. His barrel-chested body was all muscle and no heart. Here we were defending a man who had suffered untold amounts of persecution on almost the sole basis of his looks and Ben was doing the same to me. "Princess" indeed….it's "Miss Diva" if you're nasty.

Ben had a few things to learn and perhaps I was just the Diva to teach him.

My peignoir and sweetest smile are in place when the doors open, and Ben regards me with a bored look. "Everything alright in here Counselor?"

"No," I pout. My blue eyes wide with dismay.

His hand instantly rests on his gun, his eyes sharpening as he searches the room. I would admire his capabilities if I weren't so miffed.

Before he can start peeking under my pedestal bed or looking out windows, I hold out my hand. "I broke my nail," I cry loudly. "Come see."

Ben does not even bother to hide his anger and exasperation as he strides over to me. I hear him mutter. "Joe is never gonna believe this."

When only twelve inches of space are between us, I reach out with both hands and grab one of his. Yanking him down hard and twisting at the same time, I use his own body weight to flip him on to his back. His astonished gaze and small gasps for breath as he gets up off the floor soothe my ruffled peignoir feathers, and I dust my well manicured hands off.

"Tae-Kwon-Diva, Ben. The new self-defense style for pretty girls in a man's world."

He pulls himself to his full height and stares at me for a full minute. I wait, oh so patiently.

Ben grins. "You're all right, Counselor. Guess I've been a little harsh on you." He extends his hand and when I take it, expecting a very firm handshake...to my surprise he raises my fingers to his lips and kisses them.

With a wink he exits the room.

I let out a small laugh, thinking that our enigmatic, passionate client might be rubbing off on our modern day guard dogs. As I run the water into my sunken bathtub, I wonder if Ben has truly learned never to judge a Diva by her underwear. Yes, I think he has.

I peel of my garments, letting them drop to the hardwood floor in a gossamer whisper. Next, I light three of my tall pillar candles scented with sandalwood and eucalyptus. My sound system now plays the instrumental version of POTO and the foaming bubbles in my bath are just starting to rise over the marble rim. I practically purr my happiness as I sink into the hot, fragrant water. I deserve this.

What a week it has been. Closing my eyes, I drop my head back to rest on a plush, folded towel. I am not going to think about work, I repeat in my head over and over.

But really, when a person tells himself or herself they will not think about a specific thing—then of course what else is there to think of? It's like chocolate, the more you forbid yourself, the closer to the Ghirardelli shop your feet will take you. And my heels have clicked a well-worn path to that particular door. A Diva should never deny herself anything anyway, its bad for her pores.

Raoul deChagny suddenly pouts into my musings, and my eyes pop open. Mr. Don't-Hate-Me-Because-I'm-Beautiful has no business in my bath! Speaking of, I wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask Ben to scrub my back? I discard that thought immediately. Inappropriate or not, the man probably applies the same technique of applying a loofah to a woman's rose petal skin as he does when using an SOS pad to scrub down his barbeque grill.

I'll pass.

Raoul continues to pooch out his bottom lip and is now sniffing indignantly—Just as he had when Ms. Counselor led him skipping along her primrose path. My, he was irate when the light of understanding shone upon his gilded melon. Ms. Counselor is beyond clever when it suits her. I wonder if the excellent arguments and strong points she made in her cross exam actually got through to deChagny. Sadly, he seems quite intentionally blind when it comes to anything but himself and his way.

I have a hard enough time with so many people trying to place our client in the role of vicious murderer, but when that…that gaudy, ribbon-maned, carousel pony called my proud, wild, black stallion a "monster"…well, I was this close to dumping a bottle of Nair on his head.

Not that Erik is mine per se. But didn't I mention a Diva should never deny herself? Yes, a Diva should never deny herself…but she should always be honest too. Some sort of tingly current was running between Mr. Phantom and Ms. Counselor. My gorgeous baby blues had caught them both playing the, "I stare at you when you aren't looking game." Quite amusing to watch between witnesses. So, with brutal honesty, this Diva has to admit that her smoldering, soulful client is one bottle of wine she will never uncork. But I hear that Laura enjoys a fine merlot.

I giggle out loud at my witty way with words. I do so enjoy my own company. And speaking of wine, I ponder the idea of asking Ben to fetch me some champagne from the refrigerator. I know the exact vintage that will suit my sparkling mood.

Then I sigh with dismay causing some of my bubbles to poof up. I have a feeling Ben's a keg stand type of guy. He probably wouldn't know the difference between Cristal and Crystal light.

Darn.

The heartrending strains of, "Learn to be Lonely" float through the room. Instantly, and to my surprise, I become quite emotional. I may be submerged in water, but it is my mind that is flooded.

I recall the feeling of Erik's arm underneath my hand as Raoul deChagny spewed his cruel venom. The strength Erik possessed astonished me. Such coiled power in those muscles. Yet he had kept himself and whatever tumultuous emotions that roiled within him on a tight leash. _Throughout all of it. _Through the poisonous gossip of the crowd, the pain of reliving his loss of Christine in front of a roomful of strangers, the debasing names Raoul had managed to hurl at him.

Really, our client was quite magnificent in my unbiased, humble, and completely right opinion. I bet my last Diva Dollar he would know how to loofah a lady's back, I think dreamily.

He would come into the room silently, like moonlight. Dressed in his burgundy and black dressing robe, his white linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat and down his chest. I would not have to say a word, merely lean forward in my bath and hug my knees while the heat of those ocean eyes traveled over my glistening, exposed skin.

One finger he would trace along my spine before he sits on the edge of the marble tub. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my knees attuned to the slight movement of his hand delving into the water. A sensation like wet silk being poured down my back makes me hum with languid pleasure. He slides the slightly abrasive loofah over the nape of my neck and across the blades of my shoulders with confident, unhurried strokes. The sponge brushes down the side of my ribcage, and I suck in a breath at the contact, never having realized how sensitive an area it is.

"Shall I attend your lower back?" his deep voice would ask, so dark and elegant.

"Yes, please do!" I reply in my most sultry voice.

"Please do what?"

_HUH_?

My eyes fly open and there is Ben standing in the doorway of my bathroom, my private bathroom, eating some sort of monstrous sandwich.

He holds it out and grins. "Salami? I can make you one."

My burning glare of outrage has no effect on him, nor does the lack of suds. I don't know which to be miffed about.

At some point between pondering Raoul's petulance and my client's loofah skills…my bubbles deserted me and Ben made a sandwich—which he chose to eat in my doorway. The utter indignity of it had me standing up in all my God given glory, like a pissed-off Venus in a half-shell and pointing at him.

"Get out!"

He shrugs. "Sure, princess. But you were in here an awfully long time, and I had to make sure you were okay when you didn't answer me. I called your name a lot before comin' in."

He had? Oh my, I was quite immersed in my tubby time wasn't I?

I grab my robe and drag it around my dripping body. "As you can see, I am fine."

Hoo-boy did I serve that comment up on a gilded platter. I cringe as Ben chews, smiles…and smiles some more. His smirking silence is answer enough.

"What were you thinking about anyway?" Ben takes another large bite and has the nerve to chuckle.

"I was thinking about work. Now, I asked you to get out. Do I need to call your superior?"

He swallows and bats his eyes wide. "Yes, please do!"

Who knew the little bulldog had a knack for impersonation?

As he struts off, no doubt to call Jeremy, I make mental note to clear all luncheon meat out of my fridge and use the shower from now on. ++

_+Horatio's POV:_

It is raining again in torrents as I drive once more toward Phen's apartment, just like it did that night when I finally left the courthouse after Alberson's murder a week ago and everything fell apart. Only a week… God, it feels like a year!

Admiral Brooks sits in the passenger's seat beside me, and he doesn't seem to mind as I slip a Righteous Brothers CD into the player. A second later the first notes of "You're My Soul And My Inspiration" comes over the speakers.

"This one again," he says in short, clipped sentences. "Every time I ride with you, this song plays. You're thinking about Lieutenant Grace Chamberlain again. I remember that night too, you know."

"What night?" I say innocently, thought I know perfectly well which night he means, and am actually surprised that he has caught on so quickly.

He indulges my false memory lapse anyway. "That night on Okinawa just before she was supposed to go on leave and get married. I was there too, remember. I was her commanding officer as well as yours. You took a picture of her in her dress uniform after you told her you wanted something to remember her by." He pauses before shaking his head in resignation. "She was so happy that night." He ends his sentence with a long sad sigh. Inside I am sighing too, thinking that it's a good thing he doesn't know that I carry that same picture around in my wallet.

I reach for the button on the CD player to change the song, but he places a restraining hand on mine. "Don't do that, Horatio."

I stop at a red light just then and turn to look at him. Immediately he sees the pain that I diligently hide from the other members of the security team. But I can hide nothing from him. I never have been able to. I see the truth in his eyes, the truth that he has never before let me see.

I force a gulp of air into my lungs and say, "So, tell me, Uncle Ben, how long have you known?"

He smiles knowingly. "Probably longer than you have."

"What?"

"I helped raise you, don't forget," he chuckles, but there is a bitter tinge to it. "I love you as if you were my own son, instead of just my nephew. I've known you since I came home from 'Nam and had to tell my sister how her baby boy's father died in battle trying to save his men. I knew from the moment Grace started working on the case for you and Captain Jones that the two of you would have a lot in common. And that night at the party when you slipped off down the beach together and the DJ played this song…well, it wasn't hard to guess why you asked him to play it. We both know that your parents danced to it at their wedding reception. And I have never heard of you playing it for any of your other girlfriends over the years."

"She wasn't my girlfriend," I remind him. "In addition to that little fraternization rule of the Navy's, she was engaged to someone else, don't forget. I played the song to tell her thank you for all she had done to help me get out of that hospital bed and back on my feet. End of story."

"Was it?" He asks and raises his eyebrow with a look that says I'm not fooling him a bit. "Then why do you keep playing this song?"

Somehow I manage to smile around the knot burning in my throat and shake my head, deciding to try to throw him off my trail again. "You sly old spook! You don't give up, do you?"

"Hazard of the job, I'm afraid." He says with a shrug. "One doesn't spend years in the CIA without it rubbing off into other areas of his life. So?"

"So what do you think about this business with Counselor Brown?" I say with a wicked grin that lets him know that the subject of the song is closed, bringing us to the point of our visit to Phen Brown's apartment. "Are you sure the Program didn't send her on another fact-finding assignment to France, or God only knows where else?"

"You've asked me this before," he says, trying not to sound impatient with me. "And the answer is still the same, no. Her fact-finding was over. We want her in the courtroom."

"Let's go over it all again." I follow the long line of traffic as it begins to move again. "We're missing something. That HOGSS thing and the star and circle on the wall. Captain Reynolds is full of prunes on that! He thinks the star was an imitation police badge and that it was a slam against the police department, because crooks call police officers pigs. And if it were anyone else we're talking about, I would agree. But the Program's forensics team has the blood sample and the real evidence. We now know it was Phen's. But she wouldn't draw something on the wall like that just to taunt the cops! She works for the D.A.'s office, for God's sake! She's been one of their top prosecutors!"

"But she did disappear," he reminds me with a knife's edge in his voice. "That night when you sent her home with Joe Carson she disappeared only a few hours after Henry Albertson's murder. When you went to ask her about the Ramirez case she was gone, escaped out her bedroom window right under Carson's nose. And now we have her fingerprints on the GLOCK 26, the same GLOCK 26 that the ballistics test proved was the one that killed Albertson."

"I know," I groan. "Of course I know all this! I can't think of anything else… But she wouldn't! She couldn't have killed that man! Thank God Reynolds doesn't know about all of the real evidence we have, or he would have her face plastered all over the news saying that she was the murderer! Then he would fire me for not disclosing everything to him."

Admiral Brooks' normally gruff voice is surprisingly soft as he says, "But this is something we have to consider, Horatio. You know her background…"

"Yes, I do know her!" I snap. "And I know that she did not kill that man! We're missing something, damn it! But I'll be hanged if I can figure out what!"

"You're taking this too personally," he says. "Look at you. You're exhausted! When did you last sleep?"

"I'm fine!" I shout in frustration. "I was a SEAL remember? I made it with only four total hours of sleep during Hell Week! I swam around Coronado Island and did everything else they wanted me to do to get into that unit, for all the good it ended up doing me! I promise I won't die of exhaustion!"

Uncle Ben bears my outburst in silence, knowing that I need to vent. When I get quiet again, he says with understanding, "You know our people are doing all we can to find her. And it is still possible that Phen found out something and went to investigate it alone."

"No, she wouldn't do that either," I say as my heart sinks even lower. "She would have come to me. She would have let me know what was happening."

"Unless she had no choice," Uncle Ben answers with a tired sigh. "Someone may have blackmailed her somehow, or even threatened her. She is human just like the rest of us. She has her weaknesses too, Horatio. I just hope we find her before we run out of excuses for the press and the District Attorney's office as to why she hasn't been seen or heard from for several days. So far they are buying the sick relative excuse."

"But for how long?" I groan. "How long before someone puts two and two together and comes up with the same things we have? How long before the gun evidence and the all the rest gets out to the cops? How long before the D.A. sets out to catch one of their own?"

"Well, let's see if we can catch something we've missed," he says as we pull into the parking lot outside her downtown apartment building. "Carson and Bernard should have torn that apartment to pieces by now."

With that, our conversation comes to an end and we slip behind our detached facades of police officer and admiral instead of uncle and nephew.

We both put on latex gloves before we knock on the door. Joe Carson answers it. With him is the same forensics guy who found the blood on the wall in the courthouse. "How is it going?" I ask him. "Find anything, Bernard?"

"I saved it just for you, Boss," he says, his chocolate brown face breaking into a grin. "Found it just a few minutes ago. It seems that our counselor kept a journal." He grins in a way that makes him look like a Denzel Washington double.

"What?" I sprint across the living room in a few strides. "Where did you find it?"

"Under the hardwood floor in the dining room."

"What did it say?"

"There was more than one," he says. "In a locked box. There were several photos in there too. I didn't take time to start reading. But I think you'll find the photos interesting. Most of them are of you. She even has one of you from back in your Navy days."

I take a quick look at the pictures in his hand, and sure enough, they are of me. One of them is of me in my dress whites. Bernard is shooting curious looks at me, but I ignore him. My attention is on the three thick journals on the coffee table. I pick one up and open it. Admiral Brooks eagerly hangs over my shoulder, ready to devour every word. I'm holding my breath as I open it and find…absolute gibberish.

"What the hell is that?" Brooks explodes. "Did she write the whole thing in Pig Latin?" He grabs the book from me and flips through page after page of neat, but illegible, writing.

I pick up another book and find the same thing. But then I notice a series of numbers in the corner of one page: 4002-61-21, and a siren starts to wail in the far corners of my mind. I look at the numbers again and the siren grows louder. "What a smart devil you are, Phen!"

"What?" Brooks sputters. "What is it?"

"Carson!" I shout to Joe, "Bring me a mirror!"

"Horatio? What…?"

"For a veteran CIA operative you're losing your edge, old man!" I whisper. "Don't you recognize plain French when you see it?"

He peers at the page again and frowns. Then his eyes widen in surprise. "I'll be da-"

"Here's the mirror, Sir!" Joe interrupts as he races into the room with a small mirror in hand. "What are you doing? Is that book written in Spanish?"

"No! It's mirror writing," I answer. "And French mirror writing, at that! Leonardo Da Vinci wrote several of his writings that way, and Phen loved..." Suddenly the siren in my head is screaming at full volume. "Oh, what an idiot I am!" I cross the room again to an overflowing bookshelf, and run my finger over the spines of the books until I find the one I'm looking for. "Of course! HOGSS! It wasn't a taunt! And the star wasn't a badge! She was sending a message to me!"

The three of them all look at me like I'm ready for the loony bin. I wave the book at them. "Don't you people ever read? This is one of Phen's favorite books! She told me once that she even took the tour from Paris to Roslyn Chapel in Scotland following the same route the books characters did!"

"Quit waving that thing around!" Brooks interrupts. "I would know what book it was if I could read the title!"

I hold it still and want to laugh out loud as they still look blankly at me. "It's a smash best-seller! They're even making it into a movie! Come on, guys! Dan Brown's _The Da Vinci Code_? 'So dark the con of man?' The pentacle that the curator in the Louvre painted on his chest with his blood before he died? Any of it ringing bells for you?"

"Uh, no," Carson says. "I don't have much time to read."

" 'So dark the con of man'?" The admiral repeats with a frown. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It was an anagram that the dead guy wrote on the front of the Mona Lisa," I answer as I grab a pen and a small notepad from my pocket. "The star on the wall was a pentacle! But I got so caught up in all of the other evidence that I didn't realize what she was saying! She drew the pentacle so I would remember the codes in this book!"

"So, what was she saying?" Bernard demands. "Was HOGSS an anagram?"

"Yes!"

"So what does it mean?" Carson interjects.

"Give me a second here," I say as I scribble the letters down. "I don't remember the exact formula." The three of them crowd around me as I try to unscramble the letters. Nothing makes sense."

"She wrote two "S" 's," Brooks mutters. "That has to mean something."

"It does," I say in a near-whisper. "If you move the "O" between them what do you get?"

"S.O.S.!" He shouts.

"And what about the other letters?" Bernard asks. "What does that mean?"

Neither Brooks, Carson, or I pay any attention. Our eyes are locked as we stand over the paper. Neither of them says a word, but I can see that they have suddenly reached the same conclusion I have. And with the conclusion comes this chilling knowledge: _we may be too late_.+

_Dr. Freuda's POV:_

Glancing at my watch, I notice the time, close my book and place it on the table next to the comfortable overstuffed chair I sit in. In only a few minutes Erik will come through the door of this den in Horatio's home, and we will begin our counseling session. He is always on time. Never early, never late. I have a few minutes to gather my thoughts about what I feel we need to cover today.

Our daily counseling has been one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life. I have been a psychiatrist for almost thirty-five years, and specialize in treating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but Erik's case is so unusual and unique, as is Erik himself, a gifted genius who drinks in everything around him like a man thirsting for water in the Sahara. A musical prodigy who sings and plays the violin and piano like an angel. A master composer. A brilliant artist who can draw and sculpt. A designer of costumes and sets. An architect. I have heard that "magician" is in his list of accomplishments and sometimes he does appear out of nowhere, like magic!

I am also aware that he finds a way to "borrow" the books from Horatio's extensive library about history, psychology, anthropology, and sociology…which theoretically he is not supposed to have access to so that the timeline is not compromised when he goes back…if he is acquitted. But, how do you keep a phantom from going where he chooses? Not even the locked doors on this den can keep him away from the books he longs to read, and I say nothing about what I suspect…what I know about his "hobby." Even his constant bodyguard, Jeremy looks the other way.

After all, Erik has so much time on his hands between the court dates each Friday. Each day he plays the violin and piano, practicing as well as composing new pieces. And I reap the benefit of that! It is such a delight to be surrounded by the heavenly music that floats down the hall into this den which I have made my temporary office. I work here daily on my latest book and do telephone consultations when I am not working with Erik. But, for hours each day the music room goes silent, and Jeremy and I know he is reading. I chuckle as I admit to myself that we have formed a conspiracy of silence!

My mind goes back to the issue I want to start discussing today with Erik: his feelings about his relationship with Christine. She will be testifying next Friday, and both Laura and I are very concerned about how this is going to affect him. Raoul's testimony was difficult enough, and we both fear that Christine's could possibly be even worse for him to hear. This is a man with deep sensitivities and intense passion for life who has been tragically shut away because of a deformity. Sadly, there were really only two people he interacted with for most of his adult life, Mme. Giry and Christine.

I reflect on these two women and how very, very differently they affected Erik. Mme. Giry, so compassionate: a steady, calming, loving presence who was there for him in place of his family. Indeed, had she given him the care and support that she did, he probably would not have survived. And, then, on the other hand, Christine, so young and gifted with enchanting beauty and voice, and so clueless about the effect—and war—she set off between two very determined, lovestruck men. Raoul's testimony indicated she had chosen him, and that they are engaged. If Christine confirms that during her testimony, how will Erik feel? How will he react? Laura and I are both very concerned about what will happen, _if…. _

There is the usual polite knock on the door, and I call out, "Erik, please entah, Dahlink!"

He walks across the room dressed in his usual, formal attire, the black superfine wool trousers, the brocade suit vest, the cravat neatly pinned with a pearl stud, and the white linen shirt which has ruffled cuffs. I note that there is something different today, though. His vest has a pattern of burgundy woven into the deep black material, and his cravat is burgundy. I am amazed that he is wearing a touch of color! Then it occurs to me Laura will be here later this afternoon, her very first visit to this house. Since the murder in the basement at the courthouse, the security around Erik has been tightened even more. His trips away from this house are now limited to the court sessions, so it was decided that Laura would come here on Saturdays for their weekly conferences.

She will also be joining us for dinner. I cannot help but wonder if her coming today has motivated Erik to brighten his usual all-black attire? I suppress a smile at the thought, as he settles into the comfortable brown leather chair across from me. He doesn't look directly at me, as is usual, but instead stares at his hand which rests on the knee of his crossed leg. His mood is very introspective today.

I get right to the point. "So, Erik, vhat vould you like to tell me about de hearink yesterday? About vhat Raoul said?" We are very straightforward with each other, and he knows that will be one of the topics today.

He takes a deep breath, and still not looking up at me, says, "Well, Freuda, I felt that yesterday, for the first time, some of the truth about his attacks on me finally saw the light of day! I never wanted to fight him! I swallowed my feelings and my pride when he and Christine were on the rooftop the night of Il Muto, and did nothing! When he followed me into the mirror room, I never drew a weapon and just used the mirrors to prevent him from finding and skewering me! And, when he arrived at the cemetery, again he came charging up the steps with his sword drawn, looking for a fight. I could not escape him, so I drew my sword, and we went at each other like two banty roosters! And, finally, he followed me down to the lair," then after a pause he looks up at me and adds, "…so I tied him up to the portcullis," a slight smirk edging his grin.

"But, vasn't it true dat you did threaten to kill him if Christine did not choose you?" I feel we must get to the truth of his intentions and actions.

"Yes, Freuda, I did. And, I am not proud of that, either," he says sadly.

"Erik, vould you have carried out dat threat. Vhat vould you haf done if Christine had not chosen you?"

With a shake of his head, Erik answers, "I would not have killed him. It is true I was angry, even furious at him, at his attacks on me and his constant interference between Christine and me! But I could not have killed him," still looking away, he adds, "and killing him would certainly not have won Christine's affections. What good would it have done? I used the threat only as a ploy, a very stupid final attempt to win Christine."

"Did you tink dat 'ploy' as you call it, vould haff been successful in vinnink Christine?"

He looks up at me with hurt eyes, tears glistening in the corners, "I was not thinking at all Freuda. I was only feeling. I was furious and hurt and desperate. Thinking did not even enter into the matter. When we were singing to each other on the stage, I felt she cared, really cared about me. Her emotions seemed real. She seemed to actually be saying that she felt as passionately for me as I did for her. When we came together at the top of the bridge, it was mutual. She reached for me, Freuda, as much as I reached out for her, and when we embraced, well….I felt she may finally, truly love me. I was mesmerized by her beauty and by the hope that she was really mine, so I sang to her my own words of commitment."

"Vat vas her response?"

"She turned and reached her hand up to my face in what I thought was a caress. Instead, she ripped off my mask. In front of everyone. In front of Raoul, the gendarmes, hundreds of people."

"How did you feel about de unmaskink?"

"I felt profoundly wounded. Devastated. She knew how I reacted the first time she did that. She knew what taking off my mask did to me. And, then I looked down and saw the gendarmes coming toward the stage with their guns, ready to shoot. I felt in that moment that not only I, but she, too was in danger if they shot at me. We had to get out of there, out of range of those guns, so I cut the rope to release the chandelier to distract their attention. Then I hit the lever to release the trap door."

"So, at dat point, vhat did you feel about Christine?"

"I was angry at her betrayal, at her again taking off my mask. I felt confused. I could not understand her doing those things after she had just sung so passionately to me. I could not believe after her singing and her actions toward me on the stage that she did not care. I wanted to find out the truth. I felt she was not being honest with herself about her feelings. I wanted to make one last attempt to get her to acknowledge what she really felt."

"But you sent her avay, along vit Raoul?"

"Yes, even though she put on the ring, even though she kissed me…I could not make her remain with me under those circumstances. Just as we kissed, we could hear the mob coming. I heard their words. They were calling me a murderer. I knew she would be in danger if she remained with me. And, I knew she had not made her choice freely. That is not what I wanted," he sits forward in his chair and rubs his long, elegant fingers across his forehead in reflection, "…that was never what I wanted for us. I only wanted for us to be together, to share our lives, our music. All I wanted was to write music for her and help train her voice to reach its true potential. We both had gifts to give the world. That was all I wanted."

"So, you loved her voice didn't you?"

"Oh, yes! I always did. Even as a child it had a bell-pure quality to it. I loved singing with her. Our duets always made my soul soar. I often taught her my own compositions, and I felt as if my own spirit was coming from her lips in the beautiful notes she sang, in her voice."

"And, you vere happy vhen she vas singink your compositions?"

"Of course! At those times I felt as though my life's mission was fulfilled. My music, my heart was being sung as if by an angel, and I felt a joy beyond anything else in my life. I could listen to her forever!" His eyes look up at me now, and they reflect ecstatic sparkles.

"So, your teachink Christine to sing, tutoring her, hearink her sing your music, dose vere your happiest times?"

"Those were my ONLY truly, happy times!"

"Your beink Christine's teacher, guidink her meant so much to you?"

"It meant EVERYTHING to me," he responds fervently.

"And, Raoul interfered vit dat relationship, didn't he?"

"Yes! Of course! And, it began as soon as he heard her singing in her debut performance! He heard her voice—the voice I had trained…. How could he not love her after hearing that voice?"

I look at Erik and wonder if he realizes yet that he loves a voice, that his dream is of the sharing of music, but that there needs to be so many other things between two people for there to be a relationship. There needs to be a mutual understanding of who each other really is. There needs to be mutual trust, and there needs to be a mutuality of maturity. Perhaps all he had with Christine was the music, and that, sadly turned out not to be enough. I sigh as I realize we will be discussing these issues for some time.

Our discussion continues for over an hour when I again hear a knock on the door. "Please, come in!" I call out.

The door opens, and in walks a hesitant Laura. "I hope I am not interrupting?" she says tentatively.

"No! Not at all, Dahlink! Come in! Ve vere just finishink!" I reassure her and wave for her to take a seat on the couch. She is dressed in a tailored, cream-colored suit, but much more casual than the ones I see her wearing in court. She clearly wants to communicate that she is here on business, but there is a softness to the white ruffled blouse which I have never noticed her wear before. Erik immediately stands up and takes her hand in his briefly, not really in a formal hand shake, but more a friendly welcome. As she settles into the couch, she seems to be more nervous than I have ever seen her. "This is a very lovely home that Horatio has! And a beautiful view of the Sound," clearly trying to make small talk in this unusual meeting.

"Yes, I love being able to watch the boats on the water from the balcony off my room on the second floor!" Erik cocks his head at Laura, smiling for the first time today.

"Hmmmm," I think to myself, "dis is goink to be a veddy interestink evenink."

_Laura's POV:_

The long, black Japanese-style dining table is set in elegant simplicity, with natural reed placemats and pure white dishes set off with black linen napkins. Horatio employs a full-time cook, a maid and a handy-man, so his home runs very efficiently, which seems to be in accord with his attention to detail.

Horatio, Jeremy and Matt join Freuda, Erik and me at dinner, as we all try to relax after an eventful week, full of the unexpected. The cook serves a delicious meal that includes field green salad with mango vinaigrette, a salmon in ginger sauce and various vegetables, lightly cooked and steeped in spicy sauces. The delicate wine is poured as soon as we are seated, and its warmth spreads through my body, soothing me after a very stressful week in my law office, compounded by the unending media harassment.

I am relieved that, except for the hearings, Erik has been kept in the house all week. He has been spared much of the media glare. Having reporters and cameras follow close on my heels has been nerve-wracking. I suddenly wonder if Jeremy has been also keeping him from watching the television coverage that would have to be horrifying to Erik in terms of its scandalous coverage.

Freuda comes directly to the point that is on all our minds. "Horatio, you haf been gone most of de day. Do you haf any news about de investigation into de murder?"

"No, Freuda. Nothing new," Horatio answers grimly. "No leads in the case."

"Any news from Counselor Brown?" Erik asks. "Is her cousin recovering from his accident?"

"I don't know how he is," Horatio replies, and his tone is even more grim. "But I'm not surprised we haven't heard much. Phen is a very private person. She just calls once in a while from St. Louis to let me know she is still there and then hangs up."

_He's lying,_ my lawyer's instinct tells me. _He's hiding something important._ "Well, I wish she would at least let me know when she expects to be back," I say, fishing for more information, certain that Horatio knows more than he is admitting. "She was supposed to conduct some of the testimony for the defense witnesses."

"She will be back when she gets back," Horatio says, and his brown eyes darken even more, as his mouth flattens into a hard line. "You will just have to carry on without her, I'm afraid. Her cousin was nearly killed on that motorcycle. Most likely he's in a coma. She can't leave until she knows he will pull through."

"Of course," I say with an understanding smile, all the while thinking, _Yes, he is definitely hiding something…but not very well. He looks very worried._

I look across the table at Erik who is seated directly across from me to assess his reactions to this. He too seems to know something that he isn't saying. I look at Jeremy next, trying to read something in his reaction, but instead he smiles and changes the subject to the outrageous news coverage of Henry Albertson's murder.

"I was channel-surfing and came across the BMM coverage of the lady that Erik ran into in the stairwell, and she was spinning her tale for her moment of fame. Erik nearly came unglued. I wouldn't blame him if he had!" Jeremy shakes his head for emphasis.

Erik adds with disgust, "Yes, they implied that since I was coming from the direction of the basement, and since I had a head injury and was breathing hard, I must have killed the old man! That old man actually chased away my attacker! We talked for a little while, and he was very kind. Why would I want to hurt him? It makes no sense!"

"Vell, Erik, de news reporters rarely search for de truth anymore." Freuda explains. "Dey just interview people, and vhatever a person says, vhether it is founded on facts or not, is vhat is reported."

"The woman they interviewed even told about fainting and how that saved her!" Jeremy adds with a disbelieving shake of the head.

Erik suddenly puts down his knife and fork and stares at his plate for several moments. As I watch him, I wish that Jeremy had not brought up that particular subject.

"Well, that might be the one thing that they reported accurately," Erik says bitterly.

"Erik, what do you mean by that," I ask, shocked.

"Well, the woman says she took a look at me, and she fainted. That is the truth. She did. I did not say a word…all she had to do was look at me and she FAINTED! I caught her and placed her as carefully as I could on the floor in the hallway so she would be found, but the fact remains, that just looking at me caused her to faint. Like the women in the courtroom who faint. Perhaps it is best that I stay well away from the rest of humanity," he speaks with pained conviction.

I am aghast. He really thinks women are fainting out of fear or horror at his appearance. I sensed something was wrong with Erik's reactions when we heard the 'thuds' happening behind us in the courtroom. He never turned around, but just looked down at his hands and became quiet and sullen. For the first time I realize that he truly believes his appearance is that horrendous! I look over at Freuda, and we exchange glances. Where only dismay registers in my eyes, I read in hers a twinkle of humor and an intent to address this issue…here…now!

"Laura, haf you ever fainted, or nearly fainted vhen you haf been around Erik?" Freuda asks off-handedly, and I swallow hard.

"No, of course, not!" I answer, looking at Erik who studies me intently. I am remembering the occasional wobbly knees I get when Erik is near, but I don't think this is the right time to discuss, or try to explain, THAT phenomenon.

"Do you think de vomen are faintink because his appearance is alarmink?" she presses. I am beginning to feel like I am on the witness stand, and my palms are beginning to perspire.

"No, not in the least. Quite the contrary," Erik is shifting uncomfortably in his chair, but he keeps his gaze fixed on me, clearly transfixed on where this conversation is going.

"Vhy DO you tink dhey faint?" Freuda relentlessly asks.

I had a sinking feeling that was the next question. Erik's eyes narrow to an intense glare, as he picks up his wine glass in a nervous action, trying to show an air of nonchalance, but clearly he is hanging on very word. I take a deep breath and decide to say it, and finally get it out. "Erik, the women faint not because of your appearance being horrifying. They faint because you are very tall and carry yourself in quite a…stately manner. Your manner of dress is very dramatic, and your face, even though half is covered in a mask…well, your face is remarkably, in fact, strikingly handsome. That is what causes the reactions in women which you have been observing."

The reaction is immediate. A choking sound comes from Erik's throat as he gags on the wine he has just attempted to swallow. He sets the glass down with a slam that sends some of the wine splashing onto the table, "You surely cannot be serious?" his left eye  
brow is poised high in disbelief at what I have said.

"Yes, Erik. I am serious." What I cannot seriously believe is that I am having this conversation. Why did Freuda choose me, choose NOW to address this issue?

Erik falls silent for the remainder of the dinner, slicing his meat into shreds, but rarely taking a bite. I respond politely when brought into the conversation, but most of the time, I surreptitiously watch him. He has withdrawn into himself and seems to be going over what he has been told about how women view him. Evidently this information is foreign to his concept about himself, and he is having difficulty comprehending it.

We have all just finished a delicate dessert of crème brulee when the grandfather's clock in the hall chimes 7:00 o'clock, and Horatio puts his napkin on the table and clears his voice. With strain edging his words, he looks at everyone and announces, "Laura, I know you are here for a consultation with Erik, but first there is a meeting to attend. Would all of you please accompany me to the conference room?"

"Conference room? Is something wrong?" I ask.

"Yes, in fact, there is."

My skips a beat as I see the worry lines stamped on his face and the ashen color of his skin. But he says nothing more to us as he stands, then spins on his heels and leads us down the hallway.

I learn that the conference room apparently is located in the very lowest floor of the house, when Horatio leads us to an elevator hidden behind a wall panel in the main hall. When the elevator stops and the doors open, I recognize the corridor and the double doors at the end. I look at Horatio in surprise.

"This is where Marek brought me when I was first asked to take Erik's case," I say. "But it wasn't at your house."

"No, it wasn't," Horatio answers with an amused glint in his eyes. "That house belongs to someone else in the Program, Admiral Brooks. There is a tunnel connecting our two houses. Marek simply brought in another way, to the other house."

"What is this about?" Erik asks warily. +

"Follow me," Horatio replies and continues on down the corridor. "You will know all soon enough." He is being more secretive than ever, and I don't like the uneasiness it is churning up in my stomach. Something is seriously wrong here.

Horatio opens the door, and we enter the cavernous room that I remember from a few months earlier. Now, as then, the room is overflowing with people. I recognize some of them from that first meeting. The only one conspicuously missing is Andre Marek. But everyone else is there including the rest of our security team. I even spot Admiral Brooks sitting near the front of the room, his uniform spotless and gleaming with the symbols of his rank. Horatio ushers us to a row of empty chairs on one side of the table and then moves to the front of the room and stands behind a podium. I expect him to speak, but instead he just stands there staring at the doors, as if waiting for someone else to come in.

One minute passes and then two, and the tension level in the room goes up. No one is speaking, and all of them are waiting…waiting.

"I told you a diva can't be rushed!" Counselor Sebbied's voice precedes her entrance into the room. She is dressed head to foot in spotless black designer pants, blouse, and jacket. "If I am to attend a secret meeting, then I have to look the part!"

Ben follows her in and rolls his eyes at Horatio. They sit down beside Erik and me, and Sebbied smiles at us.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Horatio says from the podium. "As each of you know, this has been a trying week for The Program. The events at the courthouse have thrown us for a loop. But, ah, there is much more that you don't know."

He pauses for a moment and looks down at a stack of papers on the podium. "As of this moment, those of you who do not already have secret clearance have it now. The circumstance now facing us warrant this action, and with this clearance, of course, comes the gravest of responsibilities to never betray the information you are about to—to learn."

He pauses again, and seems to be waging some terrible battle in his mind. Finally he turns to Admiral Brooks and says, "If you would continue, please, Sir?"

The admiral rises from his chair, approaches Horatio, and grasps his arm for just an instant as if to give him strength. Horatio nods his head and sits down next to the chair the admiral just vacated and sits with his head bent low.

I feel the icy fingers of fear grasping me around the neck as the Admiral nods to someone at the far side of the room. A second later the lights grow dim and the wall panel opens up to reveal the large screen on which I had first seen Erik's picture.

But a different picture entirely shows up now. It is of a young woman with blonde hair and a cool expression in her blue eyes. She is wearing white…a military uniform, I realize. Something about her seems very familiar. Suddenly I remember her…remember seeing her in this very room at that first meeting. Erik too lets out a gasp of recognition.

The Admiral has been shuffling the same papers on the podium, but now he looks out over his audience and says, "As some of you know, this is Lieutenant Grace Chamberlain, formerly of the United States Navy's Judge Advocate General Corps. She is a brilliant attorney and a fearless warrior. I know because I was her commanding officer for nearly a year when she defended a case in Okinawa."

The room is absolutely silent now, as each of us sense what is about to come. "Lieutenant Chamberlain left the Navy after a series of personal tragedies, and I lost one of the finest officers I have ever had the privilege to serve with." The Admiral glances down at Horatio and says, "She helped clear the names of several other officers I am also proud of and care for like family. Each of these men is in this room…the former members of Navy SEAL Team Bravo. Gentlemen, I know that you are as saddened as I to learn that our comrade and our friend is…well, let me continue first."

Horatio seems to slump in his chair then, as if his body can no longer support itself. The admiral gives him a kind look and then resumes his story. "After she left the Navy, Lieutenant Chamberlain began working for another government agency, and this led her here to Seattle and to her involvement in the Program…and in Monsieur Phantom's case."

The image on the screen changes then and when it does, I feel the breath leave my body in a rush. Brooks looks straight at me and says, "Yes, Ms. Counselor, Lieutenant Chamberlain was posing as this woman."

"Oh, my!" I say in surprise. "That is Counselor Brown!"

"You're right," Admiral Brooks answers. "She was assigned not only to work as an attorney, but was also one of Monsieur Phantom's bodyguards. She carried a concealed weapon at all times in court, a weapon she kept there at the courthouse. But now, I am sorry to inform all of you that…Grace…or Phen, as you know her, has…_been kidnapped_." +

As Erik and I return to Horatio's home, we decide to have our consultation outside on the deck overlooking Puget Sound. After what we learned in the conference room, we both feel a need to be outside, away from the confines of the house. We walk across the redwood deck and take cushioned chairs that are nearest the water. Sunset comes late in Seattle in the summer days of August, and the light of dusk hovers eerily between day and night, filling the sky. The view across the Sound is tranquil, as a breeze gently swirls around us. A slight haze nestles among the trees, a remnant from the rain that fell earlier in the day. I place my note pad on the round table next to me, and sit in silence for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts. When I turn to look at Erik, he is studying me intently, his eyes full of uncertainty. I wonder what is coming next…

"Laura…" he begins slowly, choosing his words carefully, "…concerning what you said tonight…about me…about how…people, look at me. That is very difficult for me to accept, to believe."

"Yes, I can see that it is. But, nonetheless, it is true," I smile and nod my head.

"I have never told you about my childhood, have I, Laura?" I am taken off-guard by this sudden change of subject. Or is it, I wonder.

"No, Erik, you never have discussed that. You told me your personal history beginning when you were in the gypsy tent." I realize, of course, that is because the charges against him begin with that part of his life, so we never discussed what had happened before that traumatic situation.

"Well, I was so unacceptable to my own parents, that I never met them. Because of my…face…I was placed in the care of another family within days of my birth. I do not even know who my real parents are. I am sorry, you do not want to hear such things…" his voice trails off as his gaze goes out across the Sound.

"Yes, of course, I want to hear whatever you wish to tell me. Please. Continue." I answer softly.

He looks back at me, a little surprised, but then he takes in a deep breath, "Well, my adoptive father was a mason, a builder of homes and stores for shopkeepers. We were not wealthy, but we were not poor, either. My adoptive mother was a strict, remote woman who had lost two children when they were very young, and when I was brought into the home, it was clear she would not be able to bear any more children, so I was raised alone. My 'father' had a local tanner make my first mask, and I wore leather masks to cover the scarred side of my face from my earliest memories. Those masks tied on with an awkward cord. It was only as an adult I learned how to make them adhere without such a contrivance."

He pauses and looks down at his hands for a few minutes as if pondering painful memories, then continues. "I was never allowed to attend a school or play with other children because of the mask. It marked me as deformed, an outcast. So, my 'father' taught me to read, and I read every book in his extensive, personal library. I would play alone in the fields behind our home which was on the edge of town, making sure that no one would see me. My 'mother' was so ashamed of me that she constantly reminded me not to be seen by others so that I would not frighten them." Shaking his head from the memories coming back to him, he swallows hard, "She scolded me for everything I did. I could not please her. I was not hers, and I would overhear her saying to her husband that she could not understand why her perfect children had died, but I, I who was so disfigured, so ugly, had been allowed to live."

I realize that I have stopped breathing, listening to this horrible and heart-wrenching recollection of his childhood. I take in a quick breath and turn my head so he cannot see me wipe away the tears at the corners of my eyes.

"My 'father,' though, had a kind heart, and he would read to me in the evenings and sometimes he would take me with him to the construction site on the weekends when the workers were not there. He and I would do some carpentry or detail work which he specialized in. I loved to make things and learned ingenious skills from him. I even learned how to draft the architectural plans for buildings. And, he taught me to play the piano. He loved to use his hands, whether creating a building or playing music, and I learned so much from him." Erik stops, looks down at his hands as I have seen him do so very many times in court, but this time, it has new meaning.

"Then, one day, there was an accident. Some scaffolding fell, while he was standing under it. It crushed many bones and left him paralyzed. He was bedridden for almost a year, and then he died. I was only eight years old, but I remember all of this vividly." Erik pauses for a long time, and I can hear his ragged breathing, as he calms his emotions. I cannot look into his face. I know what I will see there, and I would not be able to control my own feelings. Then, he speaks with a strained, taut voice, "He was ill so long, and the doctors took so much money for his treatments, for the drugs to relieve the pain, that by the time he died, there was no money left. My 'mother,' who had never had any affection for me, wasted no time selling me to the gypsies within months after his death. I will never forget when she took me to them and tore off the mask to expose the scars. That was the first time—of so many more to come—someone tore off my mask to expose me to taunts, jeers, laughter, screams…. Now, Laura, now do you understand why I have difficulty believing what you said? I do try to make my appearance as presentable as possible. _I do try_. But, I have never felt it was good enough…."

I am stunned and do not know what to say. I turn to him, deciding not to hide from him any longer the tears streaming down my cheeks. They express what I am feeling more than any words. Erik inhales sharply when he sees my face, his distress as clear as my own. I reach out my hand to him. At first he takes it tentatively, then finally holds it needily in his large, warm hand. We sit silently like this for a long time, watching as the blue waters turn black, and the sky fills with dots of light.

**Profuse THANK YOUS to Phanna and Rappleyea, our diligent and dedicated editors!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: First, pink cupcakes to all our wonderful readers who are posting their delightful comments! They are truly appreciated! And, here is the awaited testimony—Christine's! And, hold on to your seat…a very long roller coaster ride is about to begin!**

**Chapter 16 Testimony of Christine Daae, by Phanfan, Rappleyea+, Phanna++, and Phangirl+++**

_Seattle, Washington  
September 2, 2005 _

_++Zoe's POV:_

Thunder rolls and rumbles in the distance, and I can hear the windows in the courtroom gently rattle in their frames from the vibration of the sound. A storm is on the way and will be here shortly. Along with Mlle. Christine Daae.

I have a very uneasy feeling that this morning is going to be stormy and not just with the weather. Even the people in the courtroom waiting for the judge to enter seem to be less animated this morning…more subdued.

There really aren't any of the excited whispers of gossip that there were the last few weeks. But there is an air of anticipation, of waiting to see what is going to happen, what is going to be said and what is going to be revealed. After all, Christine Daae will be testifying to the world this morning about her relationships with the Vicomte and M. Phantom.

Glancing toward the table where the handsome and somber M. Phantom sits between Ms. Counselor and Counselor Sebbied, I see them quietly conversing, probably last minute thoughts and advice to their client. His whole demeanor is rigid in a way that I haven't seen before. He looks like every muscle in his body is coiled and tensed in the 'fight or flight' mode.

I am very apprehensive about what might occur here this morning. Anyone can tell that M. Phantom cares deeply for Christine Daae. I know that I truly don't want him to have his heart torn apart because of her testimony in front of the entire world through the media coverage. How could anyone want that for this man after all he has gone through in his life?

The Vicomte has already stated during his testimony that Christine Daae is engaged to him and living at his family's home. With the way that M. Phantom reacted, I think he may be hoping that she will repudiate this. But if she doesn't……

My attention is pulled back to the courtroom as the judge enters. A large rumble of thunder vibrates the wooden floor, and the sky darkens even more. We all rise, and I watch M. Phantom set his face and jaw in a mask of stone, and my heart fills with empathy for him. The rain begins and as it hits the windows and runs down their length, the droplets remind me of tears….

I can't help but think back that for several weeks now, late into the night, my Meme and I have discussed the secret we share, and the task we have been given. We have pondered all of the testimonies and extracted all the information we could use to make our decision, but we always come back to the only circumstance that will enable me to complete this task…..

And I wonder if today I will hear anything that helps me find the truth?++

_Erik's POV:_

I sit in the courtroom with my attorneys waiting for court to begin, grateful that fate has given me a second chance. One last opportunity to show Christine that I am a man, a man who loves her, and one in whom others at least find reason to believe. Perhaps she will too after this trial. She is the reason I agreed to this trial in the first place, the only reason I ever agreed to be put on display again. Christine, my breath, my life.

But Christine is not "my" anything, I realize with a stab, and my mood threatens to become dangerous. Not if that boy is to be believed. Damn him with his perfect face and his perfect life. It is only because of Christine that I allowed him to live. I would not have her witness the depths of my hatred or revenge.

I take a deep, silent breath in an effort to calm my emotions. Today of all days I must remain calm. I must let this trial and those who support me, speak in my behalf, and give Christine reason to return to me.

The Italian, Luzano will be the one questioning Christine today. I almost wish it were Broadbent, the big American with the beady eyes whom I detest. Luzano is far too good looking, and Laura told me that he had studied opera while in school. But of the three, he seems to be the most sympathetic.

We all rise in respect as the judge enters, and I am sure the attorneys standing next to me can hear my heart drumming against my ribcage. SHE will enter this very courtroom any minute now. My chest constricts painfully as both fear and longing wage a battle within me. So long I have waited for this moment, and now that it is here, I do not know if I can bear it. I am overcome with the sudden desire to run and hide in the darkness once more.

_S. Luzano, Esq.'s POV+ _

Buon giorno! Good morning. I only returned night before last from my beautiful Roma, and while it was good to be back in my native country, I was very busy the entire week. I had many clients to meet with, much business to take care of, and of course my family and friends to be with. My devoted wife gave a huge family dinner in my honor at our villa outside of Roma as I have been away so much working on this case.

But what is this I have returned to? Where before there was such an air of excitement around the courthouse with everyone trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious composer from the past, now the mood is somber and serious. And security has tripled. The only time I have seen security this tight was for the trial of the head of a crime family in my country. There is more going on here than meets the eye, much more. Mr. Broadbent's mood is worse than before if that is possible, and he seems ready to explode from the pressure he is under.

Today the prosecution will conclude its case with the testimony of Christine Daae. Ah, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking Signor Luzano will try to work his charms on the beautiful, young Mlle. Daae. Shame on you! Mlle. Daae is still only a young girl. And that is the big problem in my estimation. She is not yet a woman. She was not ready for the events thrust upon her. She is only a frightened and confused little girl who misses her papa very much. I know from my meeting with her earlier that she did not witness the worst of M. Phantom's alleged crimes, but even so, her testimony today will strengthen our case considerably. The attorney, the competitor in me feels a sense of triumph at this knowledge. However the man, the musician feels only a sadness that such a great genius may be sent to prison.

I stop my thoughts as Madame Judge enters and court is called into session. I stand waiting at the front of the courtroom as the bailiff escorts Mlle. Daae to the witness stand and swears her in. That is when I hear it - a soft sound like the wind murmuring through the pines - "Christine." It is both agony and reverence in one long breath.

I try to ignore the hairs that the sound raises on the back of my neck, and I turn to Mlle. Daae to begin my questioning, "Mlle. Daae, would you please tell the court when you first met M. Phantom?"

With a look of utter helplessness in her dark umber eyes, Christine testifies, "Well, Monsieur that is not an easy question for me to answer. If you are asking when did I first become aware of the man I now know as M. Phantom, then that was when I was only a child, when I first came to live at the Opera Populaire after my father died. He, this man, M. Phantom, sang to me at night while I lay crying in my bed."

"Did M. Phantom identify himself to you at that time? And if so, how?" I ask, setting the trap for the fraud and deception which I know he perpetrated on a young, vulnerable orphan.

Christine looks up at me again with those wide doe eyes. "Oh yes, he told me that he was the Angel of Music my father had promised with his dying breath to send me from heaven."

"Did you believe M. Phantom's deception, Mlle. Daae?" I ask.

Looking slightly embarrassed even now, Christine admits, "Oh yes, Monsieur. After all I was only seven years old at the time."

"I see. How long did this ruse last?" I persist.

"For nine years," Christine answers in a subdued voice. "Right up until the events at the opera house last winter. He sang me to sleep every night, and when I became old enough to seriously study music, he began to train my voice."

"In all of that time, did M. Phantom ever formally introduce himself to you? Did he ever admit to you who he really was?" I ask.

"No, not once," she replies.

"When then did you actually meet M. Phantom face to face?" I question.

Here Christine pauses and seems lost in thought as she stares intently down into her lap. Finally, she resumes her answer, "That would be the night of the big gala, when I sang in La Carlotta's place. After the Vicomte left my dressing room, my angel, uh, M. Phantom spoke to me. At first he was angry with me for talking with Raoul, but then he told me to look in my mirror, and I would see him there."

"What happened next?" I gently prod her.

"It is hard for me to remember clearly, Monsieur. It seemed more a dream than reality. He sang to me that he was my Angel of Music as I walked down a candlelit hallway with him. But then his words began to change, and he was singing of the Phantom of the Opera. I was not afraid at this point as I wasn't sure whether or not it was simply a dream. But I was becoming very confused by it all. Was this being my Angel of Music, or was he the Phantom of the Opera? OR worse yet, had I been horribly deceived all those years and my Angel of Music was really only the Phantom of the Opera, playing one of his cruel tricks on me?" Christine finishes with a frustrated sob.

I hand her my handkerchief and ask her to continue.

"After crossing a lake in a boat, we arrived at a large cavern deep under the opera house. Or at least I assumed that's where we were. It was lit with dozens of candelabras, and decorated with exotic furnishings and tapestries. In the center of this cavern on a raised dais was a huge pipe organ. It was most amazing, and I was having a hard time taking it all in. By then the Angel was singing to me of dreams and music and darkness in his beautiful Angel's voice. I could have listened to him sing forever, that is until he pulled back a curtain, and I was suddenly confronted with my twin! It was actually a life-sized mannequin which looked exactly like me, only dressed in a wedding gown. But I can tell you it gave me the shock of my life, and I fainted dead away. I remember nothing more until I awoke several hours later to the sound of someone playing the organ."

I encourage Christine to continue her story as I want her to describe M. Phantom's violent temper and subsequent abuse of her while she was with him in his underground home. After taking a sip of the water which I offer her, Christine continues.

"Without the Angel's voice singing to me and after getting some rest, my head was much clearer, and I decided that I must have my questions answered. I needed to know if this being, this person, was indeed the Angel of Music promised by my father or some imposter playing upon my innocence. I approached him at the organ, and I asked him point blank who he was. When he didn't answer me but only continued with his playing, I carefully removed his mask to ascertain his true identity. With that he flew into the most violent rage I have ever witnessed. He threw me to the ground all the while screaming insults and curses at me. He continued like this for quite some time before he returned me to the opera house above."

Christine is now breathing quite rapidly as she finishes recounting this fearful scene for the court. As I give her a moment to compose herself, I notice that she has yet to look at the defendant. I, however, have quite a good view of him from my position next to the witness stand. I can see that his face is now set in a rigid scowl, his lips compressed in a thin line, and his jaw clenched tight. Ms. Counselor appears worried, but so far M. Phantom has remained quieter than I expected he would.

I renew my questioning before Madame Judge becomes irritated by the delay.

"Mlle. Daae, you were performing in the opera, Il Muto, on the night in which Joseph Buquet was hanged, were you not?" I ask her.

"Yes, I was," she replies, "but I was backstage changing my costume when that tragedy occurred so I didn't see anything. I only know that I heard from the actors and stagehands who were present that it was the Phantom who was in the flies with M. Buquet!" Then she adds, her voice is an anguished whisper, "I became truly terrified of the Phantom after that."

"Objection!" As I expected, Ms. Counselor leaps to her feet, and with an edge in her voice, states, "Your Honor, whatever Mlle. Daae heard from the actors and stagehands is hearsay, prejudicial and inadmissible!"

The Judge looks over at me, but I present no argument. Ms. Counselor's objection is quite correct. I am satisfied that the jury heard what my witness said, and it will be difficult for them to ignore it, no matter what the Judge directs.

"Objection sustained," the Judge rules, then turns to the jurors and firmly states, "You are to disregard Mlle. Daae's statement. It is hearsay and does not meet the standard of evidence sufficient to be acceptable proof!"

I exchange looks with Ms. Counselor, and she frowns at me as she sits down. I move on and ask Mlle. Daae about the night of the Bal Masque when M. Phantom made his appearance as the Red Death. How I wish I could have been there to see it myself! Christine describes for the jury his threats against the various members of the opera house, how he ripped her engagement ring from the chain on her neck, and his subsequent disappearance in a flash of fire and smoke. She can add nothing, however, to the previous witnesses' testimony to further incriminate the defendant.

Christine then testifies to M. Phantom's attempt once again to deceive her into thinking that he is her Angel of Music when she visits her father's tomb. She also relates to the court the sword fight in the cemetery between M. Phantom and the Vicomte de Chagny, although personally, I found the Vicomte's version much more dramatic.

I have noticed as Christine's testimony proceeds, that she is becoming more and more agitated and fearful. She will hardly look up at me, and she has studiously avoided even the tiniest glance toward the defense table. I am worried about her mental state, and we are just now getting to the events of the darkest days. +

_Erik's POV: _

I sit here stunned by what I have been hearing. To hear Christine's view of what I have done is the worst punishment I could ever receive. No crime is heinous enough to merit this torture. I want to stand and cry out, "NO! You do not understand. Everything I have done, I have done because I love you." Yet she sees my actions as the cruelest of trickery and deceit. How can that be? Even my voice, my songs for her, which were the only way I could help her, show her my love - all lies because they did not come from an "Angel"?

How on Earth would she have had me approach her? How does a monster introduce himself "formally" to a beautiful girl? Every single person who has ever seen me in my life either ran away in sheer terror, or, if they were armed, they tried to kill me. No, my way was the only way. My only hope was to try to reach her heart with my music. Perhaps, just perhaps, if my music was beautiful enough, she would be able to forget for a little while the ugliness that lay beneath my mask.

With the bitterest of irony, I recall Christine testifying that the first time she took my mask off, it was my anger that frightened her. She never even mentioned my face, only my yelling and curses. Oh, to think I may have brought her rejection on myself by my own reaction to being unmasked! She would have stayed and listened to my voice forever, she said. But I had to ruin it by lashing out at her in my fear of losing her. And now she is terrified of me. She even thinks I murdered Bouquet. Can she really believe that of me?

I am sure that insufferable boy has helped to turn her against me. Is the promise of his fortune and his title enough to make her abandon her music forever? I cannot believe this of Christine. Our voices have blended in song for too many years. And so help me, but I hoped our hearts had as well. It is Christine's destiny to be a prima donna upon the stage; she cannot give this up now. There must be someway that I can get through to her, to convince her of my love before it is too late. Oh, Christine...

_Luzano's POV:_ +

I hear it again - that sound that is not a sound. I experience it more as a chill down my spine than a sound in my ear. I take a deep, steadying breath and push on with my questions.

"Mlle. Daae, please describe for the court M. le Vicomte's plan to capture M. Phantom."

"Um, well, uh, actually, it was OUR plan," Christine reluctantly admits.

What is she saying? I am shocked by Christine's revelation. Why would she do such a thing, I wonder silently. I must find the answer to this right away.

"_Your _plan as well, Mlle. Daae? Why in the world would you agree to put yourself in harm's way?"

"_I felt I had no choice Monsieur_. Raoul wanted to leave Paris immediately and take me with him. He too feared what would happen to me if I performed. He feared for his own life as well. But I couldn't let him take me away, not when I was so close to achieving my dream. Finally, I was to sing the lead role. I would be the new Diva. No, I was not leaving Paris after all of my hard work. Better to let the gendarmes capture their murderer so that I could be free to continue my career on the stage."

"Objection, Your Honor. Mlle. Daae's accusation of "murderer" has not been proven. Therefore, it is highly speculative and prejudicial to the defendant," Ms. Counselor argues.

"Sustained," orders Madame Judge.

"But I thought the Vicomte deChagny was your fiancé, Mlle. Daae. Are you telling us that you don't want to marry him?" I probe gently.

"Oh of course I want to marry Raoul, and become the new Vicomtesse. What woman in my position wouldn't want that? I will live in his grand chateau and attend balls dressed in beautiful gowns. I will have servants to wait on me and to attend to my every need. But not quite yet, you see. First I want to be a prima donna, to have all of Paris worship their new diva." Christine says this with more determination than I have seen previously.

"I see," I respond, somewhat surprised by this side of Christine. She is not the innocent ingénue that she seemed. Ah, I am beginning to understand the bigger picture. Neither M. Phantom nor M. le Vicomte was able to give her _both_ of the things she so desperately desired, music and a secure home. She wanted both, so she needed and used both of the men.

"So then Mlle. Daae, please tell the court about YOUR plan to capture M. Phantom."

"It was really quite simple," she assures us. "I was to sing the lead in his new opera, and we knew that if I did, he would attend. Raoul and M. Andre and M. Firmin would have the gendarmes capture him as soon as he showed himself," again she pauses, weighing her words. "My fear, my grave doubt of the plan's success came from knowing just how cunning and devious M. Phantom is. He was everywhere in the theater, and he knew everything that happened there. I was very afraid of what he would do if he found us out." Christine trembles visibly with fright at the thought.

"Obviously, Mlle. Daae, your plan went awry as we know that M. Phantom was not captured that night. You could not have anticipated that M. Phantom would choose to perform on stage with you. Please give us your view of the events that final evening."

"At first I was almost numb with shock and fear. When I saw him come on stage, I felt that the Phantom had discovered our plan. I really had no idea what HIS plan was, but I knew that Raoul and the gendarmes were no match for him. After all, it was HIS theater. He could take me and keep me hidden away indefinitely. I had to force myself to perform and yet at the same time, try to think of a way to escape him."

"Let us examine your last statement carefully, Mlle. Daae. You said you had to force yourself to perform. The Vicomte also testified that you were only acting, that the passion and love witnessed by the audience were simply part of the opera and not your true feelings. Have we understood you correctly, Mlle. Daae?"

"Yes, Monsieur, you have," she tells me unequivocally.

So low that I would have missed it had not the entire courtroom been shocked into silence by Christine's last statement, I hear a moan, the sound a mortally wounded animal makes just before it dies. My big Italian heart breaks for the man, and I am sick with what I know is yet to come.

"You also stated that you had to try to think of a way to escape M. Phantom. Please tell the court what you came up with under this pressure."

"My greatest fear," Christine begins, "was that I was the only one who realized it was M. Phantom on the stage with me. I was desperate to make the managers and the gendarmes see that he was on the stage so that they could capture him and save me."

"How were you able to achieve that aim, Mlle. Daae?"

"I almost didn't," Christine shakes her head ruefully. "For a few moments up on the bridge, only the Voice existed, and I was intoxicated with a strange feeling of sweetness, of languor, of repose...until he sang my fiance's words to me. Only then was I able to rouse myself from his spell to do what had to be done. I took off his mask so that the gendarmes would know that it was not Piangi, but the Phantom himself who was on stage with me."

"Didn't you fear for your life, Mlle. Daae? After all, the gendarmes were armed with rifles and you could have been shot or even killed had they missed the Phantom," I ask incredulously. That was the act of either a very brave or a very foolhardy woman, I think to myself.

"No, Monsieur, I did not. At that point I was much more afraid of what would happen to me if they DIDN'T capture the Phantom," Christine replies with grave seriousness.

"Mlle. Daae, was it your choice to leave the stage with M. Phantom? Did you go to his home beneath the opera house by your own free will?"

"NO!" Christine shouts emphatically. "He was holding me so that I couldn't escape, and he released the trap door before I even knew what was happening."

"So you were abducted by M. Phantom. Did he threaten you or harm you while you were in his home, Mlle. Daae?"

"No, he didn't. He made me put on the wedding dress, and I was afraid to refuse. But he didn't harm me."

"Please tell the court what happened when the Vicomte arrived. Did he threaten or harm him in any way?" I ask. Christine grimaces and closes her eyes as if to shut out the memories. I am finding out that this is a very sad and tragic story, and I hurt for both of them, but I must get to the truth for justice to be served. With a sigh of resignation, Christine speaks.

"Yes, that is when the Phantom became violent. As soon as he could get close enough, he threw his noose around Raoul's neck and tied him to the large grate at the entrance to the lair. Then he threatened…" Christine chokes back a sob before she can continue, "he threatened to kill Raoul if I didn't agree to stay and marry him."

Ah, this is all becoming so much clearer now. The man she first knew as her Angel of Music and then later as her music teacher was extracting a very heavy price indeed for her voice lessons. He loved her and wanted to possess her body and soul. I could understand and even sympathize with his passion, but I did not approve of his methods. We needed to get to the bottom of this.

"Mlle. Daae, the Vicomte testified previously that you kissed M. Phantom not once but twice to secure the Vicomte's release. In his testimony, the Vicomte said, and I quote, 'she convinced him of this charade.' Was it all a charade to gain your fiancé's freedom? Were you only acting, Mlle. Daae?"

Christine hesitates only a moment before answering the question. "No, it wasn't an act," she says.

I have been standing where I can watch the defendant as well as my witness throughout her testimony. And at her words I see a light of hope replace M. Phantom's habitually dark and gloomy expression.

"If you weren't acting, then why would you kiss a man who was not your fiancé, not once but twice?"

"Partly, I was grateful to M. Phantom for being my teacher all those years. But mainly I felt sorry for him. I knew no woman would ever kiss him with a face like his, and I wanted him to know what it felt like to be kissed by a woman. I pitied him."

Spoken with the thoughtlessness of youth, I immediately realize that Christine's words have just ripped the heart out of the creative genius sitting before us. The visible portion of his face is now as white as his mask, and without a sound, he rises and flees the courtroom before Ms. Counselor or the bailiffs can stop him.

He doesn't deserve this. That is my only thought as I watch him go. No matter what crimes he may have committed, no human being deserves what he has had to endure. +

_Laura's POV: _

It happens in the time it takes to inhale. One second he is sitting next to me. The next I perceive a black streak rushing to the doorway at the front of the courtroom. His movements are soundless until he throws the door open. It ricochets back and slams shut, echoing loudly in his wake. I glance at Signor Luzano. Like me, he is in shock. "I have no further questions, Your Honor," he blurts out.

My eyes leap to the Judge who is already banging her gavel and calling out, "Court adjourned for lunch!" She looks directly at me and jerks her head toward the door, giving a silent order for me to go! NOW!

I jump up, my body moving automatically before my mind can even process what has happened. My papers, files, briefcase or purse are abandoned as I race to the doorway that Erik has just gone through. I reach it just as Jeremy is opening it. He, too, is stunned, his eyes wide with disbelief. Did we really see that? How could a human move like that? That fast? Disappearing in the space of a blink? As Jeremy swings the door open, a black jacket falls to the floor. Jeremy and I look at each other in surprise. It is Erik's jacket. I quickly bend over and scoop it up, as Jeremy impatiently pushes me through the doorway ahead of him, anxious to find out where Erik has gone.

The corridor that goes past our private conference room contains only a bailiff and court secretary who stand twenty feet down the hallway. They are looking in the other direction, as if they have seen a ghost…or perhaps a phantom. We run to them, and they understand before we say a word. The bailiff points to a door at the end of the hall. Running ahead of Jeremy, I reach the door first. The sign on it says "Men's Room—Court Personnel Only." I rush in, but come to a dead stop just feet inside the room, and Jeremy runs into me, almost knocking me over.

Erik is prostrate on the floor. In his grief, he is lying, spread out in a long, straight, dark line, his arms crossed under his face, sobbing. Sobs so deep, so heart-rending, that I cannot breathe for several seconds as I take in what is happening.

When I finally take a breath again, I begin to organize my thoughts and what needs to be done. Turning around to Jeremy, I catch him off guard and shove him back out the door. As he stands in the hallway, I start giving orders.

"Jeremy, I need two chairs. And also a pitcher of ice water and glasses. Right away. And, I want NO ONE else in there. Stand guard in the hallway and keep anyone from entering."

Stunned, Jeremy opens his mouth as if to protest, but he looks into my eyes and recognizes that discussion is futile. As I turn to go back into the men's room, I hear him yelling out to the bailiff and giving orders to get the chairs and the water as Jeremy takes up his guard position outside the door.

When I go back into the room, I look at Erik still prone on the floor--crying from bottomless depths as he releases untold years of pain all at once. I glance down at my hands and realize I am holding his jacket. I can see that the seam down the back has torn open almost its entire length. Caught in the door as it slammed shut, he had removed it and left it there in his panicked need to escape.

My heart is breaking as I realize the magnitude of his pain. Somehow though, I must keep my own feelings under control. The only thing that matters right now is to help Erik through this. Help him survive this shattering of his life, of his love. I place the jacket on a ledge above the two sinks and walk over to Erik.

I kneel down beside him and consider my next move. Dare I touch him? Even to comfort him? How would he receive my hand on his shoulder? He is clearly oblivious to my being here, but I decide I have to take the chance. He has to know someone is here for him. I gently place my hand on his shoulder, and he suddenly turns his head and looks up at me. His eyes try to focus and come back to reality, almost as if his soul had left its body and was trying to reconnect with the physical world. His face is flooded with tears, and he looks at me with eyes searching for verification of what has just happened. With calm and compassion, I look into his eyes, but say nothing. I will wait for him to speak first. My hand squeezes his shoulder in comfort. He chokes back his sobs, just breathing in gulps of air. We remain like this for many minutes. I hear a knock on the door and nod my head to him that I will be right back.

I step outside, not letting Jeremy in. He understands and hands me two oak library chairs, which I take into the room and sit in a corner next to the only window. I return to Erik who is now shifting and beginning to sit up. I kneel directly in front of him and place my hands on each shoulder, looking tentatively into his face. His black hair falls down over his forehead, a dark gash across the stark white mask. His eyes are streaked with red and blood shot, and when he looks up at me, they pierce through me, utterly bereft. I meet him, gaze for gaze, and wait, silently, silently.

Finally, when his breathing has calmed, I take his hand and stand up, gently nudging him to rise and sit in the chair. He looks over at the chairs, noticing them for the first time in his fogged-over consciousness. His head moves as he takes in the small, immaculately clean men's room, and I can tell he is still trying to connect with where he is. I give another gentle tug. He looks up at me and shrugs. With effort he gathers his legs under him, pulls up his tall, muscled frame which now weighs heavily on him after the blast of energy and intense emotions he has just expended. He stands still, gathering himself for a minute, then strides to the chair, lowering himself into it wearily. I sit next to him, and after a moment, reach over and place my hand on his as it rests on his knee.

We continue in silence for many minutes. My mind is whirling. My God! What can I say to give him comfort? I feel anything I say would sound insignificant compared to the emotional storm that is clearly raging inside him. So…neither of us speaks. Then there is another knock on the door.

I go out in the hallway again. This time Bailiff George is there, his eyes soft with sympathy. He hands me a round tray that has a pitcher of ice water and two glasses. I nod my thank you to him. Before going back into the room, I look up at Jeremy's worried face and shake my head. He understands and gives a deep sigh.

Placing the tray on the ledge next to Erik's jacket, I pour water into both glasses. I sit down next to Erik and hold out one of the glasses for him, but he ignores it, continuing to stare at his hands. I put my glass on the floor and turn to him, taking one of his hands and placing the glass in it. His eyes seem to focus as the cold of the glass in his hand seems to reach his senses and begins to bring him back to the present. He studies the glass for a few moments, then lifts it to his lips and drinks many, long draughts, emptying it entirely. He hands the glass back to me, looking again into my eyes, registering that he is at least now conscious of where he is and what is happening.

I place his glass on the floor and pick up my glass. I, too, need a cold drink right now, and the icy water helps calm my own nerves. Erik then closes his eyes, withdrawing once more into his internal reflections. When I walk over and set the glasses down on the tray, I again notice the torn jacket. I remember that I have a sewing kit in my purse in case a button falls off. Going out into the hallway, I ask that Bailiff George bring my purse to me. I look up at Jeremy and explain, "There is a sewing kit in it. I will repair Erik's jacket so he can wear it out…past all those cameras…" He nods in understanding, and we wait in silence until George brings my purse. "Ma'am, Counselor Sebbied said not to worry about your files and papers and things. She took care of all that."

"Thank you, George," I say with a quick smile and slip back into the men's room.

Erik has not moved, his breathing slow and measured. He sits in such contained stillness, yet I know a maelstrom of emotions and memories are ravaging inside him. I place my purse on the ledge, open it, find the sewing kit, and pick up his jacket. I quietly resume sitting next to Erik. Turning the jacket inside out, I verify that the thread in the seam is what ripped, not the material, so I can stitch it closed.

Threading my needle, I begin my work. My grandmother taught me to sew when I was ten years old, and she was a perfectionist. All seams were hand basted before being sewn on the machine, and I am adept at neat, even stitching. I work in silence, but my mind is spinning, thinking about Erik. Thinking about Christine. Thinking that I am to do her cross-examination this afternoon. How will he ever be able to sit through any more of her testimony? I look over at Erik. He remains introspective and silent.

As my fingers busily sew, my mind is also in full gear, considering all possibilities, planning my actions. I suppress a small grin as I think to myself that it turned out to be a good thing that Marek and Freuda chose a woman for Erik's attorney. After all, women can multi-task. What male attorney could repair his torn jacket while planning legal strategy?

When I finish repairing the jacket , I turn it right side out and smooth the seam. Erik's eyes seem to focus on what I am doing, and I stand and put my hand on his shoulder. He looks up, his eyes empty, and I motion him to raise his arm so I can slip it on him. He does as I bid with wooden movements, and I slip the jacket on his closest arm, then walk to his other side, reach around behind him, and bring the jacket in range for his other arm. He mechanically slides his arm into the other sleeve. I smooth the fabric over his back so it fits properly. That task complete, I now need to take care of another one.

I have made a decision and walk immediately out into the hallway. I talk with Jeremy for several minutes, stating in absolute, unequivocal terms what I am asking The Program to do. He listens, surprised at my proposal, but says he will communicate my request and return as soon as possible. He tells two other members of our security team who are standing nearby to take up his position and guard the door while he is gone. As he disappears around the corner, I return to Erik, bringing him another glass of ice water.

He drinks only half the water, and hands it back to me, alert and finally speaking, "Thank you, Laura."

Well, I think to myself as I place the glass on the tray that sits on the ledge, at least he spoke AND he recognized me. That is a start. I again sit next to him and say simply, "Erik?"

He looks at me, his eyes reflecting their deepest shade of emerald. He shakes his head, still unable to speak. I nod my head and simply say, "I understand…" I take his hand in mine, and we continue to sit in silence. Now that all my duties are done, and I am just waiting for the answer back from The Program, my feelings surface, and my anger bubbles up, as I reflect on the testimony that caused such pain to Erik. How could Christine be so insensitive? How could she have said what she did? But, then, how is it she could remove his mask two times without his consent? And, the second time in front of so many people, knowing how it tore him apart the first time she did it? And, how could she participate in the plot to capture him? I guess that does explain, though, how she could come back and put that ring into his hand, then without saying a word, just leave, clinging to Raoul. However, it is all incomprehensible to me: after all Erik had been to her, after all his teaching, watching over her, protecting her, caring for her for nine years, how could she do those things?

Was she so clueless? I look up at Erik whose eyes again register that he is far away, perhaps in another time, another place. And, how will Erik be able to recover? I resolve to do whatever I can to help him through this.

I lose track of the passing time, deep in my own thoughts. A sharp knock on the door snaps me back to the present, and I go out into the hallway. Jeremy advises me, "Yes, Laura, your request is granted and all is being arranged. Court will commence in just a few minutes. It is time to go back into the courtroom." I thank him and return to Erik.

This time I stand in front of Erik and bend down, gently taking his hand again. "Erik, we have to go back to court now. Can you do that?"

He looks up at me, and his mouth tightens into a straight line as he clenches his teeth. "Yes, I can."

"Good. It won't be for long. I promise," and squeeze his hand one last time before releasing it.

We wait to enter until after all have been seated so that Erik will not have to sit long in the courtroom before the session begins. Instead of the spectator's noise going up a decibel as usual, the rumbling sound almost ceases and all become quiet, eyes fixed on Erik. Counselor Sebbied and I walk in front of him, like a proud shield, as we take our places at the defense table.

Everything moves along quickly as the Judge enters immediately and takes her seat at the bench. She looks down at Erik, kindness and compassion clearly registering in her expression. She directs the bailiff to bring the witness back into the courtroom. As Christine walks to the witness stand, Erik does not look at her, focusing only on his folded hands. My heart drops into my stomach, feeling the tension and pain flowing off him.

The Judge looks at me and directs, "Proceed with your cross examination, Ms. Counselor."

I stand, but do not move from behind the defense table, or take a step away from Erik. "Your Honor, the defense has no questions on cross-examination for this witness!"

Startled gasps and comments are heard behind me, ringing throughout the courtroom. The three prosecutors look up at me with shocked expressions, and Broadbent does not even attempt to suppress his sneer of satisfaction. He thinks we are conceding and backing off to save our client more emotional distress. Well, I think to myself, he is right on one of those points.

"Are you certain, Ms. Counselor?" the Judge shakes her head in concern.

"Yes, Your Honor. The defense will be calling Mlle. Christine Daae as a hostile witness…for the defense. The Program has confirmed that it will take responsibility and make all arrangements for her care, here, in the present, until she is called again to testify."

The spectators all begin to chatter at once, bringing the courtroom to a din of sound and excitement. The Judge bangs her gavel and regains control of the situation. "Very well, Ms. Counselor! In accordance with that, Mlle. Daae, you may step down, and the court is adjourned." With that the electric excitement in the courtroom spikes as everyone is spouting out their own personal take on what has just occurred and what it means. Bailiff George quickly escorts Mlle. Daae out the front doorway of the courtroom, and before the door closes, I get a glimpse of her waiting guardian. Good. Just as I requested. My plan is to have Christine sit in the spectator's section and hear the testimony of Mme. Giry and Freuda before I recall her to testify. She will hear…and learn a lot. Perhaps she will have a change of both heart and mind. Perhaps she will begin to see Erik in a different light…

I turn to Erik and find he is still sitting, looking up at me with confusion and questions. I smile at him, grab my briefcase and lead him out of the courtroom, with Counselor Sebbied following closely behind Erik, protectively. She gives me a hug when we reach the corridor, "Brilliant strategy, Laura! Positively brilliant!"

"Thanks! Let's hope it works!" I smile in return. Then, Jeremy reasserts his authority, "Laura, I am getting Erik out of here right now. I want to move as quickly as possible to get him out to the car before the news piranhas can gather for their feeding!"

"I understand," and turning to Erik, I look up into his face. He is watching me intently, his eyes full of questions. I can almost hear his magnificent mind whirring and clicking as he ponders my shocking request in the courtroom.

Giving him a smile, I say reassuringly, "Good-bye, Erik. I will come to the house tomorrow, as scheduled, for our Saturday consultation." He nods in acknowledgement and begins to say something when Jeremy and the two security guards grab him and rush him away. I stand and watch. Erik turns and looks back at me with one quick glance before he is crammed into the elevator at the end of the corridor. When the doors close, and I know he cannot see me, I can no longer control my wobbling legs, and I lean against the wall to support myself. I stand there for many minutes, looking down, deep in thought, trying to get my emotions in check.

I hope I have done the right thing. What else could I do? Erik could not have withstood hearing more of Christine's testimony so soon. And, now, after what she said this morning, I need to rethink the questions I will be asking her. Her testimony requires that I take a different approach. There are things I now need to ask her I had not originally planned. And…after hearing the testimony of Mme. Giry and Freuda, perhaps Christine will have a different perspective herself by then. Yes, I reflect after going over all the factors, I did the only thing I could. I know this prolongs Christine's testimony, but it was really the only choice I had.

After a few minutes, I take a deep breath, gather myself, push away from the wall and slowly, ever so slowly, walk toward the elevator. As I push the button and wait for the doors to open, I decide that I will call my office and tell my staff I will not be in. I had no appointments anyway because I was scheduled to be in court all afternoon. And, right now I need a drive. A very, very long drive along the coast highway in my Corvette with my beloved music blaring. I need to go to the ocean, to sit on the beach and watch the sun go down. I need to be alone. I need space…. +++

A few minutes later, I am on my way with the lively and soothing music of Secret Garden blasting over the speakers, and the car's top down. My briefcase and purse are on the passenger's seat where I tossed them when I got in. At the first red light I come to, I reach into my purse, call my office, then turn off my cell phone. I want no interruptions now. I slip on a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses and tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the light to change. Finally it does, and I'm on my way out of town, off to some secluded shore far from the glare of the media spotlight.

I take one look in my rearview mirror as I leave the downtown area and head for the first southbound exit, and I see him there, my ever-present shadow following a few cars behind. But instead of feeling relieved that Matt is there, I am annoyed. For weeks the security officers have been a fixture in my life, and now that Phen has disappeared, they are even more intrusive than before, though they try to give me as much privacy as possible. As if being guarded 24/7 weren't enough though, now I must wear a GPS tracking dot as well. It is disguised as a gold pendant—virtually indestructible, waterproof, fireproof, lightweight…and as restricting as a dog collar. But it is necessary, my keepers insist…reminding me that if Phen had been wearing one that fateful day of the courthouse murder, she would have been found long before now.

_Phen…_ Even thinking this name that really isn't her name hurts as day after day slips past, and we hear nothing of her whereabouts. The press is making noise now…calling my office endlessly asking for her, and they are not the only ones…the prosecutor's office has also been asking questions.

Even I have questions. Who is this woman really? What secrets was she hiding behind her quiet exterior and thick-rimmed glasses? More than her naturally blonde hair and blue eyes, that is for certain. Admiral Brooks had said she left the Navy after a series of personal tragedies. He also implied that she had somehow saved Horatio and the other security officers from some sort of trouble back when they were SEALs. I did not ask him if there were any new leads…I could tell by his haggard look that there were not. He could no longer hide the worry in his dark-rimmed eyes and seemed to have aged ten years in less than two weeks.

"HOGSS," I whisper aloud now. "An anagram for 'H.S.O.S.G.' which Horatio and Admiral Brooks believe stands for: 'Horatio, S.O.S., Grace.' I hope they are right. I hope that she..." I don't voice the rest of the thought aloud,

"_I hope they are right about Phen having been kidnapped. I hope she really isn't the one who killed the old man in the basement. But there is so little to go on… How can they be sure?"_

But, in my heart I just cannot believe that of Phen. Clearly, there is more to this than they are saying, despite the secret clearance each of us was given…. Horatio has left town again for the third time in the past few days, leaving Jeremy in charge of the security detail.

Jeremy…as soon as I say his name, my thoughts shift to today's court session, but do not stay on the bodyguard. Instead, they shift to the person who is the very center of this raging storm.

Erik fills my thoughts as I drive down the coastal highway and finally turn off into a tiny fishing hamlet overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I drive past the harbor and the fine homes on the cliff until I enter a thick evergreen forest. I pass a camping area and keep on going, finally finding what I need, a long, empty stretch of beach.

Parking the car off the road, I quickly pull off my shoes and hose and practically run to the water's edge, relishing the feeling of the wet sand squishing between my toes. I begin to walk then, and keep on walking far from my car, until I finally find a large smooth rock and sit down. The peaceful sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the beach and the sea gulls crying to each other high above my head wash over me, soothing the tension of the past hours. The sky is overcast and air heavy with dampness from the rain storm earlier today. I look at the clouds and hope that it will not begin to rain again for a few more hours. As I take in the soothing, rhythmic rumbling of the waves hitting the shore, my mind does not stop. It cannot. I keep going over all that has happened.

_Erik…Erik…_I pause as his masked face flashes through my mind, and I try to piece together my conflicting thoughts about him. I remember my strong objections to taking this case, and then the nearly hostile way Erik regarded me at our first meeting, and the slow uphill climb it has been from there to get him to trust me, Phen, and Sebbied. We have taken slow, careful steps to get where we are….

And just where is that? I now wonder. We have developed a good working relationship, but somehow that isn't all. When he spoke to me on Horatio's deck last weekend about his childhood, I could sense that Erik was opening another door and inviting me into a part of his life to which I had never before been allowed entrance. I now understood his reluctance to believe the truth about why women fainted around him. I now knew the rejection he had felt from the very beginning of his life. Now I know why he told me these things. Erik trusts me…but there is more to it than that…

_I have become his friend. _

"Ms. Counselor!" A voice rudely cuts into my thoughts. "Ms. Counselor!"

I turn my head and see Matt standing over me with a worried look on his face. I stand up quickly. "Yes, what is it?"

"Phone call for you. It's Freuda. She says it's urgent."

I take the cell phone from him. Immediately Freuda's voice blurts out, "Laura, tank Got! I haff been trying to reach your phone. Vhere haff you been?"

"Uh, sorry. I went for a drive to the ocean and turned off my phone," I gasp in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"Vell, you need to come here. Erik has locked himself in his room upstairs as soon as he got back from court. He covered de door vit' a piece of furniture, so even vhen Horatio and Jeremy broke through de lock, dey could not budge de door. He does not answer us. Occasionally he comes out onto his balcony, but he does not respond vhen ve call up to him. His balcony is over de cliff vich drops straight down into de Sound. I am very vorried! He is not respondink to me or Jeremy. You must come right avay!"

As I hear her explain the events, my initial shock turns to icy fear. "Oh, my God! Freuda! I am on my way!" I jump up and hand the cell phone to Matt in one movement. "We have to go," I yell out as I run past him, already going full tilt.

He catches up with me, puffing and asking, "What happened?"

"_Erik," _is the only word I fling his way.

When I get to my black Corvette, I frantically turn on the ignition and press the gas pedal with a bit too much adrenalin, screeching out of the parking area and down the highway….+++

**Profuse THANKS YOUS! to our intrepid editors, Sebbied and Phanna!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Well, in response to the request of our loyal supporter, GJ, we will not keep you waiting long to see what happens next. After all, Erik is standing on a balcony, moody and despondent, and looking at the rocks and water below. Laura is driving at break-neck spend in her Corvette…seemingly on a collision course. This reminds me of the old saying, "when the immovable object meets the irresistible force!" **

* * *

**Chapter 17 INTERMEZZO, I, The Conversation, by Phanfan**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__September 2-3, 2005_

_Laura's POV:_

I use the speed and maneuverability of my Corvette to maximum effect. Between towns, hoping to avoid detection by police radar, I accelerate to a faster speed, only slowing down to accommodate the curves…barely. This road hugs the coast, then winds through forest when it turns inland, familiar to me like a well-known friend. At the towns and small communities I slow to the posted speed limits. I can hear distant rumbling and pray it doesn't start raining and force me to slow down. I have long since lost Matt. His car dropped out of sight from my rear view mirror within the first ten minutes. Oh, well. I will not be stopping between here and Horatio's home, so he will catch up with me there, I think with a chuckle!

When I am within minutes of Horatio's home, I call on my cell phone and ask that they open the gates so I do not have to stop. As I turn the last bend, I see the gates have been opened, so do not slow as I race down the long driveway leading to Horatio's waterfront home. Coming to a screeching halt just in front of the door, I grab my purse and jump out of the car. Horatio emerges from the front door and stands on the entrance patio, waiting for me. I run up the long walkway and breathlessly ask, "How long have you been here?"

"I arrived late this afternoon, just shortly before you spoke with Freuda. Considering where you came from on the coast, you must have set a land speed record!" he shakes his head in astonishment.

"I lost no time getting here," I say with a smile as we pass quickly into his house, "and, I am familiar with those roads. Driving along the coast highway is my way of relaxing and getting away!" Then, getting to my real concern, "Tell me, Horatio, what's happening? How is Erik?"

"Well, Erik is still barricaded in his room. As Freuda told you, when we used the key and tried to get in, the door would not budge. He apparently pushed furniture against it. Several times he has gone from his room, out to his deck. When he is on the deck, he never sits….just leans on the wrought iron railing and looks out to the Sound…and sometimes down at the rocks and water below. Freuda is watching him from the ground-level patio that you and Erik were on last Saturday. She has called up to him several times and tried to talk to him, but he ignores her and has never answered back. She is really quite beside herself."

"But where are Jeremy and Joe? For God's sake! They're SEALs! Can't they go over the roof or up the side of house and get to Erik?" I ask totally puzzled by this situation.

"Well, yes, they could do either, but it would take five to ten minutes to get to Erik's balcony. We put Erik in that room because it is the master bedroom, as well as the most secure, since it juts out over the Sound, with no yard beneath. So, yes, the SEALs have the skills to get to it, but it would take time. And, Freuda pointed out that it only takes a few seconds for Erik to go over that balcony, and she does not want anything we do, uh….," Horatio pauses, looks over at me with a pained expression then adds, "to force that issue."

"Oh my God!" I am in shock as I listen to Horatio's tale while we run through the hallways and rooms of his home. Just as he finishes his explanation, we emerge out onto the patio. Off to the left, Freuda sits in a chair, looking up. My eyes follow the direction of her gaze, and I scan the balcony, but Erik is not there. My heart is pounding, and my mouth goes dry. Rushing over to Freuda, I blurt out, "Where is Erik?"

Freuda looks up at me, fear etched in her eyes and expression. "He vent back into his room some time ago. I haff heard nothink from his room. Not his voice, not his music, nothink."

"Freuda, what can we do?" I ask, unable to keep my own desperation out of my voice.

"I do not know, Dahlink. I just do not vant to do anytink dat vill push him to take a rash action." She says with a frown and shakes her head.

"Where are Jeremy and Joe?" I say, looking around and not seeing them anywhere.

"I stationed them in the lower level, just inside the door that goes out to the patio on the other side of the house. They are watching through a window that is underneath Erik's balcony. Waiting, in case they have to take a quick swim in the Sound…." Horatio gives me a knowing look, his eyes communicating his feeling of helplessness which no doubt he has been experiencing too often of late.

Collapsing into the patio chair next to Freuda, I look out over the Sound. Although not yet dusk, the sky is overcast and already darkening. The gloom matches my mood perfectly. The wind is beginning to whip a cool breeze, and I feel in the air the approaching rainstorm. What I have to do comes in a flash. Looking at Freuda and Horatio and using my best no-nonsense tone, I say, "I want you both to go into the house and let me sit here on the patio, ALONE."

They turn to me with surprise. _"Vhy?" _Freuda asks first.

"I intend to sit here and enjoy Horatio's beautiful patio and view…_as long as it takes_," I reply obtusely.

"But Laura, a storm is coming up!" Horatio responds.

"Well, I may get a little wet…," I say with a devious chuckle, "…it happens!"

Horatio and Freuda exchange looks…they get it instantly. Nodding their heads in agreement, they take a last look up at the balcony and leave with no further argument. I lean back into the chair, put my feet up on a patio hassock, and settle in for a long, probably very wet, vigil.

As the wind picks up in intensity, my long, black hair begins to blow wildly around my face. I sit facing the Sound, but at an angle that allows me to keep Erik's balcony in my peripheral vision. Five minutes later, he emerges from his room and stands at the edge of the balcony. He is still dressed in the black suit he wore to court today. He has only removed the cravat, and his shirt waves open in the wind. Just as Horatio described, he leans against the railing and bends over it, staring down.

I purposely do not look at him, but continue my casual contemplation of the panorama. Considering that my heart is pounding in my chest, and I just want to call out to him…to talk to him, I feel that, for an attorney, I am doing a good job of acting. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell Erik is looking down at _me_. I concentrate on keeping my breathing steady so as not to betray my anxiety. I cannot help but feel Erik's intense gaze, as if it were burning a hole in the left side of my face. So, there I sit in the blustering wind as if it were the most natural thing in the world for me to be doing. Finally, my body shudders with the cold, but I still focus on the Sound, watching the storm stir up increasingly turbulent waters.

"LAURA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?" I jump in my chair, startled by the sudden bolt of sound that roars from Erik as if he were the thunder god.

"Oh! Hello, Erik! How are you? I am just enjoying the beautiful view from Horatio's patio!" I say, looking up at him and giving him my brightest smile. He responds with a scowl of disbelief, which I can clearly see even from the distance that separates us. Again silence for the next few minutes as his eyes continue to bore into me. Even at this distance, I can feel his intensity radiating off of him, his mouth set in a straight line.

Just then, Mother Nature intercedes. It begins to rain. Thankfully it is gentle at first, but the wind whips it against me, and I burrow into my chair to conserve my body warmth, determined not to move…yet.

"Laura! You must go inside! It is raining!" Erik yells from the balcony, his voice a combination of impatience and concern.

"No…not yet!" I call back.

"Why? Have you lost your senses? You will get drenched!" He shouts in return.

I look up at him and think to myself, "Yes, indeed, dear Erik. It is most likely I will get quite drenched. But until I get what I want, I am not moving." But I do not respond. All I do is look up and give him another stunning, innocent smile.

_Erik's POV_:

I cannot believe what I am seeing. First Laura suddenly appears on the patio below, and now she sits, uncovered by cloak or umbrella, in the rain, which is beginning to pour down. I believe she has totally lost her senses. I thought she was an intelligent, pragmatic woman, but this behavior is totally devoid of any logic or reason. And, now I have even entreated her to go inside, and she does not budge! Daft! I think she has gone totally daft! I ponder the possibility that the pressures of the trial have had this effect.

Then she looks up at me and smiles, and I understand. Suddenly I know this display is entirely staged for me. And I realize the game she is playing. One blackmailer always recognizes the ploy of another! Somehow she will exact a price from me before she will move out of this bone-chilling wind and rain. My eyes glare at her with a look that tells her I know what she is doing. In response all she does is look away! "So," I say under my breath, "this is a contest of wills, is it?"

I, too, stubbornly remain at the edge of my balcony and also receive the full brunt of the wind, which is whipping the rain at an angle so that the roof does not protect me from its fury. The wind and rain are increasing each minute. I watch as Laura wraps her arms around her waist attempting to hold in some of her body heat in the onslaught of the cold downpour. Even I am getting uncomfortably cold, and I am wearing a jacket which gives me more protection than her suit affords her.

"Laura! Please! Go into the house!" I yell out again.

I watch as she turns in her chair and looks at me with an intense and unyielding gaze. "What do you offer me to convince me to go inside?"

The nerve of the woman! She is haggling over terms with me! I should just go back in my room and let her sit there and catch her death in the rain! But as I look down on her, on her familiar and lovely face, I know in my heart she is suffering this for me. She has come here and is doing this—for me. I see it in her eyes. In addition to contrary defiance, I also see her concern and care. I gaze down at her small form shivering in the chair and watch her as she resolutely stays, looking up at me, expectantly. I have done enough harm in my life, I cannot stand to see Laura suffer on my account.

"Alright, what is your condition?" I yell back.

"You come out of your room and have dinner and talk…with me. I will make sure no one else will bother you," she replies.

No, I think to myself, if I go out of my room, no telling what Horatio or the other men will do. I do not want to see them or deal with their intrusions or Freuda's questions. I have no desire to leave my room. Then, I think of an alternative.

"Laura, I do not wish to leave my room right now. If I open my door, I will allow you to come in. If you wish to talk, we can do that here. I have a sitting area in my room. I promise, you need not fear me," I counter with the only situation I am willing to agree to, the only compromise I can offer, "You may enter, but NO one else!"

I watch as Laura looks away. She thinks for several moments, then turns up to me and says, "Agreed! Have you eaten?"

"No," I call out as I shake my head.

Before I can add that I am not hungry, she has jumped up and while heading for the doorway, calls out, "I will bring food! I'll be right there!" Then she disappears into the house, out of sight. I go back into my room, and realizing that my clothes are totally soaked, immediately strip them off and quickly hang them up to dry. Grabbing a towel from my bathroom, I dry off even as I am heading into my closet to don black trousers and a white shirt.

Then, I look around my room. I had been lying on my bed much of the afternoon, deep in thought. I go over and smooth the mussed bedclothes. Everything else is neat from the housekeeper's daily cleaning. My eyes stop when they reach the fireplace in the sitting area, and I decide that Laura will need extra warmth after being out in that cold wind and rain. I go over, light the logs that have been placed there and tend the fire with the iron poker until it is blazing with red tongues of flame.

Just then I hear the knock on the door. I swivel around and inhale sharply. Rising up from the hearth, I nervously cross over to the door, not really certain what to expect…or to say. The thought occurs to me…what if Horatio and the men are on the other side of the door, and they burst in and grab me? I pause as I consider this possibility. Then I hear Laura's voice.

"Erik? It is just me. I have a tray with some food. Please. Let me in," her voice is calm and soothing. I take a deep breath and decide I will have to trust her. That does not come easily to me. I push aside the huge armoire that I had placed over the door, and open it a crack, just enough to look out into the hallway and see who is there. Only Laura stands in front of the door, holding a tray laden with food…and smiling like a Cheshire cat. I grunt in disbelief and step back, opening the door for her to enter.

When she walks into the room, I shut the door and snap the lock. She turns and shakes her head, "No one will try to come in. No one will bother us. Promise." She then stands in the middle of the room, scanning it and looking for a table. She spots the short, long table between the sofa and fireplace, and without saying a word, walks over and sets the tray down. Then she looks back at me, still standing by the door, caught up in watching her and the wonder of her being here, actually here, in my room. For the first time the awkwardness of the situation, and even impropriety, hits me like a lightning bolt—something I had not considered when I proposed this compromise. After all, we had been alone together in her office so many times during our consultations. _But this…this __is different!_

"Laura, is there a problem with your being here in the room of a man…after all…you are a single woman…" I begin uncertainly.

She again smiles at me and shakes her head, "No, Erik. It will be fine. We can trust everyone in this house to keep this confidential. And, I am sure they do not consider me to be compromised. After all, I am just here…visiting with a friend!" I cannot believe my ears! This modern century with these strange customs! In my time, a woman could be alone with a man only when he was going to announce his intention of courtship, as I had done with Christine. But, here Laura is coming into my room, and there is no concern! Amazing!

I remain by the door, not knowing what is appropriate to do next. Then, I realize Laura is still wearing clothes that are soaked, even dripping water on the carpet.

"Laura! You need to get out of those clothes!" I blurt out. Her eyes grow large, and she breaks into a quizzical grin.

Realizing what I just said, I quickly explain, "I mean…your clothes are all wet. You need to get into dry clothing or you will catch your death!" Then, trying to deflect from my faux pas, I observe, "I fear you have ruined your suit."

"Well…it is only a suit…and it is a price I was willing to pay. But, you are right, I do need to get into something dry," she responds with a grin still dancing on her mouth.

"Yes. I have a robe. You could dry off in the bathroom and put it on. Would that suffice?" I ask, trying to figure out what is appropriate in this unprecedented situation.

"That will be perfect!"

I immediately go into my closet, get my warmest robe, then hand it to Laura and point to the bathroom door. She takes the robe, nods, and quickly disappears into the bathroom, leaving me quite dumbfounded at everything that is happening.

I start pacing in front of the fireplace, trying to gather my thoughts. Today's events had plunged me into the deepest despair. I wanted to be near no human, and now, here was Laura, putting on my robe—in my bath room! Looking down at the tray of food, I add to these incredible facts that we even appear to be having a picnic in front of the fireplace! What a strange string of events this day has been. But somehow, the dark thoughts and feelings I have been inundated with since Christine's testimony...somehow they are now displaced with something else. Something gentle, something comforting. I am truly confounded. So, I continue pacing and wondering….

_Laura's POV: _

As I enter Erik's bathroom, I look around and find it to be spacious and elegant, fitting for the master bedroom of such a fine home. It has a sunken tub as well as separate marble shower. I remove my suit and blouse and take a soft, plush towel from a wall shelf and begin drying myself. I make the decision to leave on my bra and slip which are only damp and put on Erik's huge robe which smells faintly of his scent—the unusual combination of herbs he concocted for himself. The robe is so large, it comes to the ground on me, the velour falling into folds almost like an elegant gown when I tie the sash around my waist.

After I roll the long sleeves up, I look around and find a hair dryer and begin to use it on my rain-soaked hair. I chuckle when I think about Erik using this same dryer. To think of him using such a modern appliance when he still dresses in 19th century mode hits me as funny. And, I know from the medical reports that his beautiful black hair is his own. He does not wear a wig. That is one of the fictions created by the authors of the stories written about him. His facial scar did go up into his front hairline, but when he was recuperating in the hospital, they gave him the option of having hair transplanted to cover that area and create a normal hairline. He agreed to it, with excellent results. I reflect that it is tragic his facial scarring was so extensive that the doctors felt that even plastic surgery would leave a marked scar betraying the procedure. That would be very hard to explain when he returned to France during a time when such surgeries did not exist. So, unfortunately, repairing his scarred faced would not be done.

When my hair is dry, I use his large brush until my hair falls softly on my shoulders. I check my makeup and find that it is not in bad condition…waterproof makeup certainly comes in handy in Seattle's damp weather. I walk over to the door, and pause before I open it, taking a deep breath, then turn the doorknob and sweep as nonchalantly as possible into Erik's sitting room.

He seems preoccupied, pacing like a panther in front of the fireplace, just like the first time I saw him in my office. I sit down on the couch and begin to make sandwiches from the array of meats, cheeses, and a variety of fresh vegetable garnishes. Erik continues wearing out the carpet, pausing occasionally when he is directly in front of me, as if he wants to say something. Finally, he does stop, exhale loudly and come to the point, "Laura, may I ask you something?" His eyes narrow in a concentrated stare, and I look up into the face, half masked, half handsome and intense, his sea-green eyes filled with questions.

"Yes! Certainly! I will answer as best I can," I nod reassuringly.

"Why did you ask The Program to keep Christine here in the present until she testifies?"

"Well, doing a cross examination today was not at all advisable. I needed more time to prepare my strategy based on her testimony. And, frankly, I was not going to put you through any more of that…." I didn't need to be more specific. The look in Erik's eyes tells me he knows exactly what I am referring to.

"But you could have simply brought her back, as they did with Raoul, when it was time for her to testify," Erik points out astutely.

"True, but I want her in court to hear the testimony of Mme. Giry and Freuda. I want her to hear about your history, your friendship with her father and what Mme. Giry knew about you, as well as the details about your watching over Christine for so many years. And, I wanted her to hear about what causes Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and how people who have it, react."

"Why do you want her to hear that?" he looks at me with searching eyes.

"Because I believe she does not have the entire picture about you and who you are and what you have been to her. I think during the few months between your introducing yourself to her and the Don Juan production, in all your attempts to talk to her either Raoul intruded or Christine misunderstood your intentions. So, I would like for her to hear those testimonies to give her some awareness of what you are all about. And, didn't you, yourself, tell me that you wished that her being at this trial would show her that others support and believe in you? Well, she is definitely going to be observing that as she watches the testimony!"

"Do you really think that will have any effect on her opinion of me?" he asks doubtfully.

"Christine is a very young woman, only 16, possibly now, 17 years of age. I believe that she is very innocent and easily beguiled by people with high social status and wealth. After all, we know from Raoul's testimony that she has been living in his home for the last six months, not only under his care, but also his influence and subject to his opinions. We saw Raoul's animosity toward you when he testified and witnessed the lengths he would go to, to discredit you, even to the point of creating a false scar on his neck. So, Christine has been constantly bombarded for many months with his anger toward you and has probably also been under pressure to agree with his version of the events. In our modern world we are very familiar with the many techniques of influencing people. I believe in giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, and I also believe in redemption. I think that we should give Christine another chance."

Erik nods his head in agreement, and says, "Yes, Laura, I would like for her to have a better opinion of me than she currently seems to. I realized today, when I listened to her explain her feelings, that when she first removed my mask, my horror at that, as well as my reaction, frightened her and colored her feelings toward me from that time onward. I understand now why my reactions to others removing my mask affect me so deeply and cause such pain. My many conversations with Freuda have given me insight into the effect that my childhood rejection and the abuse in the gypsy tent have had on me. Freuda is correct. When anyone removes my mask without my permission, I go into a fury of anger because I am reliving all the old memories," he pauses, clinches his teeth and looks away.

After regaining his composure, he looks back at me and continues, "Christine took my reaction as being against her personally, rather than my reaction to this wounding I felt when she removed my mask. I have spent all afternoon considering this difference in our experience and perceptions…and maturity. I now realize from her words that those may be unbridgeable. I was basing my feelings on our long relationship which had gone on for nine years. She seems to be basing her feelings on those few occasions when she saw me face-to-face. I have been reflecting on this and trying to let go of my expectations which may have been unrealistic. But, I, too, feel that there is more to the story than the words she spoke today." His eyes search mine, and I simply look back with compassion.

I recognize how far Erik has traveled today in healing his wounds…and understanding himself…and Christine. Erik looks down at me with sadness in his eyes, but there is no longer any hint of the desolation he had felt earlier in the day. I reach out and take one of his large hands between both of mine.

"Laura," Erik sighs, and his glistening eyes look into mine, "thank you for all you have done for me this day. It is rare for me to receive such kindness."

I gasp with these words, and hardly know what to say in response. "Erik, just know I will be here for you." I do not look into his eyes for fear of disclosing my own feelings. Releasing his hand, I return my attention to the tray of food.

I place a huge sandwich on each of our plates, then fresh strawberries and grapes. The pink cupcakes are left on their serving dish. We can get to those later, I decide. I pour two goblets of wine, and our meal is ready.

I hold up Erik's plate to him. It catches him by surprise, and he looks at if as if he doesn't know what to do. So, I just continue to hold the plate until he takes it from me, and I settle back into the couch and begin to munch on my sandwich. It is only now I realize why I am feeling so starved. I have not eaten since breakfast. After all, I did spend lunch in the men's room, I reflect with a gulp of my food. Erik continues to stand, holding his plate and staring at it for many moments, then abruptly comes and sits down on the couch. He seems to consider for some time whether he will eat, but finally picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. Good, I think to myself. We continue eating in silence, soaking up the warmth from the fire in the fireplace on the outside, and feeling the warmth of the wine on the inside. Very good, indeed!

When we finish eating, we settle back into the couch and just watch the fire. The couch is large and probably would seat four people comfortably, but we settle into the opposite ends, keeping our own space and thoughts. The wine, warmth, food and cushy couch begin to have an effect on Erik, who stretches out his long legs after he puts his plate down. Exhausted from this day's events, he rests his head on a huge pillow that balances on the arm of the couch and within a few minutes he dozes off. I decide that is a good idea, close my eyes and soon drift off to sleep.

**KRRRBOOOOOMMMMMMMM!**

A roar reverberates around us, shaking the walls and causing the windows to rattle as Erik and I are jolted out of our sleep. We sit up, startled, and look around, trying to get our bearings, realizing that we have been awakened by thunder. Looking at each other from opposite ends of the couch, we break out into nervous laughter.

The clock over the fireplace indicates it is just a little past 3:00 a.m. We have been sleeping for almost six hours.

"I guess we fell asleep," Erik says, slightly embarrassed.

"Um-hummm…" I agree with a shy smile.

We continue looking at each other, not knowing what to say or do next. Then, I remember the pink cupcakes and look over at the tray. A half dozen sit neatly piled on a plate. Yep…that will do, I decide.

"Well, Erik, it seems there is only one thing to do right now!"

"What?" He says, his eyebrow shooting up almost to his hairline, startled at this unexpected comment.

"I think it is time to have some pink cupcakes!" I say in all seriousness.

He looks at me like I have lost my senses…again…

"Really! Wouldn't you like a pink cupcake with another glass of wine?" I ask coyly.

He regards me with the curiosity of a man who is examining a new specimen of butterfly in the deep, dark jungle, trying to figure out what it is doing…here.

I decide to take matters into my own hands, scoot over to the center of the couch and pour more wine into our glasses, handing one to Erik. I then place three pink cupcakes on a small plate and hand that to Erik who takes it before he can gather his wits to object. I place one of the pink cupcakes on a plate for myself and settle back into my corner of the soft couch. The wine goes so smoothly with the rich chambord of the pink frosting that I drink the entire glass by the time I have finished my cupcake.

As I am setting down the wine goblet, I wonder if I have perhaps drunk too much, too soon. After all, I rarely drink wine, or alcohol of any kind, for that matter. My mother always says I get tipsy with even a whiff of a wine cork. And, truly, I only drink wine on special dinner occasions, always limiting my imbibing to a sip or two. But, this wine is so smooth, so mellow, and so perfect with the cupcake, somehow I have drunk the entire glass before I realize it. I then remember I also had a glass of wine just before falling asleep. Surely only two glasses of wine couldn't have any, um….significant effect on me, could it? I giggle at the thought, which causes Erik to look over at me with surprise. He studies me, and asks, "Laura, are you alright?"

"Oh! Yes! Fine. The chambord frosting on these cupcakes is exquisite, and, well, didn't the wine go perfectly with it?"

He now regards me with an engaging grin that turns up at the corner of his lips. Very nice lips, I now notice. I don't think I ever noticed that before! Hmmmm, I wonder why I haven't? I'll have to think about that. I put my plate down and snuggle back into the couch which is stuffed with down and surrounds me like a cloud. Everything in this room seems very, very comfortable, in fact, as I look around…sort of…floaty! That fireplace is even giving off the most comfortable heat. I decide that I really, really like this room. I have rarely been SO cozy in my entire life. I giggle at the thought.

Erik now is studying me intently. "Laura, what do you find to be so humorous?"

I look at Erik, puzzled, "Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, you have giggled twice now. What is so funny?" he says with gentle curiosity edging his voice.

"Oh, I don't really know. Except, well….I find your room to be very comfortable. You must enjoy living here. A cozy room and beautiful view of the Sound. Don't you like it here?"

"Yes. I really do love this room. I wake to sunshine streaming through the windows every day. That is new in my life, and I do not take it for granted. I watch the sun rise over the trees many mornings and sit out on my deck, listening to the birds and the sounds of the water. It is peaceful here. I can't get enough of the green, of the trees. I could never go back to living underground, in the lair," shaking his head, he emphatically says, "…not ever again."

"Of course! I undershtand," I agree amiably. I am feeling particularly amiable right now. "I love trees, too! I grew up among the tallesht trees on earth, the redwoods. We lived on a hill overlooking the Pacific and the hill was covered with redwoods and shpruce and pine. We even had deer grazing on our lawn. I loved it!"

"Really?" Erik appears to be suppressing a grin. "Tell me about your childhood."

"Well, I was an only child, and have doting parentsh." I begin telling of my parents, my beloved grandmother, and my adventures on that hill, growing up. Erik often stops to ask a question or make a comment, and I lose track of time as I tell my childhood stories and answer his queries. He asks about my college days and is particularly fascinated with my travels in Japan, China and India the summer I graduated with a B.A. in Oriental Studies. He keeps chuckling, even sometimes laughing, at my humorous and sometimes harrowing tales, and after awhile I see an appreciative twinkle in Erik's eyes. The corners of his lips—those really great lips that I had never noticed before—are often turned up in a smile. It is so good to see him smile, and suddenly I find myself actually SAYING that!

"Erik, it ish so good to shee you shmile! I really like it!" I seem to be saying whatever comes to my mind, with little censorship. I wonder what's up with me, anyway?

"Laura, do you think you have had a little too much wine?" Erik laughs gently, and adds, "You are in a very shtrange, uh, excuse me, I mean, strange mood tonight."

"Well, to tell the truth, Erik, I really don't drink wine…much…ever…at all! But thish wash very good wine. Surely two glasshes ishn't too much, ish it?"

Shifting in his seat, he looks at me and chuckles, "Yes, it is possible, if you are not accustomed to drinking it."

"Well….I jusht won't drink any more…and, it certainly was relaxing. I haven't been sho relaxed or comfortable….shince I can remember…" I say with a smile and a hiccup.

"Yes, I agree. This is very relaxed and comfortable," he grins again and those sea-green eyes seem to sparkle, reflecting the fire from the fireplace. I realize that he has very beautiful eyes, but I HAD noticed THAT before. We sit for many minutes just looking into each other's eyes, when I reach over and get the plate with the pink cupcakes and offer them to Erik, "Cupcakesh?"

He grins at me, shakes his head and says, "No…You already gave me three, if you recall! I could not eat another one!"

"Oh! OK!" and I sit the plate back down on the table, wondering why I don't remember that at all.

The clock above the fireplace strikes six chimes, and Erik lets out a sigh. I look at him and ask, "What ish it, Erik?"

"Oh, time is passing. This night is almost over…too soon."

"What do you mean?" I ask, still a bit foggy.

"I have enjoyed your being with me…here. Christine was in the lair twice, but I cannot really say I enjoyed either of her visits," pain briefly flashes across his face, reminding me of why I am here. "But tonight, your being here has been only a joy! I would never have thought to be feeling like this, so soon, after what happened yesterday in court."

We continue looking at each other across the expanse of couch and enjoying the warmth from the fire as long as we can. Finally, Erik stands up and stretches. He turns and looks down at me with a sad, resigned expression.

I look up at him and ask from the depths of my heart. "Erik, will you be alright?"

"Do not worry. I will be alright…now. But, I think we both need sleep. Let me take you to Freuda. She will show you to the guest room."

"We both do need to shleep," I nod my head in agreement, and as I get up from the couch another hiccup escapes. "And, thish afternoon we have our conshultation. Don't forget!"

"You will stay for dinner this evening, won't you?" Erik asks as he gently guides me to his door, opens it and ushers me out into the hallway.

"Yes! Especially if you are sherving that wine!" I say with a chuckle.

"I will look forward to your enjoying more of that wine," he says with a devilish grin. "You have a very charming giggle."

I blush in embarrassment and am suddenly at a total loss for words. Erik escorts me down the hallway, past Jeremy who is seated on a bench, on guard duty. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rolling his eyes as we pass by. Not very understanding of him, if you ask me. Erik knocks on a door at the end of the hallway, and Freuda calls out, "I vill be right dere!"

Freuda opens the door and takes a sweeping look at us. Breaking out in a grin, she says, "Come in dahlink, I vas just gettink up. You can sleep in my bed, Laura." Freuda turns and disappears back into her bedroom.

I begin to walk past Erik, but pause in the doorway and turn around. Looking up at him, something inside compels me and on the spur of the moment, I reach up and put my hand into the soft, thick hair at the back of his neck. I pull him down within my reach and place a gentle kiss on his left check which bristles with morning beard. "And, by the way, _she was wrong._ There definitely ARE lots of women who want to kissh you!" And, as I turn and go into the bedroom, I see his eyes dance with the look of….sheer amazement!

**Kudos to Phanna, the intrepid editor!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thank you to each of you who are writing such great reviews!! We writers enjoy reading your comments and appreciate hearing your reactions to our story!! **

**Well...Friday night was quite unusual in Erik's life, to say the least. But, that was the first day of a traditional three day weekend in the United States, and only the beginning of a very unique weekend for Erik... After all, Laura is a very resourceful woman...**

**Chapter 18 All Wet, Part 1, by Phangirl+ and Phanfan**

_Seattle, Washington_

_Sunday, September 4, 2005_

_+Horatio's POV:_

I hear Erik before I actually see him. A slight sound in the hall, the soft movement of fabric…things most people would never notice, but I hear as if they are blasted over loudspeakers. "Erik, are you going to lurk in the hall like a ghost all morning, or are you going to come in?" I call out through the open doorway of the library.

He steps into the room, wearing a bathrobe and his mask, and grins at me. "I'm glad the opera managers didn't have you on their side. They would have caught me years ago."

"Hazard of the job," I say with a shrug. "I hear every little sound." I turn back to the books on the table and the small hand mirror that I have to use in order to read the words Phen wrote in reverse.

I feel Erik watching me with concern as he sits down at the table. "You never went to bed, did you, Horatio? It is five in the morning, and you are still wearing your clothes from last evening."

"I have work to do. I don't have time to sleep. I have to…" I try to explain, but all I can do is shake my head and rub my tired eyes.

Erik wastes no time stating the obvious. "Those are Phen's journals. I told you I could help you decipher them. The Admiral even said he would have his experts read them. You do not have to do it all by yourself, Horatio."

"The experts have already read them backward and forward and found nothing. They were just day to day accounts of her appointments and stuff like that. And I'm doing about as well as they are…" I look up at him and force a smile. "So, maybe I'm not so great at this cloak and dagger business after all, since I haven't finished yet."

"Well, then, it would seem that you do need my help after all," he says, and folds his arms across his chest. "French is my native language, so I could read her notes with greater facility than you."

I know he is eager to help, and I know that he is right. My French is not as good as even Phen's, since I have never lived in France, as she did when she was in college, but I do know enough to be able to read the two books I've been guarding since Admiral Brooks gave them to me. "These weren't in her apartment," he told me, only a day after the others were found. "These were in a safe deposit box, and…they're for you, Horatio. She left them for you in case she ever…well, in case something like this happened to her."

"Horatio?" Erik says now as he places a hand on my shoulder. "Please, allow me to help you find her."

"I would if these books had anything to do with her disappearance," I answer, bringing myself back to the present. "But there is nothing here that I can see that would help us. These books are over two years old. She wasn't even here in Seattle back then. She—she was…"

"In the Navy," Erik finishes my thought. "With you on Okinawa. I know. Remember, I was at the meeting when the Admiral told us who she really was. She is your Grace."

I take the books from the table, tuck them under my arm, and head for the door. "She's not my anything. She never was, and she never will be."

"Hmm, maybe I should read them after all!" Erik insists. "Your French may be worse than you thought in that case, because it has always been glaringly obvious to me who Phen really was. And it was equally obvious that she has a great deal of admiration for you."

"What?" I sputter, and whip around to face him. "How did you know?"

He grins smugly at me. "In addition to my musical ability, remember that the "Phantom" also has the eye of an artist, dear Horatio. The first time I saw that picture in your wallet I saw the striking similarity between your Lieutenant Grace and the determined lawyer who was part of my defense team. And something about those grey eyes of Phen's never looked quite…well, natural. I know she could use dye on her hair, but tell me, how DID she change her eye color?"

"Contact lenses," I answer, glad that for the moment he isn't saying more about Phen's feelings for me. "Contact lenses are plastic discs that go directly on the eye and work like spectacles, or in Phen's case, can change the color of the eyes."

"Amazing!" He exclaims in childlike admiration. "Is there nothing you cannot do in this century?"

"Plenty of things," I say, bringing us back to the business at hand. "Like find some people when they go MIA."

"MIA?"

"Missing in action. It's a military expression for when someone disappears in battle, usually because they have been captured."

"Oh," he whispers. "Yes, that would seem to fit this situation. And there still are no leads, I take it, or you would not be here staying up all night reading these love letters."

"Love letters? You're all wet, Erik!"

He looks at me in that familiar, exasperated way of his to show that I've said something that makes no sense to him. Sure enough he sighs, "Pray tell, what does "all wet" mean?"

I am more than happy to educate him. "It means that you don't know what you're talking about. I just told you that Grace was never anything more than my friend—and speaking of women and all night long, just WHAT were you and Laura doing in your room until the wee hours of the morning on Friday night? Hmm?" I cannot help but grin with wicked delight as the visible side of his face turns red. He looks like a checkerboard with one side of his face scarlet and the other stark white. "Well, come on! Tell me everything, Erik. You know I'll find out eventually, anyway." I settle expectantly back down into a leather chair near the doorway.

His grin at my smart remark is as wicked as my own. "Well, Monsieur Cloak and Dagger, why should I tell you?"

I ignore the smirk and press on. "So, tell me, did anything, uh, happen?"

The grin flattens into a frown as he straightens in his chair and says with a cutting edge in his voice, "Just what do you mean by that, Horatio?"

"Oh, come on! You know! You're French, and Laura is a modern woman…and well, things are different in this century. Some things are sort of expected when two people are attracted to each other and…"

"And what things?" He is practically shouting now, and the left side of his face is redder than ever. "Do you think that I would compromise Laura's honor, Horatio? Is that really what you think?"

"Compromise her honor?" I shake my head. "Now that is an expression that one doesn't hear everyday in this century! No, I don't think you compromised her honor. Nowadays, one can be intimate with someone without it being considered scandalous. As I said, it is generally expected for a couple to do certain things now that were probably considered taboo in your day."

Erik suddenly stands up and stalks off to a shelf of reference books, intently studying the titles written on their spines. His back is to me, straight and stiff, and his breathing comes out in angry little puffs of air. I wait for several minutes as he slowly relaxes his stance and begins breathing normally. Finally he turns to me and declares in a tightly controlled voice, "I would never do anything like that to Laura. Such relations between a man and a woman are—well, not something I take lightly, Horatio, even if you—and this generation of yours—do. I am surprised to hear you even suggest such a thing. I thought you were a man of honor."

"Well, just as I thought, you didn't take advantage of her," I answer quietly. "I suspected as much, but I just wanted to make sure."

He shoots me a killer look. "You mean this was some kind of test? Some sort of game to you?"

"Not a game," I answer, all seriousness now. "But I had to know for sure that my faith in you hasn't been misplaced. It is a reasonable question. After all, here you are suddenly in the company of a lovely woman, in a place where you are free from the social constraints you are used to, and you do have a…certain reputation, shall we say. But I'm glad to see that you are a man of moral fiber after all."

Immediately he looks relieved. "So, you do not think I took advantage of Laura when she was inebriated?"

I look at him steadily and say without blinking, "No, I don't. If you had done something to hurt her, you wouldn't still be here alive in my house. I would have taken you out to some secluded place in the woods, shot you, and sent you back to that prison we sprung you out of in Paris. Everyone would have assumed you were killed during the Commune, just as you were in the original timeline."

Some of the redness drains from his face then, and he clears his throat. "Would you really have shot me?"

I crack a grin at him. "Ha! I had you going there, didn't I! No, I wouldn't have killed you, but I would have made you wish I had, Erik. As for being a man of honor myself, perhaps I haven't lived by the same strict moral code you have, but make no mistake, I have never, nor will I ever willingly hurt anyone, especially not a woman."

Erik nods his head slowly and takes a seat across from me. "Since we are on the subject, Horatio, and since I now have top secret clearance with The Program, I have some questions about Grace. Would you mind if I asked you? Perhaps it would even help you somehow to find her."

In my line of work, I'm much better at asking questions than answering them, but I sense something more than idle curiosity in Erik's request. Placing the books down on the side table next to me, I ask with a sigh, "What do you want to know?"

"If I understand correctly what I have learned so far," he begins, "you met Grace after you were wounded in battle, but she wasn't a nurse. She was a, what was that expression? A—a…"

"A JAG," I answer for him. "A lawyer with the Judge Advocate General's office."

"Yes, that was it! She was a JAG, and from what Admiral Brooks said, she helped save you and the other Bravo SEALs from some manner of legal trouble, all in the midst of personal difficulties of her own. I would just like to know her entire story. Whatever it is, I cannot help but think it may have something to do with her disappearance."

For the moment I ignore the way he said "Bravo SEALs" instead of "SEAL Team Bravo" and instead think to myself what a shame it is that he isn't officially one of us. He had figured out long before who Phen really was, and now, even without knowing all of her background, he has somehow come to the same conclusions that I have about her kidnapping. "You are a very good observer, Erik. And you are right, there may be a connection, though we haven't found anything concrete yet."

He allows himself a smile of satisfaction before saying, "Well, what happened? Why was the first person you saw when you awoke in the hospital a lawyer?"

"To answer that, I first have to tell you a little story about the earliest days of The Program," I say, settling back in my chair. "I had already been a SEAL for about three years at that time, stationed at Coronado. It's a base in San Diego, California. I had been on search and rescue missions countless times, was wounded in a battle with terrorists in Afghanistan, and was awarded that Purple Heart the guys told you about. Anyway, sometimes we did joint operations with other agencies, like the CIA. That's the…"

"I know who they are," Erik interrupts. "They are spies."

"Right, well, the mission that ended my SEAL career was one of those. We were supposed to rescue a scientist, Dr. Matthews, the world's foremost expert on time travel. He had been kidnapped a few weeks earlier and was assumed dead. But then intel said he was being held by terrorists on a tiny island in Indonesia. They were demanding a ransom that our government wasn't going to pay. We don't negotiate with terrorists, and they know it. But neither could we allow someone as important as Dr. Matthews or his work to fall into the wrong hands. So, SEAL Team Bravo was sent in to rescue him. We were led by a captain with the name of Smith Jones. No lie, Smith is his first name. His parents had a weird sense of humor. Jeremy and Matt were there, and so were two guys named Brian O'Neal and Jorge Sanchez."

Just saying their names out loud hurts, and Erik knows it. "You don't have to continue, Horatio. I know that part of the story."

I nod my head. "Yeah, you've seen my scars. Anyway, we were led into an ambush, and I woke up and saw Grace for the first time. When I started to get better she told me who she was and said that the whole SEAL team was under investigation for what happened. And as it turns out, we were all court-martialed for everything from dereliction of duty to negligent homicide because Sanchez and O'Neal died."

"What? But you almost died as well!"

"Yeah, go figure. But I helped plan the mission, you see, so they wanted my head as badly as they wanted Jones.' And as it turns out, Dr. Matthews was never at that location. Our intel was bad, but our CIA sources weren't put on trial, just our team. The doctor was rescued without so much as a scratch by another SEAL team a week after we failed."

"Oh, my…" He mutters. "Obviously, Grace was able to successfully represent you, because here you are…"

"Not entirely," I reply. "But wait, I'll get to that. You wanted to hear the rest of the story…what happened to her…and to us."

"Yes!"

"Well, it was several months before the court-martial began. As I told you, she was there all during the time I was recovering, and she helped me deal with all of the emotional garbage I was going through at the time. She was my rock, so strong, and so unwavering in her belief that she would win our case for us. She gave us all hope. I couldn't help it, Erik. I fell hard for her. But I knew the rules, and I knew about Rick."

"Rick?"

"Her fiancé, an actor. You would have liked him. He had a lot of talent. He could recite Shakespeare like he wrote the plays himself. Raoul de Chagny looks kind of like him." I grin at him, but Erik glares back, warning me to get on with the story.

"When Rick went into show business, he changed his last name to Charmand. It's corny sounding, I know, but somehow it suited him. He was smart and good-looking, and funny—everything a woman would want, and Grace was crazy about him. Lucky me, I got to witness their romance when he came to Japan to see her. Later she said that he tried to convince her to come back to the states with him. When that didn't work, he shipped her sister Jennifer over too and the two of them worked on getting her sent back. They even came to Admiral Brooks and me about it. When that didn't work, Rick pulled out all the stops and proposed to Grace."

Erik is grinning at me now, and when I give him a questioning look, he says, "Hmm, it sounds as if you did not like this Monsieur Charmand very much."

"I hated him the minute I saw him!" I laugh. "Because of all of those things I just said about him. He was too perfect, and so wrong for her! I even heard that some of the guys were making bets on how long they would stay together. Rick just didn't understand why she stayed in the Navy working on a case so far from home when she could have quit and gone into private practice. Talk about not having a sense of honor, that guy didn't know the first thing about it! He just didn't get it. She was a Naval officer! She knew her duty, and she had the guts to see it through no matter what."

"No wonder you fell in love with her," Erik observes. "It would seem she shares many of your traits."

"Yeah. That's why we work so well together. She knows me sometimes even better than I know myself, Erik, but I never could figure out what she saw in Rick. I just knew there was something I didn't trust about him from day one. But Grace loved him, so I cut him some slack. The Admiral decided he could spare her long enough for her to take a month's leave to go home and get married. The night before she was supposed to fly out with Rick and her sister we had a party for them, and I went and pretended to be happy for her. I even danced one dance with her and told her thanks for all she had done. Then she drove me home, I put on a CD, and we danced one more time in my living room. The song I played said it all, everything I couldn't say, and somehow she knew it. I could see it in her eyes, how sad she was…not because of anything to do with Rick…but for me. Before she left, I gave her a hug, and for a minute I just held on to her, like I would never see her again. I had no idea just how very nearly I did almost lose her."

"What do you mean?" Erik doggedly persists. "What happened?"

"Early the next morning there was a break in our case, and Grace's leave was cancelled. One of the terrorists who attacked us had been captured but he was in bad shape. She had to get a statement out of him before he took a turn for the worst. Rick had hired a private jet to take them back to Washington D.C., and it was scheduled to leave an hour later. One hour. That is all, and I'm thankful everyday now for that one hour because it saved Grace's life, Erik…"

"You mean that something happened to the plane?"

I nod and look down at the journals. "They were just fifty miles south of Hawaii when the pilot radioed the Honolulu tower about engine trouble. Five minutes later the plane disappeared from their radar screens and neither it, nor the pilot, nor Rick Charmand or Jennifer Chamberlain were ever found."

"Oh, my God," Erik murmurs and shakes his head.

I pick up one of the journals. "This is why I don't want you to read these, Erik. These books are Phen's personal account of those days after the crash. She left them for me, you see, in case anything happened to her. I can't let anyone else read them, you understand."

He nods silently at me. "She must have been completely distraught."

"Actually, she kept up a good front," I continue. "She didn't cry in front of anyone. Not even once. Not even in front of me. But she did ask me to go with her back to the States for the memorial service. Even then, she sat there like a rock. I had never seen anything like it before. She was completely detached from what was going on, but I knew what was happening. She was acting the same way I did after I was wounded in Afghanistan. At the time, I told myself that it didn't really bother me, that I didn't have time to let it all in, and couldn't fall apart because I had a job to do. It didn't catch up to me until after the ambush in Indonesia. So, I knew that sometime it would all come crashing down on Grace too. And finally it did, when our court-martial came up. Things went bad from the beginning. Things happened that shouldn't have and did happen that shouldn't have, and then it was over. In the end all of us except Captain Jones were acquitted. He was sentenced to ten years in the brig and the rest of us were free, but were given letters of reprimand that became a permanent part of our military records. The next day Grace handed in her resignation."

"She quit because she lost one case?" Erik says in astonishment. "That does not seem to be the person I have observed."

"She was different back then," I say. "She wasn't the hard as nails, damn the torpedoes person she is now. As I said, everything finally crashed in on her, Erik. She felt that we had the deck stacked against us all along."

"You mean that…"

"Yes. Someone didn't want us to win that case, or so it seemed to her. I had never seen her as undone as she was after that verdict. She hadn't shed a tear after her fiancé and sister died but now she was…was…a mess, that's all I can say. She told me what she was going to do, and I tried to convince her to stay in the Navy, but she wouldn't listen to me. She resigned and was gone within three days."

"Where did she go?"

I shake my head. "We didn't part on very good terms, and she wouldn't tell me, so like an idiot, I just let her go. I tried to go back to my duties, but the more I thought about it the more I came to believe she was right about the court-martial, and I resigned my commission a month after Grace did. The rest of the Bravos ended up getting out as soon as they could as well. You know two of them, Erik—Jeremy and Matt!"

Erik inhales sharply in surprise.

"So, I came back here to Seattle and tried to find Grace," I continue, "she wasn't there, or anywhere else I looked. Now I know from her journal that she didn't want to be found. And she did a great job of staying lost, until the Program tracked her down in a cabin in the wilds of Montana a year after I last saw her in Japan. But the next time I saw her, she was no longer Lieutenant Grace Chamberlain of JAG. She was Phen Brown of the Seattle District Attorney's Office."

"So, why have you not told her that you love her? Neither of you are in the Navy any longer, so it would seem to me that you should be able to…"

"No, too much time has gone by for that Erik, and, well…it turns out that we are in the same boat we were in before. Phen is under my authority, Erik. She's one of my guys, so to speak. I treat her like one of them. There is no room for anything else. We both know it, and we just go with it."

Erik frowns and sighs, "I would not be too sure about that, Horatio. Do not discount her feelings so easily. I am well acquainted with unrequited love, and make no mistake, she shows every sign of carrying that affliction. Anyone with eyes can see it, just as I could tell how you feel about her."

I have an argument on the tip of my tongue ready to hurl at him…but then his words suddenly hit home. "Wait! Say that again, Erik!"

"What?"

"What you just said!"

"I said that anyone with eyes can see how you feel about her. Why?"

I feel like kicking myself. "Of course! That has to be it! We've been dealing with the press so much these past months! Why didn't I think of this before! We've been focusing out search on the South American cartel that was behind a murder case Phen was working on for the D.A. because of the way the old man was killed. But we've been getting nowhere! And why would she choose to leave a coded S.O.S on the wall?"

"Horatio, stop! You are not making sense!" Erik interrupts my wild stream of consciousness.

Suddenly I can't stand to sit still anymore. I jump out of my chair and start pacing in my excitement. "Erik! An S.O.S. is a signal ships send out when they are in distress! I realize now that Phan used that so I would remember our Navy days and remember what happened at the court-martial! But she didn't want whoever kidnapped her to know what she was doing. We've been tearing this city apart looking for her, and we've had agencies nabbing every drug dealer from here to Bogotá, but we've been on the wrong trail, when the answer was in front of us all along."

"So what does this mean?" Erik demands. "You know where she is?"

I stop pacing in front of the window and look out over the foggy Sound. "She's somewhere out there."

Erik rushes over to stand next to me and looks down at the boats far below. "She's at the docks? But I thought you just said you checked all over the city."

We did, and we didn't find her. No, she's not here, she's out there…at sea. When she sent that S.O.S. she was telling us who they were, and where they were taking her."

I walk briskly past him again, pick up the books and am almost to the door before I turn around and say, "Tell the rest of the household that I had to go. I'll call Admiral Brooks on the way."

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Coronado. I'm going to need a little help. Thank you, Erik. You were right! You did help! I owe you one! Just keep this to yourself, got it?"

"I understand, and of course I will," he promises. "Good luck to you."

"Thanks!" I yell over my shoulder as I race out the door. I grab my phone out of my pocket as I run and press Uncle Ben's number on speed dial. I know that we will need all the luck we can get. I keep hoping we aren't too late. +

_Monday, September 5, 2005_

_Laura's POV:_

There is no way to deny it. I am nervous. Now that it is actually happening, what I am about to do has hit me full force. My stomach, which is tied in a knot, communicates my feelings, registering its protest to my brain, and clearly says, "What have you done…now?" Sometimes, I just do what I think is right, then when I am in the middle of it, I wonder why on earth did I do THIS?

I stop in front of the mirror and take a last look, checking my clothes that are quite unusual for me. I don't wear these very often…casual is just not my style. I don't particularly like to wear pants, and so my black slacks are tailored, and I wear a crisp white linen shirt with a wide collar. The black wool sweater also seems foreign to me. I am accustomed to business suits, and even on the weekends I usually wear skirt and jacket sets. This is also the first time I am wearing the hand-knit Irish sweater bought in Ireland where my parents now live.

My mother was born in Ireland, and like me, she was an only child, so she inherited her parent's farm when they passed on a few years ago. She and Dad decided it was the perfect place for them to retire. So far away, but I do love my annual trips to visit them. It is the only time I really ever take time off from work, and the lush green Irish countryside provides a balm for my soul. This sweater was purchased last spring from a grandmotherly woman near my parent's farm who hand knits for her family and friends. It is fine cashmere wool and will keep me warm today. Where Erik and I are going, I'm going to need that!

Grabbing my purse, I head out to my Corvette with Matt, my ever-present bodyguard, close at my heals. His eyes scan me up and down, but he says nothing and follows in his car. As part of the bargain, I had to promise not to lose him, so I keep looking in my rear view mirror to check that he is still following. As I pull into the traffic of the freeway, headed for Horatio's home, my clenching stomach does not let me forget its opinion about my current situation.

My mind, however, tries to sort out logically why I am sooo nervous. Could it have something to do with Erik? Is it because I am going to be spending the entire day with him—and not to work on the case? Logically, that should not give me these queasy sensations; after all, I have been with him in my office countless times and all day long on hearing days.

Then, of course, there was last Friday night…all night, in fact, and Saturday afternoon and evening for our consultation and dinner. Afterwards we had sat and talked on the deck overlooking the Sound for hours. So, why should I be so anxious over today's meeting? My mind keeps going over the last few days, trying to discern the cause of this feeling.

Our consultation on Saturday had been uneventful. Except, well, it was later than originally scheduled…at 3:00 p.m. instead of 2:00 p.m. I woke up with a rather nasty headache around noon. I enjoy excellent health, so the headache came as a bit of a shock to me. It felt like a cleaver had landed in the middle of my head, and Freuda, being the good doctor, had immediately given me her recommended aspirin, in somewhat generous doses. Lunch—a fresh fruit tray with a delicious yogurt dip—was brought to her room, where I bathed and dressed. Freuda, who thinks of everything, had gone to the local mall while I slept and bought me a dress and some matching Italian leather sandals. After all, my silk Armani suit was ruined beyond wearing. I admit I felt a little uncomfortable in the clothing Freuda brought me. I rarely wear dresses, and this one was a summer dress made of a light blue linen, sleeveless, with a scoop neckline trimmed in cut-lace handwork—a style I hadn't worn since college days.

I felt even more uncomfortable when I caught Erik watching me during our consultation. I was already seated, ready for our conference with the files from my briefcase on my lap when he entered the den. He was wearing his usual black superfine wool slacks and white, ruffled shirt open at the neck since he was not wearing a cravat. His black brocade waistcoat had a bit of color—green thread interwoven in a subtle pattern.

As he sat down in the soft leather chair opposite me, his gaze did not stop on my face, but continued down my entire body, and his left eyebrow shot up in a surprised expression. But he tactfully didn't comment on my attire, asking only how I was feeling. He said that he had heard I had a bit of a headache, and I caught him suppressing a grin as the corner of his mouth curled up, and his eyes twinkled. All his reactions unnerved me, and I concentrated on looking down at my files the entire meeting as much as possible.

I explained that the headache was gone, and I was ready to go over the upcoming testimony for Mme. Giry. I have always read him my planned questions so that he can contribute any information either to clarify the facts, as I understand them, or sometimes to provide a new insight so that I can modify my approach. His discerning mind always understands my strategy without my explaining it. He would have made a splendid attorney, but then his brilliant mind would have allowed him to obtain a doctorate in any number of fields. Whenever that thought goes through my mind, I always shudder at the realization that he had instead felt it necessary to hide from people because of their reaction, even revulsion, to his physical appearance.

Because our consultation had started later, dinner was also served later than normal so that we could finish our preparation. After all, Mme. Giry, who testifies next, is a crucial witness for the defense. I had come to respect her from Erik's description of all she had done to help him and looked forward to meeting her.

As I had anticipated, dinner was quite lively. Everyone seemed in good spirits, and although I had braced for a razzing by Horatio, Jeremy and Matt, it did not occur. My gut feeling was that Freuda had told them not to mention my night in Erik's room…_at all!_ I'm really beginning to feel that Freuda is a rare jewel!! Horatio did not volunteer any new information on his investigation into Phen's disappearance and declined to say anything when asked about it. Jeremy and Matt kept sharing funny stories of past personal exploits in exotic places, and Eric listened with interested amusement, but seemed to be distracted. I often caught him looking at me with a curious arch to his left eyebrow, which I am learning is a barometer of his moods.

After dinner, Erik proposed we all go out on the deck to enjoy dusk over the Sound. I agreed, but had to suppress a smile when Horatio excused himself, saying that he had documents regarding Phen to study. Freuda suddenly also had business to take care of, so she declined Erik's invitation. As Erik and I sat at the far edge of the deck, adjacent to the water's edge, Matt and Jeremy remained near the house. Everyone was apparently giving us privacy.

As I now turn off the freeway onto the road leading to Horatio's home, I reflect back, and I begin to wonder just what do they think happened Friday night? What were they assuming about our relationship? Could that be the cause of my nervous feeling? Am I subconsciously concerned with what others think about that? As I ponder that issue, I push the button to switch the cd in my car to a new one I just received from a friend back East. I check the rear view mirror, confirm Matt is following, and go back to my musings.

It was during our chat, there, on Horatio's deck that the seed was planted for my idea. We began with small talk, so I had asked Erik his opinions about our modern world. As he answered that question, his life in our century came clearly into focus. He had seen very little of our world except through the television and the books that he had been reading. His only direct exposure had been on the drives between Horatio's home and the hospital, my office and the court. He had not been taken on any other trips…anywhere.

As he talked, I got the picture in my mind of how sequestered he was here. Certainly he lived in a very beautiful home with a panoramic view of the Sound, but it had virtually become a gilded prison. Larger, more luxurious and, of course, filled with light that had not been present in his lair, but a prison nonetheless.

I remember the look on his face when I asked Erik if he would like to take a drive through the lush forests of the Washington coast? Would he like to see the Pacific Ocean?

His eyes sparkled and a bright, almost boyishly enthusiasm burst out in a smile that lit up his face. Then he had admitted he had never seen the ocean, or even the English Channel and that he had only read about it…in fact had always loved stories about sailors and the sea. He became so excited even discussing the possibility of such a trip that I knew, right then and there, I was going to do everything in my power to make that trip happen.

Little did I know the obstacles I would have to overcome to accomplish that. I told Erik I would see if it would be possible to take him on such a drive. He seemed to marvel at the very possibility. I did not mention a date, but I already had in mind two days later, which was Monday, Labor Day. After all, the courts were closed, and I had planned to take the day off, so I had no client appointments. And, that gave me the following day, Sunday, to talk to Horatio and The Program to make arrangements.

Arrangements? I snort out a burst of laughter as I think about what happened. More like a minefield! It felt like I was asking permission for Erik to ride the Space Shuttle! When Erik had escorted me to the front door as I left, Horatio emerged from his den for a final chat. That was when I raised the subject, but Horatio immediately shook his head and put a damper on my proposal. Too difficult to provide security for Erik in a setting such as that, he pointed out. I argued that there had to be a way to arrange for security for such an outing, what with three SEALs living here and guarding Erik. Surely they could provide sufficient security. Horatio said that I would have to discuss that with the Admiral. I asked Horatio to have the Admiral call me at his convenience on Sunday for us to discuss the matter. Horatio promised he would, and I could see in Erik's eyes a pained disappointment. He already perceived that this was a lost cause. The sadness in his voice as he bid me goodbye, steeled my resolve to succeed in this venture. I decided right then that I was not going to lose this fight!!

Coming out of my thoughts, I push the forward button on my cd, to listen to a different track. My friend has created a compilation of pieces from a variety of artists, and I had not played it before, so anxiously listen to a little of each track. As I speed down the winding, forest lined road, I think back to the call from the Admiral. He was just as abrupt as when I met him the first time at the meeting of The Program. Obviously, he is a busy man, and he apparently didn't like being bothered with additional details that were not on his own agenda. His response to my proposal was a flat-out, "No!" I asked why. He gave me the usual security rigmarole, and we went around THAT merry-go-round quite a few times.

I decided to take a different tack. I pointed out that Erik was being held like a prisoner in that house, so what difference did representing him in the trial make when he was virtually in prison already. That hit a nerve. The Admiral bristled at the implication that Erik was a prisoner. But I pointed out how few places Erik had been since arriving in our time. The Admiral then pointed out that Monday, being a national holiday would mean more than the normal number of people visiting the forests and beaches, so there would be an even greater security problem. The debate continued, ending in a stalemate.

That's when I brought out my big guns. I pointed out that I had been told I would get anything I wanted…anything that I asked for. He, of course, responded that they had meant that only in regards to the trial. I said that no such qualification of that nature had been specified… And, I felt that my client's mental functioning during the trial was critical to its success, and that his emotional state directly effected him mentally. Therefore, I asserted that this was a request that was in the best interest of my client, and therefore, of the case.

By now the Admiral was doing a lot of spluttering. He said in his final, unequivocal tone…the one he uses when giving orders, no doubt, that the answer was "No," and that further discussion was useless. I agreed and promptly gave him notice of my resignation from the case. First there was a short, dead silence, then an explosion of curse words, requiring me to hold the phone some distance from my ear. When that died down, and I put the phone by my ear, his only comment was, "I will call you back by this evening." My response? "Thank you, Admiral." End of discussion.

I then sat in my condominium all day, reading a book, but not being able to concentrate. I just kept reading each passage over and over, my mind elsewhere. All Sunday I listened to music, tried to read, could not eat, and sat there, watched by an uneasy SEAL, waiting, waiting…. Then, at 8:00 p.m. the phone rang. I picked it up with a slight quiver in my hand which I hoped Matt had not seen. It was the Admiral. His tone was professional, and he got to the point.

Arrangements had been made. I was to drive Erik the following day, Monday, to the private estate of one of the wealthy patrons of The Program. We would then be taken to his ship--a sailing yacht, and we would have a day of sailing on the Pacific. He asked if that would be satisfactory. I said "Yes," and was told to pick Erik up at 8:00 a.m. the next morning. He made me promise that I would allow the bodyguards to be in sight all day, specifically that I would not lose them when driving my car. I agreed. The conversation was over, and I hung up the phone, falling back into my couch with a contented smile and long sigh of relief. When I told Matt what we would be doing on Monday, he couldn't contain himself and let out a war whoop. Suddenly we both felt very hungry and went to raid the refrigerator and celebrate… We toasted…he with a beer, I with an iced tea.

So, here I am, pulling up to Horatio's home, Matt screeching to a halt behind me. Getting out of my car, I try to steady my nerves by walking as calmly as I can up to the front door. When I knock, the door opens immediately, and I realize that Erik has been waiting for me. As he looms over me, I look up into his expectant face, his eyes crinkling with an excited smile. Taking a deep breath, I smile, gulp and say, "Good morning, Erik!! _Ready for a day on the ocean_?"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thanks to each of you who found and reviewed the last chapter despite the notices NOT being sent out! Apparently they are working again!! **

**So, here is **_**the ocean outing! **_**A very important "first" for Erik! We hope you enjoy this as much as he does!**

**Chapter 19, All Wet, Part 2, by Phanfan and Phangirl+**

_Seattle, Washington  
Monday, September 5, 2005_

_Laura's POV:_

"_Good morning, Erik!! Ready for a day on the ocean?" _Standing at Horatio's front door, startled by the tall, dark figure of Erik towering over me, I gasp at his unbridled energy!

"Indeed!! Yes!! Laura, ever since I found out last evening that we were actually going, I could not sleep!!" he says with an incredulous look and his eyes blazing a deep sea green. To match the ocean today, I think to myself. Erik steps out of the house, and I take in his unusual clothing. He is wearing his black, body hugging slacks, as usual, but his white shirt is tailored and 21st century, with the first few buttons left open. Over that he is wearing a v-neck sweater of deepest black that hugs his muscular chest. I have never seen him in modern clothes before, and it seems a bit jolting juxtaposed next to his almost formal white mask!

We quickly get into my Corvette, but I do not try to leave until Jeremy and Joe have joined Matt in his car. As we wait, I cannot ignore that the feeling in my stomach is still there, now a bundle of butterflies. I resolve to relax. After all, this is just a day on the ocean. I have always loved the ocean and spent innumerable days there. For me, this is old hat.

Then, I look at the man in the seat next to me. He turns toward me with a quizzical look, and I take in the handsome left side of his face and the white mask covering the right side. Erik, after all, is the Phantom of the Opera. He is sitting here, in my Corvette, in the 21st century, wearing modern clothing. And, we are going out on the ocean on a sailing yacht with three bodyguards in tow. No, I admit to myself, there is nothing normal about him or this situation or this day. I caused this, so I will just have to deal with it each minute as best I can. I am reminded of the saying I tell myself whenever I'm in a challenging situation: _"The only way out, is through." _Joe and Jeremy climb into Matt's car, and he signals they are ready. I take a deep breath, push the button to start my cd, lower the volume so that it is just background music, and drive down the long, winding driveway, wondering what this day will bring.

The deep blue sky bolsters white, meringue-like clouds that do not threaten rain. "Perfect! Erik, I think we are going to have a sunny day!" I start telling him about the route we will be driving to the estate that overlooks the ocean. "Our route home will be different for security reasons, and we will actually pass through several small towns, so you will have a variety of scenery during the drive." As I am explaining more about what he will be seeing, I glance over at him and notice his attention has been distracted.

Erik's gaze focuses on the cd player, concentrating on the music instead of my commentary, so I pause to determine what he finds so absorbing. The cd from my friend is still playing, and I recognize Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is." Erik listens intently to the song, then looks over at me with one of his straight-lipped, knowing grins. "Well, it appears that my lyrics, which were _avante garde_ in my time, would now be quite acceptable. These seem to be most explicit in their meaning."

As the chorus replays, and we hear "I know you can show me...," I blush. Oh my, I should have finished listening to the cd! I hadn't expected that song to come up…or for Erik to be in my car while it is playing. I reach over to skip to the next track, and Erik reaches out and gently stays my hand. "No, I would like to hear the entire song," he says with a genial tone.

Concentrating on the road, I stare straight ahead, just wanting that song to be over. As soon as it ends, I push the button on my stacking cd player, changing to a Josh Groban cd. When the first song starts, Erik listens attentively, then shakes his head in approval and settles back in his seat. We drive for a couple of miles in silence, before Erik starts to ask questions about our destination, the coast and sailing yachts. I answer most of his queries, but explain I have never before been on a yacht.

"Ah," Erik nods his head, "So, for both of us it will be the first time!"

"Yes," I agree, and trust we are both referring to the same thing.

When we arrive at the estate, the huge iron gates open to allow us to drive up a long, winding road. Near the mansion, we are directed by a man to the left, away from the residence and toward a building that is a huge garage. Three men who apparently know Jeremy and Matt greet us politely and escort us to waiting SUVs. Erik, Jeremy, Matt and I get into one, while Joe goes to the second SUV with the other men. Our SUVs immediately set out on a road taking us in a different direction than we had entered.

After a ten-minute drive, we round a hill and can see a small harbor with a private pier and a single ship. It gleams magnificently in the gentle sunlight and bobs impatiently at its moorings, clearly anxious to be out on the sea where it is at home. I shake my head, unable to believe what is happening. My stomach has not settled down, and when I get out of the SUV, I stand, frozen, gazing at the sailing ship that looms in front of us. Erik walks around the back of the vehicle and stops behind me, taking my elbow in his usual, gentlemanly fashion, and whispers in my ear, "Laura. Thank you." My knees wobble, as I look up into Erik's ecstatic face, and my churning stomach aside, I am so thankful I fought this battle.

_Erik's POV:_

As our SUV rounds the hill, I see the expanse of the Pacific ahead—my very first look at an ocean in my life. My heart starts pounding with excitement at the vision of its vastness. It spans across the horizon in a spectacular blue majesty that I could only dream of in my imaginings. Utterly beyond description! I look at it in total, dazed awe.

Then, my eyes encounter the pier and the magnificent sailing yacht. I blink with incredulity. Could this possibly be happening to me? The dark Phantom of the Opera who lived in the blackness of an underground cavern, a lair befitting a dragon who hid like a spectre from the world. Here on this day, filled with sunshine and the blueness of the immense ocean, I will be sailing on a ship which has the whitest of sails…all images of light and purity, of freedom and joy.

Then, the name of the vessel I am about to embark on comes into sight: the _Regina! _Ah, yes, indeed, a queen she is! Her name immediately makes me feel at home, after all, the cavern of my home felt sometimes like the womb of Mother Earth, enfolding and comforting me in my loneliness. And, the golden goddesses of the theater above imbued the Opera Populaire with a feminine aura and gave it a woman's spirit. So, the _Regina_ feels like she is opening her arms to me and embracing my soul.

When we stop and I get out, I cannot take my eyes from the regal ship, straining at its tethers, wanting to be free on the ocean. I take in everything, from her two towering masts and neatly furled sails, on down to the warm brown hues of her wooden deck, gleaming white starboard rail and red painted hull. Even as I watch, I see a sailor dressed head to toe in a blue uniform strike the hour on a brass bell. Nothing about this glorious vessel appears to be modern. She seems to have been sent here from my time period, and I wonder for a moment if this is true. Has The Program been able to bring large objects like this ship through time in addition to people? I will ponder this later, but for now I am eager to feel the roll of the deck under my feet and the fresh salt breeze on my face. Walking around the vehicle, I take Laura by the arm. I find myself wanting to say so very much, to tell her all the thoughts spinning through my mind, to explain how I feel, but all I am able to say is, "Laura. Thank you." When she looks up into my eyes, though, I can tell that she knows. I do not have to say more. I reflect that she always seems to know my feelings.

"Hey, slow pokes. What are you waiting for?" Jeremy calls out. He, Matt and Joe are already going up the gangway and are aboard the ship before Laura and I take another step toward her. Jostled out of our admiration of the Regina, we quickly trot to the gangway, the three men from the other SUV following closely behind. Apparently they will also be accompanying us on this trip. I am not certain what their status is—whether they are bodyguards, or something else.

The Captain, a middle-aged gentleman with a full brown beard and a splendid dress uniform, complete with gold braid, greets us as we come aboard. "Welcome! Welcome! I am William Townsend, owner and Captain of the _Regina_! I am so pleased that you have both come to spend the day with us. I do love to show off my ship! She is a very fine vessel, and my crew and I will be happy to attend to your every wish. All you need do is ask." He then introduces the five other members of the crew as they stand at rigid attention in a perfectly straight line. As soon as everyone is aboard, he gives a series of orders and the crew swiftly goes to work, readying the ship for sea. Then we feel the ship moving gently into the harbor, freeing herself from the constraints of ropes and pier. It hardly seems real as I watch the huge triangular sails unfurl and catch the breeze as the _Regina_ turns to port and begins to move west toward the open ocean.

One of the sailors approaches us and says, "The Captain sends his compliments, and inquires whether you would care for a tour of the ship."

"Yes! I would be most honored!" I am full of questions and curiosity about this incredible ship.

The young man smiles at my unabashed enthusiasm. "Then he will be here to give you one as soon as we've cleared the shallows. The Captain is very particular about taking the _Regina_ through them himself. In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable." He motions toward a row of deck chairs in the bow of the ship. "That is the best view of our destination, unless of course you would like to come to the poop deck. Then you can watch the land disappear in our wake."

I strain my memory of the old sailing books I had read during my years at the Opera Populaire, trying to remember what a poop deck is, and finally remember that it is a small raised platform at the very back, or stern, of the ship. I look at Laura, and she smiles to let me know the decision is entirely mine.

"Ah, I think I would like to go to the bow and see the figurehead first," I answer. "If there is one, that is."

"Oh, yes, and a very lovely one at that, Sir," the sailor responds and begins leading us forward. "She is authentic even down to the last brushstroke of paint."

Moments later, I see that he was right. The _Regina's_ figurehead is a beautifully crafted wooden mermaid. Her flowing golden hair and intricately carved tail remind me of the mermaid statue I once had in my bed chamber. Immediately I voice my opinion to Laura and the sailor. "Yes, this is a fine figurehead, truly the _Regina's_ crowning glory."

"Captain Townsend will be honored to hear your praise, Sir," the seaman beams. "He takes great pride in the Regina, as we all do. You will be in for a real treat when he shares her history with you."

"We look forward to it," Laura replies with a smile.

The sailor nods and says, "The Captain will join you as soon as he can. In the meantime, if you should need anything, anything at all, I will be happy to serve you."

"Thank you," Laura answers for us both. "I think we are fine for the moment." I nod my agreement, and our host leaves us for the moment. +

Several minutes later, the captain comes to conduct our tour of the ship. "Thank you for arranging this voyage for me, Sir," I tell him with utmost sincerity. "The _Regina_ is a magnificent vessel. I have to ask one thing, if I may."

"Certainly," Townsend replies with a warm smile. "Anything at all."

"She looks exactly like some of the pictures I have seen in the books of my time, and I was wondering if she was brought forward in time, as I was."

The Captain's smile widens as we begin walking aft once again. "I wish that were the case, Monsieur. But alas, no. My _Regina_ is very old, first built in 1869. She is the only surviving vessel of my family's shipping fleet. She sailed a regular route from Seattle to San Francisco for many years before being decommissioned in 1890. But my great-grandfather had spent many happy summers aboard her as a child and couldn't bear to see her destroyed. He overhauled her instead, and turned her from a cargo ship to a pleasure craft. Some of the lower decks were removed to provide room for the cabins, galley, and dining room. Come—let me show you!"

Given the appearance of the _Regina's_ upper deck, I had expected the ship's interior to also be authentic in its design. It is a surprise then to discover that everything, from the furnishings to the electric lighting is thoroughly modern. The room the Captain leads us to is elegantly appointed and has comfortable couches and chairs for conversation. As promised, he shows us the large oak-paneled dining room, fully equipped kitchen and bar, and even introduces us to his chef. The chef tells us that it will be our choice where we wish to eat, and that a table can be set on the deck, if we prefer. Laura and I look at each other, at a loss for words. "I think we would like to dine on the deck, if we may?" I respond, looking down into Laura's face, and she nods in agreement.

Captain Townsend keeps up a lively narrative about his continuing care and restoration of the Regina. "She is like one of my children," he answers. "Though my wife would say she is more like a mistress because she commands so much of my time. One could call me a sentimental fool, but this ship is a living link to my family history, you see. My ancestors walked these very decks as they sailed through these very waters. So, really when I place my hands on the wheel, I am connecting with them."

He pauses when we reach the deck again and looks thoughtfully at me. "And now, here you are, Erik, someone from that very time in which they lived, and this ship was in her prime. Though I cannot go through time and meet my ancestors, being here with you now makes them seem close, somehow. You understand now why I am a member of The Program?"

"Yes, I do," I answer. "And I am grateful to you for graciously allowing me to sail on the _Regina_, Monsieur Townsend."

"It is an honor to have you aboard. I was delighted when Benjamin called and asked me to bring you today. Our families have been close ever since his father invested in Townsend Shipping over fifty years ago. He is Horatio's uncle, you know, his mother's brother. Horatio's mother, Sarah was my date for our senior prom. Had she and I not gone our separate ways before college, Horatio may have been my son. So, you understand that when Benjamin called me, I was delighted to have you come aboard. Now, come! How would you like to have a turn at the helm, Erik?"

"I was hoping you would ask," I respond, not wanting to pass up this unbelievable opportunity. As we step into the wheelhouse, I notice that the wheel itself seems at odds with the contents of the rest of the room. There are a number of black boxes built into the walls of the room. One of them is a radio telling the crew about the weather conditions at sea. I even notice a telephone, and what appears to be a television screen with a circular graph on it.

Captain Townsend notices my perplexed expression and comments, "Yes, everything here is the latest technology. We have a satellite system that not only provides us with accurate GPS coordinates, but keeps us abreast of the weather. We also have two long range radios, one for weather, and one for communicating with other ships. And here is a fax machine and a terminal for internet access. So, even when I am far from land, I am always connected to someone."+

I have no immediate reply as I try to comprehend all that he has just said. The Captain smiles, and asks the crewman to step aside. Captain Townsend takes the wheel and instructs me in the proper technique. Soon, my hands are on the aged and finely polished wood, and I am left with the wonder of steering this incredible ship. After about ten minutes, I relinquish control of the helm back to the crewman.

Laura and I go to stand at the port rail, and the Captain politely excuses himself. I continue to glance in every direction, and when I realize that we are surrounded only by ocean, with no land remaining on the horizon, I take a deep breath. I look over at Laura. Her long, glossy black hair is blowing wildly, and there is a freshness in the air, a freedom as I have never before known. The sun shines down happily on us. Or, is it just that I feel so completely happy?

The rhythm of the ship as it meets each wave lulls us into a comfortable languor, but we do not sit down. Laura and I continue to stand by the railing, not wanting to miss anything. Sometimes long strands of seaweed float alongside, and occasionally we can see schools of fish darting just below the surface. The Captain has told us that we may also encounter migrating whales, headed for warmer southern waters for the winter. Always, we search the waves, hoping to espy at least one whale.

A couple hours later, Jeremy and Matt interrupt and inform us that lunch is served. We look around at them, surprised, having forgotten that other people are also on the ship. I suddenly realize I am famished, but Laura doesn't seem to be very enthusiastic about eating. Nonetheless she joins me at the feast laid out on a large, round table and tastes a little of the bread. I eat ravenously. Everything tastes wonderful, the flavors sharper, more delicious than I have ever tasted before, whether it is the breads, the salmon, the fruit or the salads. Each morsel has a vivid, glorious flavor.

After lunch, Captain Townsend asks us if we would like to try some fishing. Laura and I agree immediately, and one of the crew provides us with the equipment, instructing us in its proper usage. As we fish, Laura and I begin conversing. I had been amazed on Friday to learn of her travels in Japan, China and India, and want to hear more of her adventures and of the places she experienced. She tells her stories with such colorful details about people she met. As she relates more about her journeys today, I suppress a grin, remembering how she had been slightly tipsy the other night while telling her stories. That had added a particular humor to them, but today, being in full control of her faculties, she adds much more detail and insight. I am spellbound as I listen to her tales. To our great astonishment we actually both even catch some fish!

Several hours of fishing have passed when the Captain asks if we want to go below deck for a rest, and Laura accepts the offer, but I do not want to miss a minute of sailing, of this ocean. She smiles at me and says she will take only a very short rest and disappears below. The Captain asks if I would like to take the helm again for a while. I accept without hesitation, and the crewman who had been steering, once again steps aside, but remains close at hand. As I hold the wheel, I can feel the push of the ocean against the rudder, connecting me intimately with the ship, and I can sense her power. Steering this splendid vessel is exhilarating. The captain leaves to tend other business, and Jeremy stands nearby, my constant shadow. That is what Laura calls our bodyguards…our shadows. So, we stand in silence, with me absorbed in the feel of the ship, he patiently waiting, as ever.

Less than an hour later, Laura and Matt appear on deck. As promised, her rest was brief, and they come up the stairwell laughing and running to the bow of the ship. I can hear them talking excitedly and pointing at a huge jellyfish they have detected. Laura's shadow, Matt is standing near her, and I see him put his hand on her shoulder as he directs her attention to something he has observed. My eyes narrow as I watch what he is doing. His hand remains on Laura's shoulder for almost a minute, far too long past the time it takes to redirect her attention.

Jeremy's voice cuts through my thoughts, "She is quite a woman, huh, Erik?" He has moved over close to me and speaks with a low voice that will not carry to the crewmember standing nearby.

"Laura?" I do not answer his question, but nod my head in agreement.

"She's getting under your skin, isn't she?" Jeremy says with a knowing grin.

"What are you inferring, Jeremy? What do you mean by 'getting under my skin'?" I do not like the sound of that and have a feeling I will consider what he has said to be very impertinent.

"It means that you appear to like her, Erik. Whenever she is around, you are different. Usually your dark moods make you sullen, even grumpy, but when she is around, you smile. Good grief, you even laugh!" Jeremy grins in a manner which I have now decided is definitely impertinent.

"Of course, I like Laura." I respond feeling quite grumpy right now. "She is an excellent attorney, as well as a very kind person."

"Kind?" Jeremy replies, the word exploding out of him with a sarcastic tone that is really getting on my nerves. "Do you know what she did to arrange this little outing today?"

I shake my head 'no' but do not say anything. Jeremy's tone is irksome, and I am wondering where he is going with his insinuations.

"Well, she resigned from the case," Jeremy says matter-of-factly.

"WHAT?" My surprised response is so loud I startle the crewman who is supervising from a distance. My heart is suddenly in my throat, as I ask the critical question, fearing the answer, "Laura has quit the case…and will not be representing me?"

"Uh, no…she is still on the case, but she resigned yesterday to get the Admiral to agree to this trip!" Jeremy is now grinning even wider to my great irritation.

"Jeremy, _for God's sake_! Tell me everything you know about this!" I implore Jeremy with a glance.

"Well, Matt and I have been comparing notes all day, and we have pieced together what happened. Matt, of course, was in Laura's living room when the Admiral called to talk with her, and he only heard her side of the conversation, but it went on for quite some time, and she did not back down. Seems she made every argument possible and even came up with some very creative ones, according to Matt. But the Admiral must have said, 'No way,' and so she resigned. Matt heard her! In fact, the Admiral's response was so loud, she had to hold the phone away from her ear and even Matt could hear the Admiral's cussing across the room!" Jeremy pauses at this point in the story and grins at me for emphasis, I imagine, but I nod impatiently for him to complete this story.

"The Admiral said he would call back. Laura sat all day waiting on that call… didn't go anywhere, didn't even eat. Just waited for that call, which came around 8:00 p.m. last night. The Admiral was so certain they couldn't arrange an outing for you, and was so upset that Laura threatened to resign, he felt perhaps they should accept her resignation. He called and discussed his opinion with both Horatio and Freuda. Now Horatio stood up for Laura and said they needed her on the case, especially since they had lost Phen's expertise. He felt no one could step in quickly and replace her. But Freuda basically told the Admiral in no uncertain terms that Laura was essential to presenting their case, especially since the defense was now starting and no one understood you, Erik, or your history, like Laura does, or could present it so thoroughly…or persuasively."

"Yes, Jeremy, continue," I am watching Laura intently as I listen to this astonishing story.

"So, they realized they had to find a way to arrange for you to have an outing on the ocean…to keep Laura on the case. They felt your walking along the shore made you an easy target for a sniper, and if you were there for any length of time, that increased the danger. But, if you were ON the ocean in a sailing ship, well, your security there was manageable. So, the Admiral made a call to one of the wealthy patrons of The Program, told him the situation, and the patron said he would be pleased to help out and loan his yacht for the day. And…here we are!"

"And…Laura is still on the case?" I ask with a sigh of relief.

"Yes, of course! You know, she outmaneuvered an Admiral! Quite a woman, huh, Erik!" Jeremy laughs and slaps my back. I do not respond to his comment, but I continue watching Laura as she stands next to Matt, looking out into the ocean. I am disturbed, hearing this. I almost lost Laura from my case…or was it that I didn't want to lose her from my life? I am no longer certain.

Suddenly Laura starts jumping excitedly, and she turns and waves at me, "_Erik! Whales_! We have spotted whales! Come quickly!"

The crewman, who has been standing nearby, steps forward and takes the wheel. Jeremy and I run to the bow and look over the railing. Three whales, two adults and a smaller, baby whale, are swimming along the surface of the ocean. As we watch them playing, breeching and then diving under the water, their enormous tails sliding in last, we all talk at the same time, sharing our observations. Then, the largest whale comes alongside our ship and seems to look directly at us, as if checking us out. I can only think that I hope he approves of us and knows we mean him no harm. Looking at these magnificent animals, I cannot even imagine how anyone could hunt them. And, to think, the women of my century use their bones as stays in those god-awful corsets! I am thankful to see that they have survived my era and still abide in the oceans of this world.

Then, the largest whale dives and just as his massive tail is about to go under, he slams it on the surface of the ocean and a huge splash of water explodes up and over the railing, making us all wet, head to toe. After the initial shock of the drenching, we start to laugh. A crewman brings us towels, and we just dry off, not wanting to go below for fear of missing a minute of the display of the whales. So, here I stand, in wonder and exaltation, watching the whales, watching the sun's setting rays reflecting brilliant gold and jeweled pinks above the fathomless ocean…and watching Laura. This scene feels suspended in time, so extraordinary that I do not want it to end. As I take in each moment, I know I will remember every second of it for the rest of my life.

Finally, the whales swim off and disappear under the ocean. We watch for many minutes more, but they do not return. The Captain explains that we are headed back to land, a trip that will take over two hours, and he invites us all to go below to a dinner which awaits us. When we arrive below deck, since we do not have a change of clothing, we are given fresh, dry towels, and we use them to absorb as much of the ocean water from the whale's dousing as possible. The heater in the dining area is turned up and warms us after the chill of the wind on deck.

All the tables are set to accommodate four people, so Jeremy and Matt join Laura and me at dinner. The conversation flows easily with everyone's personal favorite story from the day's outing. When asked what mine is, I respond that I loved being able to steer the ship, but the memory I would always hold will be of the whales and the sun setting over the ocean. I keep to myself that the vision also includes Laura.

After dinner, Laura and I go back on deck and watch the ocean and the magnificent hues of the darkening skies. Our clothing has dried in the warmth of the dining room, and we are provided with jackets that keep us comfortably warm. Neither of us wants to miss a minute of this opportunity to witness the ocean in its changing mood and colors as nighttime descends. I do not turn around to look at the approaching land. I do not want to think about this trip…or this day ending.

As the ship docks all too soon, I look down at Laura. Unable to speak, I just let my eyes communicate what this has meant to me. She looks up, and I can see reflected in her beautiful, warm eyes the same wonder of this day we have shared, and she just nods her head. I thank Captain Townsend and each of the crewmen for a splendid voyage, shaking the hand of each in this new custom I have learned in the last several months. I never had the opportunity to practice it all the years living in the lair, but I now understand that it has much meaning: a greeting; a goodbye; or a meaningful thank-you. I will never take the gesture for granted. As our vehicle pulls away from the dock, I take one last look at the _Regina_ and contain my feelings, controlling the tears that press at the corners of my eyes. Never had I experienced such a day, and I cannot help but wonder if one like it will ever happen again.

Soon we are back at the cavernous garage, and I thank the three men who had accompanied us, shaking their hands. Laura and I get into her Corvette, and soon we are on our way with Jeremy, Matt and Joe in their car, following close behind. Laura turns on her music, choosing to play again the Josh Groban cd.

As we drive along this new route, she names the towns we pass through and tells me interesting anecdotes about its history or the people who live there. She clearly knows this area very well and loves it. I ask an occasional question, but spend most of the lengthy drive listening to her, and when she falls into silence between the towns, I reflect back on these last four days. What had begun with a devastating event had slowly changed and been transmuted somehow into the most exhilarating day of my life. I realize that at each step of the way from that horrible beginning moment to the culminating experience on the ocean…at each step of the way, Laura had been there, guiding, helping, transforming….

I begin to recognize the road and know we are but a few minutes from the driveway of Horatio's home. Turning to Laura, I break the silence that had fallen between us. "Laura, I understand that you have been learning bad habits from me," I say with a sardonic grin.

Startled, she looks over at me, "What do you mean, Erik?"

"Either my blackmailing talents are rubbing off, or you were born with it. In either case, it appears that your talents are superior to mine!" I say with a wry smile.

"What on earth are you implying?" Her tone is perplexed.

"Well, you appear to be making a habit of blackmailing to accomplish your goals, and seem to be having considerably more success than I usually did!!" I now actually chuckle.

"Oh, I see!" Laura shakes her head, "so…you have now confirmed what I always suspected! Guys DO gossip! Matt and Jeremy have been telling you about my….activities, haven't they?"

"I cannot answer that question for fear of betraying a fellow conspirator!" I answer evasively with a smile in my voice.

"Well, you do not have to. Clearly they told you how today's outing came about," she gives a sheepish grin that admits all. "But, you know, Erik, if I have had more success than you, it is only because in both cases, I was dealing with intelligent men who understood the logic of my proposal, and they were also good-hearted. You on the other hand were dealing with Andre and Firmin—and others--who did not necessarily have those qualities!"

My laugh at her witty remark quickly dies as we turn into Horatio's driveway, and I realize the day is over. "Can you come in for something to eat or drink before you leave?" I ask hopefully.

"No, Erik, I am so sorry, but I have court tomorrow, and as it is, I will not get back to my home until midnight. I regret it, but I must leave right away," she says as she pulls to a stop in front of the entrance.

Jeremy and Joe quickly jump out of Matt's car and walk up to the entrance patio, stop, and turn around, looking at me, waiting for me to go in with them. I turn to Laura. Feelings are flooding through me that I cannot identify. Suddenly the desire to kiss her overtakes me, but I hold back, feeling that such an action would be presumptuous. I have no right to do such a thing, and with the two men looking on, it would be disrespectful to Laura. Laura, as ever, reaches out her hand for a goodbye shake. I take it and look down, holding it between both my hands, thinking. Before she can withdraw it, I raise it to my lips and kiss it gently, holding it there as long as is proper, looking deeply into her lovely, dark eyes.

When I let go of her hand, neither of us speaks. My mouth is dry and no words come out. Laura nods her head in understanding. I slowly open the car door, get out and walk up the pathway. When I get to the entrance, I turn around and watch as the Corvette starts slowly down the driveway. I stay and watch until long after the car has gone from sight.

Then I turn around to go into the house, only to find Joe is bent double in laughter. "You kissed her hand!! HER HAND!! Good grief man! She was right there…cornered in that little sports car of hers, and you kissed her HAND!!"

I am stunned by Joe's words! He is laughing at me! Hot anger floods through me, and my muscles tense. Jeremy turns to Joe and says, "Joe, you've had one too many beers today. You don't know what you are saying!"

"Yes! I do! He had the perfect opportunity, and he blew it!" Joe persists aggressively.

Rage is now coursing through my body, and I clench my hands into fists, fighting the desire to punch Joe in his mocking mouth. I cannot believe what he is saying! "I do not take advantage of a lady!" I respond through clenched teeth.

"Lady?" Joe sputters in return, "Laura's a lawyer…a woman…and well, she is really a…."

Before Joe can get another despicable word out, my hand flashes out and grabs him around his throat. I do not intend to snap his neck or do permanent damage, but I will stop the flow of his vile insinuations!

Everything happens in an instant. Out of the corner of my eye I see a blur as Jeremy leaps between us, at the same moment Joe brings his leg up in a kick toward me. I jump back and out of the way, but Joe's knee lands a glancing blow to Jeremy's groin. The force of Jeremy falling forward against my arm releases my grip from Joe's neck.

I stand back, panting and observing the damage. Jeremy is crouched on the ground, his arms crossed in front of him in pain, and Joe is bent over, one hand resting on his knee, and the other on his neck as he gasps for breath.

Keeping out of range of Joe's legs, I bend over Jeremy and say with great concern, "Jeremy, are you going to be alright?"

"Well, damn, Erik…I'm not married, and I didn't want to have children, anyway!" Jeremy looks up with a mixture of pain and humor in his face. "Don't worry, Erik. I'll be alright. Just give me a minute."

I stand up and with a cold edge in my voice ask Joe, "And, how are you doing?" Joe looks up at me with astonishment in his eyes, still trying to gather his wits about what happened, I surmise.

"I'll be ok," he responds, clearing his throat and eying me with wary anger.

After several minutes Jeremy tries to stand up, so I reach down and help lift him back to his feet. Jeremy nods a "thank you," then turns to Joe with a fierce look of disappointment. "Joe, you were totally out of line! Erik… Joe's a good man, but he just wasn't thinking clearly, were you Joe?"

"Uh, no," Joe responds, looking from Jeremy to me, "I definitely wasn't thinking."

"Joe, you owe Erik an apology," Jeremy says with the tone of issuing an order.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn," Joe then reaches out his hand for a shake. I look down at it, stunned by this unexpected offer of reconciliation. I am not accustomed to such apologies or behavior. I look at his hand for a moment, then shake it. I nod, but say nothing.

"OK, it's over now…right?" Jeremy looks at both of us.

I nod again in agreement, and Joe responds, "Yes, Sir!"

We turn and enter the house, Jeremy walking between us, like a buffer. I decide I need time to think and immediately go out onto the patio overlooking the Sound, sitting at the edge of the deck in the chair I always choose. Jeremy follows me and sits nearby in the chair Laura occupied only two days ago. We sit silently, gazing out at the Sound, all dark now except for the lights of the buildings and boat docks on the opposite shore reflecting and shimmering in the water. I am deep in thought, going back over all that has happened in the last four days. I feel something inside me is different, but I cannot quite ascertain what it is.

My reverie is disturbed by the annoying sound of Jeremy's cell phone ringing. He answers it, and I can tell that Horatio is calling to check in on the events of the day.

"The outing went very well, Horatio," I overhear Jeremy say as I listen attentively.

"No, not at all eventful," he answers more specifically to some question Horatio has posed, "I think Erik really enjoyed the experience."

"Yes, Laura seemed satisfied with the outing, too." Jeremy says with a smile, then after a pause as Jeremy listens to Horatio, he adds, "Yes, she will be remaining on the case. Everything today _on the ship _went very smoothly."

I realize that Jeremy has not lied, but he also has avoided the issue of tonight's confrontation. Then, after another pause, Jeremy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and responds to Horatio's comment, "Well, yeah, actually, you're right. Everything _off the ship _didn't go quite as smoothly."

"Well, there was just a little, uh….difference of opinion….between Erik and Joe," Jeremy looks up at me and shakes his head in apology. He pauses as he listens to Horatio's comment. "Well…uh..." I can see Jeremy struggle to explain what happened, and I am acutely interested in Horatio's response, "when Laura dropped Erik off in front of the house, Joe and I were waiting on the front patio, and, well…" Jeremy pauses and I can hear Horatio's voice urging him to get on with what he is saying. "Well, we saw Erik kiss Laura's hand, and Joe gave Erik a hard time over it." I again hear Horatio's voice, now louder and more insistent. "Well, no that's not all. Joe was making a comment about Laura, and, of course, Erik didn't appreciate what Joe said…and…well," Jeremy stops as he listens to Horatio.

"No, actually Erik's fine. We are the ones sort of the worse for wear," Jeremy says with a grin, then continues, "Erik grabbed Joe's neck, and I intervened and got Joe's knee in the groin…"

Jeremy gets no further with his explanation because Horatio's voice has exploded over the phone in a loud _"WHAT?"_

"Yes, Sir, that is what happened," Jeremy pauses as he listens to Horatio's comment, then responds, "No, really, _Erik is fine_. He was unhurt," then after another pause, "Yes, I know, Horatio, we are supposed to be protecting him, not picking a fight with him." At that Jeremy looks up with an anguished grin on his face. "Yes, I understand, and I will communicate that clearly to all the bodyguards first thing tomorrow morning," then Jeremy repeats his orders so that I may hear them, "Everyone is to be respectful when discussing or referring to Laura." I nod my head in approval.

Jeremy continues his discussion with Horatio for several more minutes and just as he is about to end the conversation, I reach out and ask to speak with Horatio myself. Jeremy hands over the cell phone, and I take the strange device and hold it to my ear, the first time I have ever used it.

"Horatio, how is your investigation and search for Phen progressing?"

"Erik, we haven't any specific leads yet, but I think we are now on the right track. How did you like your ocean cruise?" Horatio queries.

"I truly enjoyed the outing. The ship was regal and the ocean magnificent. We even observed a family of whales. I have never experienced such things in my life. Thank you for whatever part you played in arranging it!" I say with a smile.

"Glad to do it! I hear you had a problem with Joe?" Horatio asks.

"Well, it is over, and I trust it will not happen again," I respond.

"Sorry about that, Erik. You realize that in our culture we don't have your code of behavior, so give us a little slack, too. OK?" Horatio tactfully points out.

"I will keep that in mind and try my best, but if anyone ever says anything like that about Laura again, I make no promises."

"Understood!" he says with a chuckle.

"I have a favor to ask you, Horatio."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was given the bank account for my personal use. I have only used a small portion of it purchasing books, music and some clothing. May I use it to purchase a gift?"

"Yes, of course. It is there for you to use as you wish."

"Well, then, do you know of a jeweler who could execute a design of my own creation?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Fredrickson's is a Seattle jeweler with a fine reputation. You could call and tell them what you need. I know they make custom jewelry," then Horatio pauses and adds, "Do you want to tell me anything about this?"

"No," I respond matter-of-factly.

"Fair enough. Good luck with it," Horatio replies.

"And, Horatio, very good luck to you!" With that I hand the phone back to Jeremy, and he ends the conversation.

Sitting back in my chair I suddenly feel overwhelmed with fatigue and realize that I had not slept last night. All the excitement and activity of sailing on the yacht, taken together with the recent brawl with Joe have taken their toll. I explain to Jeremy my plan to retire, and he follows me as I go back into the house.

I feel hungry and take a detour through the kitchen, spotting a batch of fresh pink cupcakes underneath a glass lid. I put three on a plate, then go to the wine rack and pour myself a glass of wine. With my scavengings, I retire to my room and place the plate and glass on the low table between the couch and the fireplace.

I quickly strip off my clothes and toss them into the hamper, putting on only a robe. A shower will have to wait until the morning. Then I collapse onto the couch and stretch my legs out on its length. Picking up the plate of cupcakes, I begin to devour them, leaning back into the comfortable, soft cushions. I lie there, looking at the opposite end of the couch that Laura had occupied only three nights before. As I eat the delicious, delicate chocolate cake within that pink frosting, I realize how quiet my room is. I had never noticed that before. I have always lived in silence, in solitude. But now, for the first time, it bothers me.

I reflect back over all the events of the last several days and am aware that something inside me has changed. I have always lived alone, and the one time I found someone I wanted to share my life with, did I really have a proper life, a proper home to offer her? I think back at how I had given my consent to cooperate with the trial because I knew they would bring Christine to testify, and I wanted to hear what her true feelings were, away from the chaos and confusion of that last night, the night of Don Juan Triumphant. And, I wanted her to see that others did believe in me and saw more in me than a crazed Phantom. I had hoped, somehow, she would see me, care for me, still thinking there may be a future for us when, if, I returned to France.

Listening to Christine at the trial on Friday had helped me see through her eyes, from her point of view. I still wished she might see me and my life from _my_ point of view. But, as I think back over these last few days, I realize I want more from this trial now. I want for the truth of my life, and who I am, and what I have accomplished to be known. I want the lies and fictions and fables to be separated from _me._ Now I want to be _vindicated_. I want no longer to live alone, existing from day to day. Now I want a _real_ life. As I finish the wine, I ease back into the enfolding embrace of the couch, the last sight as my eyes close into a deep slumber, the corner where Laura was.

Profuse Thank Yous to our meticulous editor, **Phanna!!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Now the defense begins its case with a most important witness…Mme Giry! And, in her first-hand knowledge of Erik, we begin to understand about his life and his experiences from someone who **_**really **_**knows him! **

**THANK YOU! To each of our readers who has posted comments and reviews!! You are wonderful!! Those who haven't posted...well, don't be bashful!! We want to hear from you, too!!**

**Chapter 20 Testimony of Mme Giry, Part 1, by Phanfan and Phangirl+**

_Seattle, Washington  
Friday, September 9, 2005 _

_Laura's POV:_

I race down the driveway toward Horatio's home. It was only Monday that I was last here, but the intervening three days seemed to drag on interminably. I often caught myself during these past few days, stopping in the middle of writing a legal document, or researching a legal issue, or even a couple times in court, to think about Erik—about our day on the ocean—and looking forward to Friday when I would see him again.

As my car comes to a halt in the driveway, I smile as I realize I do not have to walk up to the front door. Erik is pacing back and forth on the patio with his two shadows standing back and watching. He is again dressed in his formal, 19th century attire. His black suit with a black and green brocade waistcoat is strikingly set off by the stark whiteness of his shirt, cravat and mask. He even wears his black leather gloves today. When Erik sees my car, he looks up, and gives me a warm smile and a nod of greeting. He quickly gets into my car, and Jeremy and Joe join Matt in his car, which, as ever, is following me.

"Good morning, Laura!" Erik grins with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. I wonder if he is thinking about our last time together in my car when he kissed my hand, as I am.

I blush and respond warmly, "You seem very happy today, Erik!"

"Well, I am indeed pleased to accompany you to the courthouse to meet with Antoinette before the hearing begins. I have been looking forward to this all week," he responds with an ease about him which I have not seen before. His excitement about meeting Mme Giry this morning seems to have overcome the usual tense demeanor he wears on the Friday hearing days. "I am anxious to visit with her and learn how she and Meg have fared since…well, since I last saw them."

I smile in understanding, "And, it will be good to have her as our first defense witness because she knows you very well and can clarify some of the so-called facts that seem to be asserted mostly by innuendo and hearsay!" I push the button and start my cd player, turning the volume down.

"Indeed," Erik smiles and nods, then cocks his head to listen to the music selection. I have chosen a Neil Diamond cd, and the first song that plays is "Lady Magdalene."

We fall silent with our own thoughts, and I think over some of the facts I want to confirm with Mme Giry in our pre-hearing conference that will last about three hours. The prosecution also had these three hours from 7:30 a.m. to 10:30 with their witnesses to discuss the evidence and prepare their testimony. Based on the results when their witnesses testified, they seemed not to have been very successful in getting the information or clarity they needed. I hoped to be more efficient with my preparation so that I did not have unexpected facts or statements come out at trial as often occurred with their witnesses.

A gloved hand reaches over and hits the button to repeat the song that has been playing. Erik seems to be paying particular attention to it. This piques my curiosity, and I listen to the words of this song that has captured his interest. Neil Diamond's gravelly voice sings the soulful words,

"_The man on the right is a man undone,  
He'd give you his soul, if you asked him for some.  
A child in his way, for he needs to believe,  
That love is a song for each man to sing." _

"_The man on the left is a man is a prize unwon,  
A candle unlit and a song unsung,  
Believing that love is a dreamer's dream,  
The man on the left, and me in between." _

"_Lady Magdalene, I can hear your distant trumpet,  
Calling from the morning mountain,  
Singing to the passing river, take me home,  
Show me peaceful days before my youth has gone…." _

"_The man in between waits between the two,  
Not hearing the lie, not seeing the true…  
Or knowing what is and denying what seems,  
And there he will sleep, the man in between…" _

"_Lady Magdalene…."_

Erik slowly shakes his head, seemingly deep in thought. After a few minutes, he says, "Those words have deep meaning to me. It is as if he knew me."

I, too, am hearing the words of that song with new ears and realize that Erik is quite right; they are profoundly true words…for him. "Well, the man who sings that also wrote the song, and he is a poet at heart. Little did he know he would be speaking with such meaning to you, Erik!"

"Coincidence, then?" Erik asks with his eyebrow lifting in wonder.

"I don't know that I believe in coincidence. I think all things that seem to be coincidence are actually synchronicities, and probably planned very carefully behind the scenes by our Guidance!" I smile and take a quick sideways glance at Erik, "Just my own spiritual take on things!" Erik falls into silence for the remainder of our drive, but I feel him occasionally looking over at me, studying me.

When we arrive at the courthouse we immediately go to our private conference room where Mme Giry will be waiting for us. As we open the door and step into the room, a flurry of black material streaks past me toward Erik. I step back, taken off guard by the exuberance, which Mme Giry is excitedly displaying. She embraces Erik warmly and then reaches up and holds his face in both her hands, bringing it down low enough for her to plant a kiss on his uncovered cheek.

Erik laughs and returns the hug, but seems quite taken aback by the kiss, and his cheeks redden in an actual blush! Clearly flustered, Erik finally says in French, "Well! Antoinette! It is so good to see you as well!"

Mme Giry, without missing a beat, takes one step back and responds in a flurry of French that is spoken so rapidly, I cannot follow everything she is saying. My two years of high school French are just not up to the tirade she seems to be venting on Erik. I catch enough words to follow that she has been very, very worried about him, and that she thought until today, when she was told she would be testifying in his behalf at a trial, that he was dead. Apparently, she heard about the masked man who was captured by the military along with members of the Commune, and she heard they had been executed. From what I can gather, she is chewing him out because he had not communicated to her to let her know he was alive and well. The words flow out of this small woman nonstop, punctuated with a finger being pressed to Erik's chest for occasional emphasis. Erik, on the other hand, stands silently, taking the motherly lecture with embarrassed grace. When Mme Giry stops to take a breath, he explains his situation and defends himself, also in fast-flowing French. I just stand back, watch in amazement, and let this reunion runs its course.

After about five minutes, Erik glances over at me with a slightly exasperated grin, and taking Mme Giry's elbow, turns her toward me and says in English, "Antoinette, it is only polite for us to converse in English. May I introduce you to Mlle Laura Counselor?"

Mme Giry looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe, and she smiles in approval and steps forward with an extended hand, "My pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle!"

"Antoinette, Mlle Counselor is my attorney!" Erik clarifies.

Mme Giry's smile immediately drops like a wilted daisy. "Your attornee! But, she ees _a woman_! How can zhees be?" Then turning back to Erik, "I have beeen told zee charges against you! You need a veree qualeefied attornee! Do you know what you are doeeng?"

"Yes, Antoinette, and so does Mlle Counselor. She is very competent and a most skilled attorney. You need have no worry!" Erik looks at me and shakes his head apologetically at Mme Giry's outburst. But, I understand. I know that in her day, women simply did not become attorneys.

"I apologize, Mlle Counselor, but I have never heard of a such a theeng…a woman attornee! Women are not known to be logical or, shall wee say, as aggressive as men, and so would not fare well een zee courtroom." she says with a frown of uncertainty. She is still not convinced a woman is the proper person to represent someone she deeply cares about.

"Well, Mme Giry, I do understand how you feel. But women are indeed intelligent enough, and also sufficiently logical to be attorneys," I respond with a gentle smile. "As for being aggressive, well, subtlety and strategy can be just as effective!" She looks at me with thoughtful eyes, and nods her head in agreement. "And, we are here to prepare for your testimony, Mme Giry. Shall we get started?"

For the next three hours, I go over Mme Giry's testimony with her. She seems to become comfortable with me after awhile, appearing to be satisfied with my knowledge of the facts and attention to detail. Erik sits between us, his gaze going from Mme Giry to me in thoughtful observation. Occasionally he explains in French a question I have posed. I am greatly relieved to learn that her recollection of events and facts is the same as what Erik had presented to me in our conferences. No surprises, just confirmation.

At 10:30, Bailiff Henderson knocks on the door and announces it is time for us to go into the courtroom and that the hearing will begin in fifteen minutes. Erik gives Mme Giry a final, heartfelt hug. I find that very endearing in this complicated man. He then accompanies me to the defense table.

The courtroom is almost full. The prosecutors are all seated at their table. M deVere is setting out a stack of legal pads and several pens, as usual. S. Luzano is scanning the spectators, no doubt looking for a lovely lunch partner. Mr. Broadbent scowls a professional, perfunctory "Good morning" at me as Erik and I pass the prosecution table. As usual, he is leaning forward in his chair and surveying everything in the courtroom like a bulldog on a leash.

Counselor Sebbied is already at the defense table radiating her lively energy. I shake my head in sadness that Phen is not here and has still not been found. I so miss her enthusiasm and skillful contributions to the defense. But what is worse, with so much time elapsed since her kidnapping, I am growing deeply fearful.

The jurors shuffle about as they settle into place, and the spectators busily discuss today's important witness. As we are taking our seats at the defense table, I look up and spot Christine three rows behind where Erik is seated. Erik knows she is in the courtroom, but averts his eyes from the spectator section, only looking ahead.

However, I do take a moment to observe Christine before sitting down. She is dressed in a lovely 19th century dress, as are the two women who flank her. They are her temporary guardians, no doubt. We were told she is staying at a small beach house on Captain Townsend's property that has been refurbished with 19th century furnishings. She is easily protected there and has the two women as constant companions. They keep her occupied with walks on the beach, reading, conversation, and apparently, one of the women is a voice coach who gives her daily lessons. When she is transported to the courthouse, it is in an enclosed van so she is exposed to virtually nothing in the modern world. Any such thing she may encounter, she is given a hypnotic suggestion to counter it.

I can see Christine's reaction to Erik. She watches him with intense curiosity as he takes his seat at the defense table. She, of course, has been informed that Mme Giry will be the witness today, and my gut feeling is that it will be very enlightening for her. It occurs to me that the only two people who Erik had an ongoing relationship with in his solitary life are both here in court today.

As I sit down, I cannot help but reflect on the difference in his reactions toward them. He warmly embraced Mme Giry, but kept his eyes down, intentionally avoiding even looking at Christine. I open my briefcase and take out the files I will need for this morning's hearing. As I review my notes, I feel something tightening around my hand, which is resting on the table. When I look over, I am startled to see an elegantly black-gloved hand enfolding mine. Erik's attention is turned in the other direction toward Counselor Sebbied. But, while he listens with amused interest to her very animated narrative of the most recent trying situation with her bodyguard, Erik is slowly tightening his hand around mine. My heart pounds in my chest as I wonder what he means by this. I am surprised at the boldness of this gesture during court, and try to keep my attention focused on my notes. I decide he must be trying to express his encouragement and his hopes for this testimony to now tell HIS story! I respond with a reassuring squeeze of my own hand.

Just then Bailiff Henderson announces that everyone is to stand for the Judge's entrance. Erik and I surreptitiously release our hands and stand, focusing all attention on the Judge as she steps in to take her seat at the bench overlooking the courtroom.

"Ms Counselor, are you ready to proceed?" the Judge queries kindly.

"Yes, Your Honor." I respond.

"Then Bailiff Henderson, please call Mme Giry!"

Bailiff Henderson goes out the door in the front of the courtroom to bring in our first defense witness. I walk around to the front of the defense table and wait for Mme Giry to take the witness stand. Glancing back at Erik, I can see the look of anticipation on his face as he turns in his chair, expectantly waiting for her to enter. All eyes in the room are focused on the door, and the spectators are abuzz with speculation about the famous Mme Giry.

A minute later Mme Giry emerges into the courtroom and makes a strikingly dramatic entrance as befits her profession. The elegant black dress she wears has a high neck collar trimmed with ivory lace, as is the bodice which can be seen underneath a form-fitting black jacket. The full, elegant black skirt flows almost to the floor and only the lower half of her dress boots can be seen below the hem. Of course, it is one of the outfits that Sebbied had selected for her to choose from! Mme Giry casts an aura of elegance as she walks to the witness stand holding her trademark cane. Her auburn hair is piled high on her head, and her unlined face conveys an attitude of calm and control. She wears no veil or hat, clearly wanting an unobstructed view of everything in this courtroom. I reflect with a suppressed chuckle that she probably never misses anything that happens around her.

Mme Giry looks at Erik as she settles into the witness chair, and gives him a warm and reassuring nod. Bailiff Henderson administers the oath to Mme Giry, and she states her assent politely. I can see the similarities between her regal bearing and Erik's, and realize that this serene, dignified woman had not only been his friend, but also his mentor, teacher and his role model.

I smile warmly at the witness and begin, "Mme Giry, how long have you known M. Phantom?"

"Seence he was nine yeers old."

"How did you meet him?"

"He was at zee horreeble carnival zhat was set up in an emptee lot not far from zee opera house. I went weeth zee ballet students. Zhey said eet would be fun, but I deed not like what I saw zhere. Eet was cruel, and instead I was shocked."

"Did you see Monsieur Phantom at the carnival?"

"Oh, oui, I deed." Mme Giry's eyes turn away from me and look straight at Erik. Following her gaze, I see anger and something else in Erik's eyes. Shame! It upsets me to recognize that emotion etched in his eyes and his face, dredged up from the deep wells of his past humiliation. My heart plummets into my stomach, and I begin to feel nauseous. For a few seconds I lose my train of thought.

Then, turning back toward the witness, I ask Mme Giry the question I have most dreaded, "And when you saw M. Phantom, what was happening to him?" My heart skips a beat as I get those words out of my mouth, and I do not turn to look at Erik. I know if I do, I will not be able to continue. But, this question has to be asked, and these facts must be brought out.

Mme Giry takes a deep breath and answers. "I saw heem een a cage. He was a young boy, only nine yeers of age. Zee cage was feelthy, zee ground covered een straw and dirt and theengs zee people had thrown at heem. He was sitteeng een zee meedle of zhat cage weeth a feelthy burlap bag on hees head and holes cut een eet for hees eyes and for heem to breath."

As I stand in front of the witness box and hear these words, the nausea suddenly hits full force. I wobble slightly and for support put my hand on the balustrade that surrounds the witness chair. This is just not like me. I know these facts. I heard them from Erik and from Mme Giry when I prepared her testimony. But now, for some reason, I am getting woozy. And, the answers to the next questions will be even harder for me to hear.

"Mme Giry, how was Monsieur Phantom being treated when he was in that cage?"

"Zee man was telleeng heem to take off zee mask, but he deed not do zhat."

"What happened to Monsieur Phantom when he refused to remove the mask?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Zee man took hees wheep and beat heem and removed zee hood for zee crowd to laugh and yell and jeer at heem," Mme Giry says with anger and indignation in her voice.

"No!" A feminine voice rings throughout the courtroom. All eyes, except Erik's, turn to the young woman who has uttered that word. Instead of the rumble of chatter among the spectators that often occurs when something unusual happens, there is only dead silence. Christine's eyes get wide as she realizes what she has done, and she looks down at her hands, trying to ignore the attention she has brought on herself. The Judge raps her gavel and instructs that no one is to speak or interrupt the witness. As I turn back to Mme Giry, S. Luzano's eyes catch mine, and he gives me a knowing smile and a nod of his head. He is beginning to understand my strategy.

With a lump forming in my throat, I continue, "How did Monsieur Phantom react to that?"

"Zee boy was clearlee terreefied, and zee people were yelleeng horreeble theengs at heem because of zee scarreeng on hees face." Tears are now forming in the corners of Mme Giry's eyes. In my own mind's eye flashes the handsome face of Erik as I saw him when he kissed my hand…the handsome left side of his face, the elegant, crisp white mask on the right and the deep emotion and joy beaming from his beautiful emerald eyes. It is unfathomable to think that this man suffered such abuse. I continue to clutch the balustrade that surrounds the witness box to steady myself.

"Did you see what Monsieur Phantom did then?"

"Oui, when all zee peeple had left zee tent, I saw heem take a rope, and he used eet to choke zee man unteel he fell over on zee ground."

In reaction to that testimony, I can see Mr. Broadbent's surprised expression and confident grin out of the corner of my eye.

"And what did this nine year old boy do then?"

"He took zee key from zee man's pocket and unlocked zee cage door. He grabbed a small bag and a toy monkee made from tweegs and scraps, and zhen he ran."

"What did you do at that time?"

"All of my friends from zee opera house had left. I was zee only person steel in zee tent. I saw heem fleeing from zee cage, and I ran after heem, out of zee side door of zee tent."

"Did you look back to see if you were being followed?"

"Oui, we were eendeed being followed by some of zee men. Zhey were all very angree. Zhey were yelleeng at us."

"And what of the man that was in the cage? Did you see him when you looked back?"

"Oui, I deed. And he was cougheeng and sitteeng up and sweareeng in a most nastee manner."

"So, he was not dead?" I ask pointedly.

"Non, he was not. I saw heem sit up and yell at zee men who came runneeng."

I cannot resist looking directly at Mr. Broadbent. His confident smile has now turned quite sour, and he shifts angrily in his chair. Next to him, S. Luzano is suppressing a grin. M deVere appears to be scribbling frantically on small note cards.

Turning back to Mme Giry, I continue, "And what did you do then?"

"I ran as fast as I could, along weeth zhees boy who was so scared! I took hees hand and lead heem back to zee opera house."

"What did you do at the opera house?"

"I had been at zee opera house for several years and knew zhat zee storage rooms for zee opera props and costumes were on zee fourth level below zee buildeeng. I took heem to zee storage rooms and found heem a shirt and pants because zee ones he was weareeng were nozheeng but feelthy rags. I brought heem a pail of hot water so he could bathe heemself and some food from zee opera keetchens. He was so hungry, he ate almost like an animal." Her voice now shakes with emotion as she describes his condition. I pause to let her regain her composure, and quickly glance at Christine. She is staring down at her lap, but I can see tears running down her cheeks. I intentionally do not look back at Erik, since I am now bordering on losing control of my own emotions.

"Did you find a place for him to sleep there in the opera house?"

"Oui, I also knew zhat zhere was one more level below zee fourth level which was not used. Eet was zee foundation of zee buildeeng and was at zee level of zee river, so it was mostly flooded. Zee few dry places were cut into zee rock and were very irregular, so eet was not able to be used as a storage area, or anyzheeng else, so eet was emptee, except for zee rats zhat leeved there. But eet was so hidden zhere, he would be safe. We took some blankets and made a bed for heem on a ledge by zee water. Over time, he moved to a larger dry area and created a sort of liveeng room and een a small cavern, he make a bed chamber."

"And he lived there, all alone from the time he arrived at the age of nine years old until the middle of March, 1871, is that correct?"

"Oui, for zee next twenty-five years. Over time he would take furniture wheech zee opera deescarded and deed not want to use anymore. He would repair and paint eet and make eet usable for hees liveeng space. He also did zhees weeth zee clotheeng wheech was thrown away. He would sew eet heemself to make eet fit. He was very clever weeth hees hands and could figure out how to make or repair many theengs."

I turn and walk back to the defense table, feeling a desperate need for a drink of water before proceeding. As I walk past the prosecution table I notice M deVere continuing to take notes. He will be presenting the cross examination for the prosecution team, and I assume he does not want to miss any detail. I also want to see how Erik is doing after that testimony, which I am certain has dredged up traumatic memories. I stop on the opposite side of the table, between Erik and Counselor Sebbied who thrusts a glass of ice water into my hand. I nod an appreciative "thank you," and observe Erik.

The green shade of his eyes has darkened, and he clenches his jaw, but nods his reassurance to me that he is alright. He is clearly controlling the emotions that in the past may have overwhelmed him. I admire all the efforts he has made, working with Dr Freuda to heal those wounds. But, I also sense that something has changed in him since Christine testified last Friday. I look deeply into his eyes and see not only a calmness, but also a resolve. Somehow, he has crossed a bridge—it seems as though he is now _in control _of the demons that have plagued him since his horrific childhood.

Walking back to Mme Giry who waits patiently in the witness stand, I ask, "During the twenty-five year period of time you just testified that Monsieur Phantom resided in the fifth cellar, do you know whether he left for a any period of time, say, weeks or months, to travel elsewhere?"

"Non, he never traveled away from zee Opera Populaire. I saw heem almost everee day. I seenk zhat zhere was never more zhan two or three days zhat passed between my visits weeth heem."

"So, would you go down and visit with him, or would he come up to where you lived and worked to see you?"

"Both. At first I would go down everee day to breeng heem food and water and candles. He told me hees fazher had taught heem to read, and so I brought heem books. He loved to read. There was a libraree een zee opera house wheech contained all zee books that people had left or no longer wanted. So I always brought heem several books each week for manee years unteel he had read everee book een zee opera house libraree."

"So when did he start coming up to visit you?"

"Well, he was very, very afraid of peeple at first. Zhen he would onlee go to zee fourth level and search zee storage area and play zhere, lookeeng at all of zee props and zee clotheeng. I would find heem zhere sometimes when I brought zee food. He loved to look at zee props and figure out how zhey worked and how zhey were made. Eet was several months before he began to come above zee fourth floor. But when he deed, he fell een love weeth zee world zhat ees a grand opera house. He learned how to hide as he traveled to all parts of zee buildeeng. He learned where I practiced dance and would watch from a dark corner of zee room. Eet was not long before he was telleeng me how to improve my danceeng techneeque. At first I could not beleeve what he was sayeeng to me...after all...what deed he know about ballet? But when I deed what he suggested, even my dance instructor told me zhat I was eemproveeng greatlee. So I started leesteneeng to hees ideas, and I rose to preema ballereena and zhen earned zee position of Dance Mistress wheech ees what I had always dreamed of becomeeng."

"Did Monsieur Phantom ever venture outside the opera house during those years?"

"Well, oui, he deed. At night he would wear hees cloak and put zee hood up to hide hees face, and he would go out eento zee streets of Paris. He was a geefted arteest and would take hees draweengs to local shops and sell zhem for small amounts of monee wheech he would use to purchase clotheeng and books, as well as tools, paper and paint wheech he needed for hees draweengs and sculptures."

"So, he even did sculpture?"

"Oui, he has a createev soul and talents as I have never seen een any ozher person, even weeth all zee great artists who performed at zee opera house."

"And he has a particular genius for music, isn't that correct?" I ask, glancing back at Erik who seems more relaxed with these questions, but a look of reflection still shows in the depths of his eyes.

"Oui, he most certainlee does," Mme Giry shakes her head in emphasis and looks at Erik with a warm, motherly smile.

"How did he develop that ability?"

"In zee storage room, he found a violeen wheech was no longer being used. Eet was old and had been left by a museecian when he purchased a violeen of a better qualitee. Monsieur Phantom took zhees violeen, and he peecked out zee notes. I brought heem some museec books from zee opera house libraree, and he taught heemself to play eet. He would watch zee musicians and leesten to zee conductor, and by zhees means he learned to become very profeecient, indeed almost a virtuoso."

"Did he also learn how to play the organ?"

"Oui! Zhere was an old abandoned pianoforte een zee storage room, and he took eet apart and carried eet piece by piece to hees leeving area and rebuilt eet, sandeeng, staineeng and feexeeng eet weeth great care. He already knew how to play zee pianoforte, and he conteenued to practice unteel he mastered eet. When he began to earn more monee, he purchased an old, deescarded organ from a church, and as he deed weeth the piano, he took eet apart, transported eet a piece at a time on hees small boat, and refurbeeshed eet eento a beauteeful instrument!"

"Were you surprised he was able to do this?"

"At first I was always surprised at what he was doeeng, what he was learneeng, and what he was makeeng, but after a year or two, I no longer doubted zhat he could learn whatever he put hees heart and mind to."

"Did you have any problems with Monsieur Phantom?"

"Problems, what do you mean?" Mme Giry asked with a pursing of her eyebrows.

"Did he ever cause you problems, such as taking things out of the rooms of people who lived in the opera house, or destroying property of the opera house, or doing any kind of general boyish mischief?"

"Non! He never deed any such theengs! He always treated me weeth respect, and he respected zee people and zee property of zee opera house. And he was very eentelligent. He knew zhat he deed not want to breeng any such attention to heemself."

"So, during his teen years, he was busy reading, drawing, sculpting, and learning how to play the violin and piano?"

"Oui, I theenk zhat describes how he was dureeng zhose years."

"And you were his one and only friend?"

"No! Zhere was one other person."

"And who was that?" I ask, happy to have this piece of information finally made public.

"Gustave Daae, a very great violeenest, was also hees friend!" Mme Giry pronounces "friend" with great emphasis.

"And how did that come to pass?" I ask with a nod of my head.

"Well, zee Opera Populaire always featured zee finest seengers, dancers, and museecians, and Monsieur Daae often performed zhere..." Mme Giry turns, looks at Christine and beams her kindly, loving smile, "...and hees wife traveled weeth heem whenever he was on tour. I was preema ballerina at zee Opera when I met heem. Zhat was before my daughter, Meg, or Christine were born. I liked hees wife very much. She was a very beauteeful and kind woman. And, I was very een love weeth a handsome young soldier, and we were all very close friends together."

"Zhen, Christine was born, and Mme Daae died," Madame Giry again looks at Christine with compassion and sadness in her eyes, "Gustave was eenconsolable. Shortlee after zhat, I was expecteeng Meg and could no longer dance, so zhat was when I began asseesting zee Dance Mistress who I had studied weeth all my life at zee Opera. Meg was born when her fazher was away weeth hees companee, and he was killed een an acceedent. He never saw hees daughter. My heart, too, was broken, and I never married again. M Phantom was onlee nineteen years old when Meg was born, and he was always zhere to help me take care of her. My room was een a private corridor of zee residence area of zee opera house, so he could come and go weethout being seen. He would often watch over leetle Meg at night, hold her, and geev her zee bottle so zhat I could sleep. I was exhausted, but I had to keep workeeng because my job was zee onlee zheeng which gave us a home and provided our food. Zee widow's pension was not enough to leev on. Zhen, Gustave came to perform at zee opera house, breenging weeth heem hees little daughter, Christine. Zhey would stay een a room near mine, and we always helped each other weeth our children."

"So you introduced Gustave Daae and M Phantom?"

"Oui, I deed. When M Phantom was about twenty-three years old, I took M Daae down to hees home in zee fifth level. I felt zhat zee compositions wheech M Phantom had been writeeng for zee previous year were exceptional, and I wanted M Daae to hear zhem and to meet M Phantom. M Daae was a very good, kind-hearted man, and he understood zee reason for M Phantom to leeve as he deed. When zhey met, zhere was an instant bond between two very gifted museecians whose lives centered on zee love of museec! M Daae would always go and veesit M Phantom whenever he performed at zee Opera, and he taught M Phantom zee most sophisticated violeen techneeques. But, more eemportantly, M Daae heard M Phantom's composeetions, and he took zhem and had zhem publeeshed! Zhat was how M Phantom began to earn more monee, and also came to zee attention of zee owner and manager of zee Opera!!

"So, how would you describe the relationship between M Daae and M Phantom?" I ask this question, knowing this issue became the basis of everything that subsequently occurred.

"Well, zhey became zee closest of friends. M Phantom looked up to M Daae as a mentor, almost as a fazher! M Daae had great respect for M Phantom and what he had accompleeshed by hees own hard work and deesceepline. M Daae often told me zhat M Phantom played zhe violeen and sang like an Angel from Heaven!" Mme Giry looks at Erik and gives him a smile of deep admiration.

"Mme Giry, did Christine's father ever refer to M Phantom as an 'Angel of Music' in HER presence?"

"Oui, he most certainlee deed. I was by hees bed when he said zhat."

"What did M Daae say?"

"M Daae knew he was dyeeng. I had already agreed zhat I would take Christine and raise her as my own daughter, with Meg, at zee Opera House. Hees own familee had disowned heem and would not do anyzheeng to care for zee leettle girl. He also knew zhat M Phantom was always zhere, and zhat we were like familee. He felt M Phantom would help to raise Christine and teach her what M Daae loved so much een hees own life...museec. He felt zhat not onlee I, but also M Phantom, who he referred to as zee "Angel of Museec," to hees daughter on hees death bed, would help to geeve her zhees great geeft of museec."

"So, Christine also came to identify M Phantom as the 'Angel of Music?'"

"Oui, most certainlee!" Mme Giry says with an emphatic nod of her head, "When she first came to zee Opera House, she would cry herself to sleep at night. M Phantom who was often near my rooms at night to watch zee performance and to talk weeth me about eet, heard her cryeeng, and hees heart broke so. He could not stand to hear eet. But, he was afraid to go into my rooms because he feared Christine would be frightened at zee appearance of hees mask."

"Then what did he do?"

"He sang to her from zee corridor outside her room, and she stopped cryeeng. And each night he would go zhere and seeng to her. I beleeve eet was onlee hees seenging zhat gave her comfort to get through zee loss of her beloved fazher." Mme Giry looks at Christine, who is now shifting nervously in her chair.

"And how long did M Phantom's singing to Christine continue?"

"For many, many years. Unteel zee time when she started singeeng herself, and zhen he began to geeve her music lessons. He would stand outside zee rehearsal room to geeve her instructions, often singeeng zee passage heemself to show her zee proper breath to use or some ozher techneeques."

"Didn't Christine question that this person who sang to her as a little child, then became her music teacher, was never seen?"

"Oui, she deed ask me about zhat on occasion, but I always told her zhat zhere was a good reason why her teacher weeshed to remain unknown and unseen, and zhat she would seemply have to trust me. And so she told me she would continue to call heem her 'Angel' because she felt een her heart he was zee 'Angel' her fazher had told her about." I pause and glance back at Christine. She is looking at Mme Giry with awakened understanding radiating from her eyes.

"Did you ever disagree with her when she said that to you?"

"Non. Of courze not, because I knew it to be true," Mme Giry looks from M Phantom and then to Christine. Everyone in the courtroom follows her eyes as she connects these two people with her gaze and the profound truth she has just spoken.

"So what was the age of M Phantom when Christine came to live with you and Meg at the Opera house?"

"He was almost twenty-five years old."

"During those years when Christine was growing up, did you ever have any concern about M Phantom's trustworthiness?"

"Mon Dieu!! Non! Of courze not!!"

"Did you feel you could trust him as her teacher?"

"But, of courze! Always!" Mme Giry spits out emphatically.

"Why do you say that, Mme Giry?" I ask in a gentle voice.

"Because een all zee years M Phantom leeved een zee opera house he was totallee trustworthee. He never deed anyzheeng to harm any of zee girls or women who worked zhere or leeved zhere, quite unlike manee of zee ozher men!!"

"What do you mean 'unlike many of the other men?"

"Well...for example, zhere were men like Joseph Bouquet who would peek at zee girls when zhey were een zheir dresseeng rooms. M Bouquet would watch or follow zhem, and sometimes he would try to kees zhem. Een fact he deed finallee molest one of zee younger dancers when she was walkeeng alone back from zee rehearsal hall. She became with child and had to leeve zee Opera house because of zhees. I deed not know eet had happened unteel she came to tell me why she was goeeng away. I was horreebly upset, and told M Phantom about zhees. From zhat day onward, M Phantom would watch Bouquet very carefullee and eef he seemed to be followeeng a girl, he would do somezhing to scare off Bouquet. Zhat ees when zee 'Opera Ghost' story started...when Bouquet said strange zheengs were happeneeng to heem...but I always knew eet was M Phantom, and I knew what he was doeeng and why. And, he deed zhees weeth ozher men—scared zhem—when zhey seemed to be followeeng or about to harm one of zee girls."

"So M Phantom basically helped you watch over and protect the girls and women who worked at the Opera house?"

"Oui, he most certainlee deed. I cannot count how many times he came to zheir assistance...zhat ees why such a legend developed around zhees mysterious happeneengs...zhey called heem zee 'Opera Ghost.'"

I look over at the prosecution table. M deVere has actually stopped his intense note taking and has a quizzical, startled expression on his face. Sitting next to him, S. Luzano is now wearing a smug look of 'I told you so!' and Broadbent is rolling his eyes.

I turn back to Mme Giry, suppress a grin, and ask, "So that is also why you trusted him as Christine's teacher?"

"Oui!! Had he ever done anyzheeng improper, Christine would have told me immedeeately. Indeed, zhey were never een zee same room unteel zee night of her debut!"

"So for the next nine years, until he was thirty four, he remained separate from Christine, not letting her see him, but always there, teaching her and helping her develop her musical talent, just as her father had wished?"

"Oui, zhat ees true."

"But, then things changed, didn't they?"

"Oui. Sadly, zhey deed."

When I walk over to the defense table to pick up a new file, the Judge interrupts. "It is now almost noon, and I think this would be a good place for us to break for lunch. Court adjourned until 1:30 p.m."

As I pause in front of the defense table, gathering up my files, I look into Erik's face as he stands, towering above me. My stomach flutters again when I see something that shocks me. As he looks down into my eyes, his expression is unmistakable. He is pleading with _me_…imploring _me_…_to understand._

_Somewhere In The Pacific+_

The helicopter hardly touches the deck before I shut down the engine and make my way down from the landing pad to the dim interior of the ship to the observation room to observe the prisoner, but I soon find that I can hear her before I even get near her cell.

"_Wrap me up in me oilskins and blankets! No more at the docks…uh, something, something…I can't remember this line. Uh, Tell me of a ship mates, I'm takin' a trip, mates, I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green!"_

"For heaven's sake! Not again!" The man in the observation booth shouts as I come in the door. "I swear, if she doesn't stop singing that damn song, I'll strangle her!"

"It is a catchy little tune," I answer, taking a moment to look at myself in the glass of the two-way mirror. I smooth down my hair and think for a second that I'm glad to have my blonde color back. While I'm at it, I check my makeup, noting how good it is to see my natural blue eyes instead of dull grey contact lenses and to be free of the ugly glasses that were part of my lawyer persona. I fluff my shoulder-length hair, and when I'm finished, I gaze at the man's reflection in the mirror. He looks like the stereotypical doctor in white lab coat, or is it mad scientist? I despise him, so say something that I know will irritate him. "Did you ever think, darling, that you've given her too much truth serum? Sodium pentothal is used in executions you know. There is a fine line between not enough and too much."

He turns and glares at me, his dark eyes glinting with malice. "Since when do you care about more than your looks, woman? And since when are you a medical expert? Just look at her! She's up walking around! She's hardly about to drop dead!"

I ignore him and turn my attention back to our prisoner. She begins pacing the length of the tiny room and starts in on another verse of the song. _"Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell, where fishermen go if they don't go to hell. The weather is fair, and the dolphins do play, and the cold coast of Finland is far, far away. Wrap me up in me oilskin…" The girls are all pretty…something about beer in trees…"_

"Where did she even learn that song?" My companion shakes his head in disgust. "It sounds like some sort of weird Irish drinking song! Of course, with her background, is it any wonder?"

The detainee walks up to the mirror as she sings yet another verse. She stares blankly into the mirror, not even noticing the tangles in her long auburn hair or the wrinkles in her business suit. Her grey eyes are blank as she continues the song. It seems that she is singing for me, though she has no idea I'm even here. _"Now I don't want a harp nor a halo not me. Just give me a breeze and a good rollin' sea. I'll play me old squeezebox as we sail along, with the wind in her riggin' a singin' a song."_

As she sings, her voice drops lower and lower until she is practically whispering the words. _"Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets, no more at the docks I'll be seen. Just tell me of a ship mates, I'm takin' a trip, mates. I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green."_

She goes completely silent then as she presses her forehead to the glass and closes her eyes.

Something unexpected tugs at me as I watch her…something I haven't felt for a very long time, and I find myself reaching up and placing my hand against the glass, right against her forehead. I step closer, and when I see my reflection again, superimposed over her face, my heart jumps inside my chest. I forget where I am as we stand there with nothing but glass between us, and an odd sort of energy seems to flow between us. I see tears gather at the edges of her eyes and suddenly feel them in my own.

"Well, this is interesting…" The doctor's voice startles me, and I immediately drop my hand from the glass. "Very interesting. So, tell me, sweet cakes, are you losing your touch? Going soft on us?"

I step toward him frowning. "Of course I'm not! Don't forget what I had to do to get her here for you!"

He leers at me as he places his hand under my chin. "I haven't, honey. I just hope you don't forget why she's here. In case you've forgotten, we need information from her. We need to know everything she knows about The Program. You know…things like why they want to help that Phantom guy, what they are doing messing around in the past, and most importantly, we need to know where the time machine is."

I smile acidly at him. "Of course I haven't forgotten. I've been involved in this much longer than you have, don't forget, two years to your, what? Five months, I believe you've been with us?"

"Yes, five months that I've done my job when you haven't. Or need I remind you of how you failed to kill the Phantom, his attorney and McCool when you had the chance right after the trial started? So, is it any wonder that I outrank you?"

Smiling at him again, I continue to prod him. "Really? You've done your job? Then why haven't your psychological techniques worked on her before now? She hasn't said a word to you for over two weeks now. You've tried to persuade her to come over to our side and obviously that hasn't worked, because you've been drugging her for the past three days. But that isn't working either, is it? So, now they've sent for me to do the job!" I shake my head at him, feeling the soft bounce of my hair against my shoulders as I do. "Hmm, it seems to me that you're the one losing your touch."

If looks could kill, I would die right where I stand, as he glares at me, clenching his hands at his sides. I place my hand under his chin. "It's tough always being second rate, isn't it…honey?"

He pulls away from me as if I've burned him and stalks to the opposite end of the small room. Seconds later, he whips back around to face me. "Gloat all you want to now, but let me tell you something. If you can't get her to talk then they will do other things to her…very unpleasant things."

I raise my eyebrow at him questioningly. "What sort of things?"

He seems to lose his arrogance for a brief moment as he says, "Things that will guarantee that she talks. No one wants to go there if we don't have to. We would much rather that she willingly gives us what we want, but time is short. One way or another we will find out what she knows. But the question is, can you make her talk, or do we have to use other means…_reliable_ means?"

I look at the prisoner again. She's sitting quietly on the floor, her back against the cot and her head nodding downward like she's about to fall asleep. She hardly looks like someone who warrants all of this attention, dejected and rumpled as she is now.

I hold my head high with confidence as I address the doctor. "Oh, don't worry. I have my ways of making this one talk. Very soon, her secrets…will _all _be mine." +

AGAIN...kudos and thank yous to our loyal, whip-snappin' editor, Phanna!!


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: The second part of Mme Giry's testimony where she tells of Erik's relationship with Christine has everyone in the courtroom on tenterhooks. Indeed, she has several explosive surprises up her elegant Mistress of Dance sleeve!! And, how is Erik taking this testimony, or does he have other things on his mind? **

**Thank you to all who post your wonderful reviews!! Keep them coming!! This is a long story, and the writer's NEED your encouragement to keep their creative juices flowing!!!**

**Chapter 21 Testimony of Mme Giry, Part 2, Phanfan, Rappleyea++ and Phanna+**

_Seattle, Washington  
September 9, 2005_

_+Zoe's POV:_

Lunch break is over and everyone is settling back into their seats in the courtroom. I can see Christine Daae not far from me, sitting several rows behind the defense table trying not to look obvious, trying to fade into the crowd. Right now I would love to go over there and ask what in the world did she think she was doing last week to crush M Phantom's heart like she did with her testimony? I think I would like to give her a good sound pinch while I am at it!

My heart bled as I watched the black blur that was M Phantom when he fled the courtroom after he heard those damning words come out of Christine's mouth. I hoped that someone had been with him, held him and comforted him. Please God, tell me that someone had been there for him…

But I question Christine's testimony. She had not even looked at M Phantom. I watched her closely, and it seemed to me that perhaps she might have felt a little shame…. or guilt. She is so young and seems naive. I wonder if the Vicomte has influenced what she said. After all, she has been staying at his family's home for the past several months and would be in contact with him every day, listening to what he has to say. He was very vehement with his dislike of M Phantom and that might have been just cause in his mind to try to sway Mlle Daae to his way of thinking.

But Christine Daae did react to Mme Giry's testimony earlier today. It was during a particularly heart rending account of his time with the gypsies when they had put that young, innocent child on display and had beaten him. Beaten him!! So Christine does have a soft heart and couldn't stand to hear the awful facts. This might be a good idea to have her here during some of the other testimonies. I wonder if that is what the defense attorneys had in mind.

M Phantom enters just now through the private front entrance in the courtroom, looking impeccable, as usual, in his perfectly fitting black morning suit. He seems calm and much more relaxed than the last time I saw him. Perhaps that is because he has no need to fear what Mme Giry is saying. Indeed, he seems to have a warm expression on his face when he listens to her.

I can tell from what Mme Giry said this morning that she thinks of M Phantom as part of her family. She seems to be a very good friend and protector of this incredible, mysterious man. As I listen to her speak, I pay attention to her soft, gentle French accent, and it takes me back to my childhood when my Great Grandmeme would come to visit us. She had been born in France and also had that beautiful soft-spoken voice with the lovely French accent. I loved to hear her talk and had picked up quite a bit of French.

Great Grandmeme and Great Grandpapa had immigrated to the United States before the U.S. entered WWI. My Great Grandpapa had been a baker, and they had owned and operated a successful bakery shop in a small town near Paris. When they immigrated with their four sons they had brought a small nest egg with them and had invested wisely in real estate. By the time that my Meme had been born in their later years, they had amassed a small fortune, which has grown with each generation since then. Meme often told me stories of growing up with them and had passed on a secret…our secret…. the _one_ that my Great Grandmeme had told_ her_….

But along with the secret also comes a responsibility.

There will not be many more witnesses in this trial and if I cannot obtain corroborating information, then my task might be thwarted. I listen closely to what Madame Giry is telling the court as I hope that she might be the one to give me the proof that I _need_…. +

_Laura's POV:_

Lunch is over, and I sort through the files on the defense table, finding the ones I will need, especially the one with the critical document Phen brought back from 1871 France.

Erik is watching me intently. He remained very quiet throughout the lunch break. Our small private conference room was full of people today: Mme Giry, Freuda, Counselor Sebbied, Erik and me, as well as Jeremy and Russ, another bodyguard who works on Fridays to give Matt some time off. Erik sat next to me, as usual, but ate practically nothing of his lunch. He seemed preoccupied with slicing his meal into slivers and moving it around his plate, but not actually eating.

When anyone tried to engage him in conversation, he would look up and just nod his head, not offering any spoken response. Mme Giry, Freuda and I exchanged several concerned glances, but none of us wanted to confront or upset Erik, so we just kept the conversation as light as possible, away from the subject matter of the testimony to give everyone a welcome break from the tension.

However, I felt during lunch, and even now, that Erik wants to talk to me. But, the opportunity didn't occur at lunch and certainly not now. So, I continue to feel his gaze on me, and I wonder…what is he thinking?

Soon Bailiff Henderson calls the court to order and all stand as the Judge takes her elevated seat at the bench. Mme Giry is brought in and reminded that she is still under oath. I glance up at Erik before I stand and walk to the witness box. I give him a smile of reassurance, and he responds with a questioning look, searching my eyes with some unspoken concern. But, now I can only go forward with the testimony.

As I approach Mme Giry, she gives me a warm smile, and I begin by getting straight to the heart of this matter. "Mme Giry, when did you first notice the relationship between M Phantom and Christine Daae begin to change?"

"Eet was at zee fifteenth birzhday partee for Christine. All of zee dancers and seengers, actors and staff wanted to geeve her a very special partee, so eet was held on zee stage after dress rehearsals ended zhat day. Monsieur Phantom knew about eet, of course, and he was seetting een Box Five, zee box wheech was reserved for heem as part of hees contract weeth zee owner."

"Yes, we will come back to that in a moment. But now, during this party, what did you notice?"

"Well, of courze, M Phantom was not at zee partee...he was, as usual, seetting at zee back of Box Five where he could see everyzheeng zhat was happeneeng, but not be seen by ozhers. Christine had a most happee birzhday celebration, and everyone insisted zhat she dance and seeng somezheeng special for zee occasion. She deed. She danced an elegant dance I had been teacheeng her, and she sang a new song wheech M Phantom had wreetten just for her. Trulee, she sang and danced exquisitelee, and for zee first time, eet was clear she was no longer a child, but a young woman. I was so pleased at how well she performed, I could not wait to go up and deescuss eet weeth M Phantom and hear hees opeenion. We always deescussed zee performances at zee Opera, and he gave me zee most perceptive advice and eensights. But on zhees day, when I sat next to heem in Box Five, I noticed he could not take hees eyes off Christine, who was steel on zee stage talkeeng weeth zee ozher dancers. Eet was clear to me zee way he followed her weeth hees eyes zhat somezheeng had changed. I have seen zhat look before. I knew what eet meant." Mme Giry's gaze settles on Erik who is now intently studying his gloved hands that are folded on the table in front of him.

"So what happened then?"

"Well, several days later, M Phantom came to me, as Christine's guardian, and declared hees desire to court Christine and asked for my permeession."

"Why do you state that you were Christine's _guardian_?"

"Gustave Daae formallee appointed me as Christine's guardian in hees will. I had full legal charge of Christine, and had also been in zee shoes of Christine's mozher ever seence M Daae died."

"So, what was your response to M Phantom?"

"I told heem zhat I knew heem to be an honorable man, and I felt he would make a very fine husband for Christine. I also knew in our culture Christine was old enough to be betrothed, and beeng married to an older, responseeble and careeng man such as M Phantom would be a good marriage. But, I felt eet would be good for Christine to be a leetle older and wiser to geeve her time to understand about hees, uh….uneeque situation and learn to accept zhat as well. I have learned zhat for many people, eet ees hard to look beyond zee surface, and to trulee see what ees zee real soul of a person. I was afraid Christine was too young to see beyond zee scars...to see M Phantom's goodness and hees soul." Mme Giry glances at Erik with affection in her eyes, but Erik is still staring at his hands. Christine is squirming in her chair several rows behind Erik, her eyes wide with new understanding.

"So, what did you say to M Phantom?"

"I explained zees to heem, and he told me zhat he understood. I asked zhat he let Christine be a leetle older before he formallee began hees courteeng."

"And what did he say?"

"He said he would respect my feeleengs. He would wait until I gave my consent for heem to announce hees intentions."

"Was he angry?"

"Non, he was not. I could see hees deesappointment, but he told me he would accept zee situation.. He felt zhere would be time..."

"But, events intervened, didn't they?"

"Oui, zhey deed." Mme Giry shakes her head sadly, looking at Erik with deep compassion.

"What event intervened, Mme Giry?" I ask, knowing we are getting into the sensitive issues which trigger Erik's deepest emotions. I do not look back at him. I must keep my concentration.

"A leetle over a yeer later, Signora Carlotta had an acceedent at zee rehearsal for Hannibal, and Christine was asked to be zee lead performer zhat eveneeng. Eet was her debut!"

"When you say that Signora Carlotta had an accident during rehearsal, there have been allegations that M Phantom did something to cause that to create just such an opportunity for Christine. Is that what happened?"

"Non, he deed not do zhat! I had been talking weeth M Phantom een Box Five and watcheeng zee rehearsal weeth heem less zhan feefteen meenutes before zee acceedent. I do not beleeve zhat he could have gone from zhat box to zee flies above zee stage in such a short time!!"

"Mme Giry, why would there be such allegations made against M Phantom if they were not true?"

"Because zee men who worked as stage hands and een zee flies were often clumsee. M Phantom provided for zhem an easee excuse for zheir own meestakes. And, zhey knew he often stopped zheir advances to zee young women. Eeet was veree easee to blame M Phantom, and what could he do?"

"When the curtain fell on Signora Carlotta, was she hurt?"

"Non! Except for her very large….pride!"

"Is that why she did not perform that night?"

"Oui! She was angree at beeng knocked down een front of zee ozher performers. Eet was veree undeegneefied! She walked off zee stage and left the theater! Most unprofesseeonal!"

"So, M Phantom had continued as Christine's music teacher since his conversation with you shortly after her fifteenth birthday, and had not in any way acted against your wishes that he wait to court her until you gave your consent?"

"Oui, zhat ees correct. He honored my weeshes and continued to be her teacher, even though I knew hees feeleengs were very deep, he never said or deed anyzheeng improper or outside my weeshes."

"Was it the evening of Christine's debut that you changed your mind and finally gave your consent to M Phantom courting her?"

"Oui!" Mme Giry nods her head and looks over at Erik with an expression of concern. I, too, take a quick look back at him, and discover that he is watching us both with sadness reflecting from his eyes. I swallow hard and turn quickly back to the witness.

"How old was Christine when she performed her debut performance?"

"She was sixteen, almost seventeen."

"What happened to change your mind?"

"Zhat was zee first performance after zee new 'managers' took over zee Opera, and zheir patron, Vicomte deChagny, sat een Box Five, M Phantom's box. After zee performance, zee Vicomte came to Christine's dresseeng room."

"Why did that initiate a change?"

"Well, zee Vicomte walked past me as I was comeeng out of Christine's dresseeng room. I had just taken her a red rose wheech was a geeft from M Phantom to tell her zhat he felt she had geeven a very good performance. I saw zee Vicomte enter her room holdeeng flowers for Christine, and I zhought zhat was all he would do. But, he closed zee door to to zee room, zhen a short time later, I overheard heem ordereeng hees servant to breeng hees carriage for heem and Christine. It was clear he intended to take Christine out of zee Opera house zhat very eveneeng!" Mme Giry enunciates with great indignation.

"Well, Mme Giry, why were you concerned with that?"

"Zhat was entirelee improper! I deed not know zhees man, and had onlee been introduced brieflee to heem zhat afternoon at rehearsal. I knew nozheeng about heem, and he had not come to me, Christine's guardian, to ask my permission to take her out of zee Opera house, nor had he asked me to chaperone or provided me weeth assurance of a proper chaperone for Christine who was a very young lady. He had ignored me, he had not come to ask my permeession to take Christine to dinner, and he had not arranged for a proper chaperone, so he had violated everee rule of proprietee. I could only theenk he deed not respect Christine or me, and zhat he was willing to compromise her reputation on hees very first meeteeng weeth her. Zhees was totallee deestresseeng to me. Furzhermore, I had observed manee handsome, young noblemen come to zee Opera for nearlee thirtee yeers and take zee young girls out een such a manner. Zhese young men enjoyed zee companee of zee young ladies for as long as eet suited zhem, onlee to discard zhem when zhey found someone else. But for zee young ladies, zheir reputations were permanentlee damaged, or even worse, some were weeth child and had to leave zee Opera." I happen to catch S Luzano out of the corner of my eye, and he is subtly nodding his head as if thinking of his own daughters and being in total agreement.

Mme Giry takes a deep breath and continues, "So, I went to M Phantom and told heem zhees situation. I also informed heem zhat Christine had told Meg in zee chapel after zee performance she weeshed to meet zee person who had been her teacher for so manee yeers. I felt she must not go weeth zee Vicomte because eet would ruin her reputation, and zhat eet was time for her to meet M Phantom. So zhat eveneeng was when he introduced heemself and took her to where he leeved een zhee Fifth Level."

"Why did you give consent for her to go that evening with M Phantom without a chaperone, but not with Vicomte deChagny?" I ask the tough question that is on everyone's mind.

"Well, I deed not know zhe Vicomte, and he had not shown proper respect or consideration toward Christine or toward me. Christine had met heem when she was seven yeers old when her fazher had performed for zee Vicomte's fazher on zheir estate, but zee Vicomte had never seence wreetten to Christine to find out how she was after her fazher died. He had never even noteeced her earlier zhat afternoon at zee rehearsal. Yet, he wanted to take her out of zee Opera house as soon as he recognized her when she was zee leadeeng performer on zee stage. All of zhese facts, as well as hees lack of concern for her reputation or askeeng my consent spoke very poorlee for hees character. He had done nozheeng to prove zhat he was trustworthee." She emphasizes her words with a shake of her head.

Then, looking fondly at Erik, Mme Giry continues, "However, M Phantom had been Christine's teacher and protector for nine yeers and had never done anyzheeng improper or to harm her or anee of zee ozher young ladees at zee Opera een all of hees time zhere. Quite zee contraree, he had protected zhem. And, he had made clear zhat hees intentions were honorable...zhat he weeshed to marree Christine, and had put off courteeng her for more zhan a year out of reespect for my weeshes. He had proven heemself to be totallee trustworthee, and I knew heem to be a very kind and loveeng man. I knew zhat zee boat wheech took zhem to hees leeveng area would hold onlee two people, and I felt I deed not need to chaperone Christine—zhat M Phantom would do nozheeng to harm her. I had been to hees home manee times, and he always conducted heemself as a gentleman."

After a pause, Mme Giry continues, "I also felt he needed zee privacee of hees home to introduce heemself...after all, zhere was no place else een zee Opera House where zhey could have any privacee. So, oui, I consented. And, I gave heem zee key to zee dresseeng room and watched as he locked eet to prevent zee Vicomte from takeeng Christine away!" I look back to check on Erik. His head is turned down as he again is concentrating on his gloved hands. My stomach tightens into a knot, realizing how these words must be affecting him.

"What did M Phantom tell you afterwards about that evening?"

"He was very upset and eet was clear zhat Christine's removeeng hees mask caused great trauma to heem. He confessed to me zhat he had reacted weeth anger when she deed zhat. He told me he had asked her to see beyond zee face and zee scars—to see who he reallee ees. He took her back to her room right after zhat happened. He felt theengs deed not go well, but deed not know what to do." I turn around and walk back to the defense table to pick up a file. As I stand across from Erik I observe that he remains calm, almost motionless, but I can see the pain in his eyes when he meets my gaze. As I turn back to the witness, I briefly look at Christine and see the tears in her eyes.

"So at all times Christine was in M Phantom's home that night, it was with your knowledge and consent?"

"Oui, of courze."

"When Christine returned, was she in any way harmed. Did she have any physical injuries…any bruises?"

"Non! She most certainlee deed not!" Mme Giry puffs out the words with surprise. "And, I would have seen eef zhere were because I helped her change eento her nightgown."

"Mme Giry, shortly after that evening, notes were received by Signora Carlotta, M Firmin, M Andre and the Vicomte deChagny which tried to influence them to promote Christine over Signora Carlotta. Did you see those notes?"

"Oui, of courze, I deed. M Firmin and M Andre showed me zheir notes...Zhey were veree angree at zhese."

"Are you familiar with the handwriting of M Phantom?"

"Oui! I have seen eet manee times."

"Well, was the handwriting on these notes M Phantom's handwriting?"

"Non eet was not. Not at all. Zee handwriteeng on zee notes was an attempt to mimic M Phantom's arteestic and beautiful writeeng, but eet clearlee does not have zee fluid, elegant style hees possesses. He could not have made such scrawl." Mme Giry shakes her head definitively.

"Mme Giry, those notes were signed 'O.G.' which stands for 'Opera Ghost.' Did M Phantom ever refer to himself by either of those names?"

"Non!" she states with disdain, "He NEVER referred to heemself by zhose names. Zhose names were geeven to heem by zee people at zee Opera house because zhey deed not know who zhees person was who would be seen from time to time, eizher comeeng to zee aid of one of zee women who was, shall we say suffereeng unwanted attentions from some man, or zhey would see zee flash of hees cape as he moved about zee flies overhead or zee corridors. Zhey gave heem zhat name, but he never used eet heemself. To me, zhat was anozher proof he deed not write zhose letters...he would never sign een zhat manner!"

"Returning to the issue of M Phantom having the right to sit in Box Five. Why was that the arrangement?"

"Well, M Phantom had for manee yeers—probablee seven or eight yeers—by zhees time, been writeeng musical compositions for zee Opera's performances. He also painted manee of zee backdrops and zee posters for zee Opera. Zee owner paid heem a salaree for hees brilliant, creative contributions to zee Opera, and een zee contract between zee owner and M Phantom, part of zee salaree was hees use of Box Five at all times. Zee owner knew M Phantom used zhat box to watch rehearsals, and zhat helped heem geev hees recommendations to me regardeeng zee stageeng of productions, as well as to help heem make hees decisions regardeeng zee backdrops and props for zee productions."

"So, the salary M Phantom received from the owner was based on a contract for his creative services...both musical and artistic!"

"Oui!"

"And was not based on blackmail to prevent him from disrupting the performances?"

"Objection!" M deVere excitedly stands and addresses the Judge. "That is a leading question, Your Honor!"

"Objection sustained," the Judge orders.

"Mme Giry, did you ever see M Phantom ever do or say anything that indicated he wanted to disrupt the performances at the Opera Populaire?"

"Zhat ees absurd! M Phantom loved zee Opera. All he wanted to do was be a part of eet, and he was unteel zee two junk dealers purchased zee Opera!"

"Are you referring to M Andre and M Firmin?" I ask, trying to suppress a grin at Mme. Giry's colorful characterization of the Opera's new owners.

"Oui, zhem!"

"So things began to go wrong when they took over the management?"

"Oui, zhey wanted to do everyzheeng cheaplee, not to pay for proper costumes, or zhe best performers, or new props for zhe productions. And, zhey deed not pay M Phantom hees salaree under zee contract. Zhey deed not understand how much M Phantom contributed to zee qualitee of zee productions. Zhey were very greedee and stupeed men—zhey should have remained where zhey belonged—weeth zee junk!"

"Objection!" M deVere jumps up and states with great indignation, "Your Honor, the witness is engaging in unnecessary name calling! I ask that counsel control her witness and that the last sentence of the testimony be stricken from the record!"

The Judge responds quickly, "Objection sustained. The jury is to disregard that last statement concerning the characters of M Firmin and M Andre."

I am a bit surprised myself. I was not aware that Mme Giry's opinion of the new managers was quite this negative. It had not come out when I went over her testimony.

The Judge turns to the witness and directs, "Mme Giry, please refrain from such descriptions of the managers." As the Judge turns her attention back to taking notes, she holds her hand over her mouth, trying to hide that she is grinning ear-to-ear at this utterly honest appraisal. When M Firmin and M Andre testified previously it was clear that the Judge had not liked them and often tried to conceal expressions of disbelief. I, too, am now trying to suppress a grin as I turn back and proceed with my questions of the witness.

"Are you saying M Firmin and M Andre were in violation of the contract with M Phantom?"

"Oui, zhey most certainlee were. Eet was a ten-yeer contract, and onlee six yeers of eet were over. Zhey violated zee contract.

"OBJECTION!" M deVere is beginning to bounce out of his chair like a jumping jack. "This testimony contains a legal conclusion as to whether there was a breach of an alleged contract. This witness is not competent to offer such an opinion!"

The Judge sighs as she sustains the objection and again instructs the jury to disregard the witness' response. M deVere smiles in approval and sits down.

"What did the new managers, M Firmin and M Andre do regarding this contract when they took over the Opera Populaire in the fall of 1870?"

"Zhey never paid anee of zee salaree, and zhey gave Box Five to zee new patron, zee Vicomte deChagny."

"M Phantom has been charged with causing two incidents during the performance of Il Muto. The first incident is the tampering of the spray bottle, causing Signora Carlotta's voice to have 'difficulties' during her performance, and the other is the death of M Joseph Buquet by hanging. Where were you when the incident with Signora Carlotta occurred?"

"I was backstage, asseesteeng zee dancers, getteeng zhem readee for zheir entrances!"

"Were you near the table where Signora Carlotta's throat spray was kept?"

"Oui, veree near eet!"

"Did you see who switched the bottles, or its content?"

"Non, I deed not! And, I was backstage zee eentire time unteel Carlotta started soundeeng like zee frog and had to leeve zee stage—quicklee!" Mme Giry says with a slight grin.

"Did you see M Phantom in the stage area during that time?"

"Non, he was not zhere."

"Were you on or near the stage when M Buquet fell to his death?"

"Non, I was not. I had gone back to zee dresseeng room weeth Christine to help her weeth her costume!" Mme Giry shakes her head and looks at Christine who is sitting very still now, her face reflecting intense concentration, totally engrossed in the testimony.

"So you did not witness his hanging or the man who was seen in the flies above him?"

"Non, I deed not!"

I glance over at the prosecution table. M deVere is bent over his notepad so that I can see the bald spot on the top of his head as he feverishly takes notes. He is clearly trying not to miss any of this testimony, since apparently Mme Giry is not helping M Phantom's case at all with her last responses. S Luzano's eyebrow is lifted in suspenseful curiosity. I have a feeling he is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Smart man, I reflect!! Mr. Broadbent is sitting back in his chair with his arms folded and a look of satisfaction beaming from his flaccid face.

"Mme Giry, Vicomte Raoul deChagny has unequivocally identified M Phantom as the man who was standing in the dome of the main theater and interrupted Signora Carlotta's performance of Il Muto. Do you know who that man was…the one who stood in the dome above the audience and stopped the performance of Il Muto?"

"Oui, I most certainlee do know who eet was!"

"How do you know, Mme Giry?"

"I could see heem from my poseetion at zee side of zee stage, and I could hear hees voice veree clearlee!"

"Mme Giry, who interrupted Signora Carlotta's performance?"

"Oh!! Eet was undoubtedlee M Phantom!"

There are audible gasps from the spectators' section, then a din of voices as everyone considers this surprising testimony of Mme Giry that confirms evidence _against_ M Phantom. I cannot resist a quick look back at S Luzano. He is sitting back in his chair, pushed away from the prosecution table, with his arms now folded across his chest. His eyes meet mine, clearly communicating that he suspects I am up to something. I cannot resist returning his look with an innocent smile. Then I quickly look back at Erik. He is sitting, expectantly, frozen motionless in his chair as he listens to the crowd around him uttering comments, which already condemn him.

The Judge bangs her gavel and again brings the courtroom back to silence. "Please proceed, Ms Counselor!" she directs.

"So, Mme Giry, did you see, or do you have any direct knowledge of who either switched the spray bottle on Carlotta, or who killed M Buquet?"

"Non, I do not know who deed zhose theengs. I onlee know who deed NOT do zhem!" Mme Giry responds matter-of-factly.

"OBJECTION!!" M deVere jumps to his feet and waves his pen in the air with extreme agitation. "This is absurd!! The witness is testifying that she knows who is NOT guilty of these things!"

"M deVere, 'absurd' is not recognized as an objection in this court!" the Judge leans over and peers down at the diminutive Frenchman.

"Well, then, I object to this statement based on relevance!! How can knowing who did NOT do these things have any relevance to this case?" M deVere persists, and I just stand back and say nothing. I can tell from the Judge's expression that it will not be necessary.

"M deVere, I think in terms of this particular case, it may be quite relevant to the defendant for Mme Giry to explain who she feels could not possibly have done these acts, one of which is murder and carries a heavy sentence!" the Judge says with an edge in her voice, "…and, quite frankly, I am very curious to find out why Mme Giry can make such an assertion. I am going to allow this evidence, but I will rule it inadmissible if it does not turn out to be relevant to the facts or charges of this matter."

M deVere nods his head in acceptance and sits down with as much grace as he can muster. S Luzano is now holding his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his grin, and Mr. Broadbent is fuming. I expect steam to appear out of his ears at any moment.

"Ms Counselor, you may proceed with this line of questioning," the Judge instructs with a slight twinkle in her eyes.

"What do you mean, Mme Giry? How can you say—or know—who did NOT commit them?"

"Well, clearlee, M Phantom could not have commeeted eizher of zhose acts!"

There is an immediate uproar from the spectators. The Judge bangs her gavel again several times to bring the situation back under control and gives permission for me to continue.

"Mme Giry, how could you know such a thing…that M Phantom could not have committed either act?" I press.

"Well, you see, eet ees because of zee design of zee theater! Zee dome where he was standeeng ees directlee over zee section of zee theater where zee audience seets. Zee flies zhat Josef Buquet fell from are over zee stage. And…quite franklee, zhere is NO connecteeng door or openeeng between zee dome and zee flies!!"

With this comment, there is total silence in the courtroom. Everyone is hanging on Mme Giry's statement and beginning to connect the dots!! I suppress a smile. Personally, I love the picture these dots make! I steal a quick glance at S Luzano who is looking down thoughtfully and rubbing his forehead and shaking it in comprehension. He knows where this is going. M deVere is still fastidiously taking notes so I cannot read his expression since only his bald spot is visible, and Mr. Broadbent wears a deep scowl on his face, which has now turned a deep red.

"Mme Giry, why does the physical layout of the theater mean that M Phantom could not have committed these acts?"

"Well, zee dome onlee connects to zee rooftop by a spiral staircas. Zhen one would have to cross the eentire roof and go eento a door and down seex flights of stairs, zhen cross zhe backstage area to get to zee ladder which goes to zee flies over zee stage."

"Why could M Phantom not have done that after he interrupted Signora Carlotta's singing?"

"Becauze eet would take feefteen meenutes to go from zee dome to zee flies. M Buquet was keeled weetheen five minutes of zee time zhat M Phantom interrupted zee performance. He could not possiblee have gotten from eenside zee dome of zee theater to zee flies een zhat time."

"Is there any other reason you maintain that he could not have committed these acts?"

"Oui! Zee man weeth zee mask who was seen after Josef Buquet was keeled stood and looked down at zee performers on zee stage for manee moments. M Phantom had leeved een zee opera house for twentee-five yeers. Hees mask was never seen for more zhan zee briefest second, and rarelee seen at all. Zees man paused and let zee dancers see heem. M Phantom had never done such a zheeng, and eendeed why would he do zhat after he keeled someone so zhat he would be connected weeth zee murder? M Phantom ees not such a fool!"

"Is there any other reason you have for M Phantom not having done these two actions?"

"Most certainlee!! I was backstage during zhee entire performance until Signora Carlotta left zee stage. I saw her use zee spray bottle just minutes before M Phantom eenterupted her performance. She had no problem singeeng after zhat. Two minutes after zee eenteruption, she again used zee spray bottle and zhen she could not sing. M Phantom could not have been een zee dome and back stage at zee same time! So, clearlee he deed not tamper weeth zee spray bottle dureeng zhat time!"

"Mme Giry, why would anyone want to place blame for such acts on M Phantom?"

"Well, first to take zee blame for zees theengs off zhemselves. After all, both Signora Carlotta and M Buquet had many enemies! Signora Carlotta was not liked by zee ozher singers and dancers at zee Opera. And, M Buquet had gambleeng debts and had tried to molest several of zee dancers. Secondlee because some may have a grudge against M Phantom!"

"Why would they have a grudge?"

"Because M Phantom prevented manee of zee men from haveeng zheir way with zee girls!! And, zee managers would want to ruin hees reputation as well. Indeed zee junk dealers—zee new managers, zhat ees—announced at first eet was an acceedent. Eet was onlee later zhat zhey claimed M Phantom deed eet because zhey were tryeeng to destroy heem."

"Why would the new managers and owners, M Firmin and M Andre, want to destroy M Phantom?"

"Zhey knew he had a contract weeth zee Opera house, and zhey deed not want to pay hees salaree. Zhey told me zhat zhey would not honor zee contract. Zhis would be one reason for zheir behavior." Mme Giry states in obvious disgust. I look again at Erik and see with a sigh of relief that the tenseness in his shoulders has eased. He gives me a nod to indicate that he is alright now that the hardest part of the questioning is over.

"There are also allegations that M Phantom trespassed around the Opera Populaire, in general, for all the years he was there, but also, in particular, on the night of the Bal Masque, which I believe was on New Year's Eve. Was M Phantom trespassing?"

"Zhat ees absurd!" Mme Giry spits out with utter contempt. "Zee Opera House was hees home. Hundreds of people lived zhere een zee residence halls, rooms and apartments. He lived een zee lowest level wheech was totallee useless to zee Opera and eenhabited onlee by rats. Yet he turned eet eento hees home. Manee people come and go at zee Opera house everee day, some on business, some come out of curioseety. No one was ever accused or charged weeth trespass for beeng zhere. Indeed, under hees contract—wheech was een effect at zee time of zee Bal Masque—M Phantom had been geeven formal permeession to live zhere. Before zhat, hee deed manee zheengs to help mee weeth my work for wheech he was never paid. I knew he was zhere, and as an employee and zhen Mistress of Dance, I gave my consent for heem to be zhere. Zee Opera house benefitted from hees unpaid services far beyond anee rental fee for zee unusable level wheech he leeved on! Zhat ees nozheeng short of an insult!"

"Did M Phantom build or possess any kind of torture room, such as a mirror room, Mme Giry?"

"Non, of courze not. Zhat ees rideeculous! Zhere was a trapdoor een zee grand entrance stairway. But, eet had been built as a special treeck by a mageecian who performed once at zee Opera House. Anyone who looked at zhat elaborate trap door een zee floor of zee grand stair case would know zhat would take much time and monee to construct and most certainlee could not be built secretlee or weethout everyone seeing zee construction beeng done. Eet took carpenters almost two weeks to create zee mechanism zhat allowed zee floor to open een such a manner. M Phantom was eenterested een theater magic, and he deed use eet to make hees dramatic exit from zee Bal Masque, but zhere was never anee torture zhere. On zhat occasion, M Phantom had placed meerors een zee room to hide from anyone who would follow heem. I was able to get eento zee room weeth no deeficulty to lead zee Vicomte out."

"Mme Giry, there are also allegations that M Phantom created numerous trap doors around the theater especially on the way to his home on the Fifth Level. Is that true?"

"Non! Zhere most certainlee were trap doors een various places around zee Opera house, but zhey were not built by M Phantom. Zhey were built for zee use of mageecians who on occasion came to perform zhere. Zhese trap doors were veree complex and required manee carpenters several weeks to construct. Eet would be eempossible to build such trap doors een secret. How could one possiblee use saws and hammers quietlee weeth several hundred people leeving at zee Opera house and have no one hear or know eet? Absurd! Non, all of zee trap doors built zhere were for zee mageecians. To claim ozherwise ess anozher of zee fictions wheech have been created to make an eenteresting storee." Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Erik is suppressing a smirk. I cannot quite interpret what that means.

"So there were no traps or trap doors on the route down to M Phantom's home?" I ask.

"Non, of courze not. Eet was very deeficult to find hees home because one had to go zhrough manee corridors and rooms and through some doors wheech were rarelee opened. Few knew zee way and none suspected zhat was where he leeved, so eet was a safe place for heem, and zhat was all zhere was to eet!"

"The next allegations concern the events during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant. That was written by M Phantom, wasn't it?"

"Oui. He spent manee months writeeng eet. Dureeng zhat time when he came to visit me, he stayed for onlee a few minutes. I had never before seen heem so deestressed, so deeplee deestraught."

"And why was that?"

"He felt Christine was going to marree zee Vicomte, and he wanted zhees opera to be hees expression of hees love for her. He felt eet was hees last chance to win her heart. He onlee knew how to tell her hees feeleengs with museec. Eet was how he spoke and was zee bond wheech zhey had created between zhemselves for so manee years. I could tell he was veree driven, zhat he zhought of nozheeg else and worked long hours each day, to exhaustion. I was veree worried about him. Zhen, zee Vicomte talked zee managers into presenteeng hees opera for zee sole purpose of setteeng a trap for M Phantom. I was horreefied, and I eemmediately told M Phantom zhees so he could protect heemself. To M Phantom zhat opera was a labor of love! But to zhem—Vicomte deChagny and zee managers—eet was onlee a means to destroy him."

"Why would Vicomte deChagny seek to entrap, or as you say, 'to destroy,' M Phantom?"

"Zhat ees a very good question. What deed zee Vicomte have to gain by destroyeeng M Phantom? Seence zee first day zee Vicomte came to zee Opera House he was usurpeeng M Phantom. He took M Phantom's box in zee theater, Box Five. He pursued Christine and gave her an engagement reeng. He followed M Phantom eento zee trap door, weeth hees sword drawn to do harm to M Phantom. I was een zee meerror room. I could see M Phantom een zee meerors and he deed not draw hees sword. He seemply used zee confuseeng effect of zee meerrors to protect heemself. After all, zee Vicomte had drawn hees sword and was waveeng eet about wildlee. He almost hit mee weeth eet!! Christine also told me zhat zee Vicomte followed her to zee cemeteree, rode up on hees horse and drew hees sword, challenging M Phantom to a fight!" I look over at Christine to see her reaction to Mme Giry's statement and see her looking down at her hands. She seems to be wringing a handkerchief.

"Objection!" M deVere has again hopped to his feet and is emphatically chopping the air with his finger. "This is hearsay, Madame Judge!"

"Objection sustained!"

"Mme Giry, do you have any direct knowledge of the Vicomte's personal actions against M Phantom?"

"Oui!! I heard zee Vicomte set up zee trap to capture M Phantom should he attend zee performance of Don Juan. I also heard zee junk dealers…" Mme Giry looks up at the Judge and quickly adds, "…who called zhemselves 'managers,' actuallee give permission for armed soldiers to come eento zee Opera Populaire—when eet was full of people dureeng zee performance—weeth permission to shoot at M Phantom."

"What did you think about allowing armed soldiers into a full theater?"

"I zhought zhey were utter fools!" Mme Giry snaps decisively, and with only a short pause, she plunges into all her feelings about this matter, "Wherever zhey would have found M Phantom een zee theater, after all, zhere were so manee people een attendance for zee performance, and so manee people who were performers or stagehands, anywhere zhey shot a gun, zhey were endangereeng lives, not just 'captureeng' M Phantom. Geeving permission to have such armed men een zee zheater was a reckless, foolish breach of safetee and responsibilitee. Zhen, on top of zhat, when M Phantom actuallee was on stage, performeeng weeth Christine, and M Phantom was harmeeng no one by hees seenging or hees performance, nonetheless, should anee of zhee soldiers have fired zheir gun at M Phantom, zhey could have heet Christine instead and keeled her. To allow such a zheeng ees zee height of stupeeditee!"

I couldn't help thinking to myself with a chuckle, "so say what you REALLY think!" Mme Giry was certainly not a person to mince words and her blunt, straightforward, answers were in accord with her reputation.

"But Mme Giry, the Vicomte would claim that all his actions were because he was trying to protect Christine, that they were engaged and to be married. Did that not justify what he did?"

"Non, eet certainlee does not! Zee Vicomte's behavior on zee night of Christine's debut een Hannibal left everyone zheenking zhat she was hees lover. Signora Carlotta called zee Vicomte 'her lover,' and zee junk dealer managers called Christine 'a chorus girl, who's gone and slept with the patron...' By hees very publeec behavior zee night of Christine's debut, he totallee compromised her reputation. Zhen, he gave her a reeng, wheech he called an engagement reeng, but I have seen manee young noblemen geev such reengs to young women of zee Opera. Eet makes zee young woman feel zhere ees a possibilitee of a marriage, but een noble familees eet ees zee familee, not zee young man who has zee last say about who zhey will marree. Eef zee familee does not approve of zee young lady, and zhey rarelee approve of women from zee zheater, zhen zee marriage will not happen. And, what is zee condeetion of zee young lady when zee engagement ees called off? And of her reputation? Usuallee, she ees ruined. Zhen, zee Vicomte put Christine's life een gravest danger, een zee meedle of a trap, and weeth armed soldiers een zee zheater. Hees behavior served hees own needs and wants first and considered Christine onlee afterwards, eef at all."

"You realized during the performance that M Phantom had taken the place of S Piangi in one of the scenes, isn't that correct?"

"Oui, I was een zee weengs, directeeng zee dancers when I looked on zee stage and saw heem zhere. I was veree frighteened for heem."

"Why would he do such a thing, actually go on stage to perform when he knew a trap had been set for him?"

"He had told me zhat he wanted just once—just one time—to be able to sing one of hees compositions. And, zhees was zee opera he had wreeten as hees final attempt to win zee heart of Christine. Eet was hees last desperate chance to breeng her back to her realization zhat she loved museec, zhat her life was zee theater and zhat he would always do everyzheeng he could to help her connect weeth her true self and her true soul. He was willeeng to sacrifice everyzheeng for zhees...for her."

I cannot resist a look at Erik. His teeth are clenching as he controls his emotions. Several rows behind him, Christine is not as successful in suppressing hers.. Tears are beginning to role down her cheeks, and she is using the handkerchief to wipe them away.

"Mme Giry, there is an allegation that to take his place in the opera, M Phantom killed S Piangi. Is that true?"

"Zhat ees what zee managers would have you believe because eet serves zheir purpose, but eet ees not true!"

A chorus of groans is heard from the prosecution table. I do not look over to determine which attorneys let out the bedraggled moans, but I am guessing it was all of them.

"Just what did happen?"

"M Phantom told me zhat he deed plan to tie up S Piangi backstage so zhat he could take hees place dureeng zee opera. He threw zee rope around S Piangi from a ledge above and was goeeng to tie heem up, but S Piangi fell over een a faint. M Phantom's rope was looped around heem, but hee deed not tie heem up because S Piangi had already fainted. M Phantom just dropped zee end of zee rope and went on stage."

"M Phantom did nothing more than throw the rope around S Piangi, and when he fainted, M Phantom did not even tie him up?"

"Zhat ees correct!"

"Then, how is it S Piangi died?"

"Well, wheen zhe coroner checked zee bodee, he deescovered zhat S Piangi died of a heart attack. Zhere were no rope marks anywhere! I saw a copee of zee coroner's report."

"How did you come to be in possession of such a report?"

"Well, I was een zee office of zee managers when zee coroner's report arrived. Zhey had requested a copee, and seence S Piangi had died on zheir premises, zee coroner obliged and sent eet. I was zhere when zhey opened eet. When zhey learned zhat M Phantom had nozheeng to do weeth S Piangi's death, zhey deed not have anee furzher eenterest een zee report, and zhey threw eet eento zee garbage. I asked zhem eef I could have eet to show to Carlotta because she would want to know what had happened to S Piangi. Zhey said yes, I could have eet."

"Did you take the coroner's report and show Signora Carlotta?"

"Oui, I deed."

"And what did she do?"

"She thanked me for telleeng her, but she deed not want to see eet, and asked me to never deescuss eet again seence eet caused her such deestress."

"What did you do with that report?"

"I took eet back to zee managers' office and placed it on zheir desk."

I open up the file I am holding and pull out a piece of old-fashioned parchment. It is a very interesting document that Phen found when she searched the office of Andre and Firmin. I walk over to the prosecution table and hand it to M deVere who takes many minutes reading and studying it carefully. Finally he hands it back to me with a gruff grunt and nods his head.

Turning to the Judge, I request, "Your Honor, I submit this document into evidence, and I request that you take judicial notice that it is a certified and authentic coroner's report which verifies that S Piangi died of a heart attack. This report also verifies that there were no rope marks on the body—anywhere!"

The Judge takes the document, reads it and smiles, "So admitted and so noticed!"

Walking back toward Mme Giry, I continue. "So, M Phantom took S Piangi's place on stage and performed the opera he had written?"

"Oui!"

"And that is when you realized what he had done?"

"Oui! Zhat was zhe first time I realized what hees plan was. I heard hees voice and looked out onto zee stage. I was so shocked, I gasped and held my breath. But, zhen I was entranced by hees seenging, hees presence, zee passion he had for zee museec, and clearlee for Christine. I have been een zee zheater for almost thirtee years, but I had never seen such a breathtakeeng performance. I felt as eef he had been kept all hees life from beeng where he so clearlee belonged. Eet was transfixeeng for everyone who weetnessed hees performance..." Looking over my shoulder I see a smile of remembrance flicker on Erik's lips, as well as a small measure of satisfaction and vindication.

"But at the end of the performance, M Phantom, who was on the bridge with Christine, took a knife, cut the rope which held the grand chandelier, and dropped through a trap door to the floor below, making good an escape. Is that also what you saw?" I hear startled gasps from around the courtroom as I ask Mme Giry to confirm some of the charges against M Phantom.

"Oui, zhat ees what I saw."

"But didn't you also see many other things at the same time?"

"Oui! I deed! When Christine tore off hees mask and all zee soldiers could see who he was, I clearlee saw zee soldiers who were standeeng in zee wings of zee stage aim zheir guns directlee at him...and Christine was standeeng weethin inches of him. I also saw, as deed M Phantom, ozher soldiers walkeeng from the back of zee zheater toward zee stage weeth zheir guns readee to shoot! Eef zee soldiers shot zheir guns, een zee dim light of zee zheater, and considereeng zhat common soldiers are not marksmen or highlee accurate weeth zheir aim…well, I felt zhat eef zhey shot at M Phantom, zhey would also have hit Christine. I was terreefied zhat Christine would be killed by zhese crazy men! I was relieved when M Phantom escaped zhrough zee trap door weeth Christine. I felt he saved her life."

M deVere has paused his note taking, his attention directed raptly at the witness. S Luzano catches my eye. He gives me a look of admiration, and dare I say it? Approval? Continuing on with this enlightening testimony, I ask, "When the chandelier crashed, what happened?"

"Zee chandelier rope was cut to cover zee escape. Zhat ees true. However, cutteeng zee rope and breenging down zee chandelier diverted zee soldiers' attention, and no one shot zheir gun. Had zee soldiers not been comeeng toward zee stage weeth zheir guns aimed and readee to shoot, M Phantom would have never taken such extreme measures."

"But Mme Giry, when the chandelier crashed, it caused a fire which damaged the Opera house and several people were injured trying to escape out of the theater, but were unable to, isn't that correct?"

"Oui, eet ees true. But eet was zee managers who had ordered all of zee side doors of zee theater to be locked. Zhese doors are for zee audience to escape zhrough een case of such a fire. I knew zhe new jun…uh, managers had ordered zhees, and I had argued weeth zhem not to lock zee doors, but zhey told me to mind my own business...zhat zhey would do whatever zhey wanted een zheir zheater. I was present when zhey planned zee trap for M Phantom, and I heard M Andre say to zee Vicomte and M Firmin, zhat zhey would 'be certain zee doors are barred.' And so, zhose people who were trapped at zee doors and hurt, eet was because zhey could not open zee doors to leeve. Had zhose door been unlocked, zhen everyone would have been able to leeve zee zheater safelee. All zhees happened because zhese three men, M Firmin, M Andre, and zee Vicomte had a grand plan to capture_...or kill_...M Phantom."

"So, you are saying that all three of these men had their personal reasons for wanting to be rid of M Phantom?"

"Oui, M Firmin and M Andre wanted to be rid of M Phantom who had a right to be zhere under hees contract, but zhey did not want to pay hees salaree! And zee Vicomte had hees own personal weeshes in regards to Christine," I follow Mme Giry's gaze which has settled on Christine. The young woman's face has turned white, as if all blood has drained from it. Apparently the realization of what she had participated in finally dawned on her. "…and he did not want those thwarted, but I have always wondered eef he also had other theengs on hees mind!"

"And what would that be, Mme Giry?"

"M Phantom brought a toy monkee weeth heem from zee carnival. Eet appeared to be a veree dirtee, ragged toy, but he showed me eet contained somezheeng veree, veree special eenside."

"And what was that?"

"After he had been at zee Opera house for several months, I had just given heem a book of French heestory, a book about zee noble houses of France. Well, he got hees monkee, and he said he wanted to show me somezheeng and ask my opeenion. He pulled open a seam on zee backside of zee monkee and reached hees finger een to zee stuffeeng and pulled out a round medallion. Eet was made of gold and had a crest engraved on eet. He asked eef zhees were a crest of any of zee French noble familees. I said we could look een zee heestory book wheech had pictures of such crests. When we looked, we found zhat zee crest on hees medalleeon was zee same as a crest een zee book."

"And which crest was that?"

"Well, eet was zee crest of zhe deChagny noble familee."

"Is there any connection between Raoul deChagny and this crest?"

"Oui. Such a connection was confirmed manee yeers later when M Phantom was over thirtee years old. Phillipe deChagny, zee older brozher to Raoul, became zee patron of zee Opera Populaire. He enjoyed watcheeng rehearsals, and he began to hear about zee Opera Ghost, and zhat he wore a mask over half of hees face. Phillipe went to zhe owner and to me to ask eef we knew about zhees man. I, of courze, told heem no. But he was a veree shrewd man, and he saw my hesitation, and he knew zhat I deed know somezheeng. Several weeks later he took me aside and asked to speak weeth me in private. Zhen he unfolded an elegant, silk tapestree, weeth hand-sewn embroideree of zee crest for a deChagny count . He left zhees weeth me, sayeeng he felt I would get eet to eets proper owner. I showed eet to M Phantom, and zee crest was zee same as zhat on hees medallion. So we felt we knew who he was, but weethout zee birth records, we could prove nozheeng . But, zhees all had a profound effect on M Phantom."

"Did M Phantom in any way harm Phillipe deChagny?"

"Non! Zhey never even met. And why would he harm heem? What would he have to gain by zhat? But, on zhe ozher hand, what eef Raoul knew about Phillipe's suspicions? Phillipe told me zhat zheir misseeng brozher was zee eldest! What eef Raoul knew and feared what M Phantom's true identitee may be?"

"Why did M Phantom not adopt this family name?"

"When he came to zee Opera house, he onlee knew hees first name for certain—'Erik.' When he turned 18, he decided he needed a last name, and he chose zee name 'Phantom,' because he felt zhat was to be hees fate...to haunt zee halls of zee Opera house all of hees life. When he received zee tapestree Phillipe left weeth me, he told me he would never take zhat name weethout definite proof. He said he was resigned to hees fate…to be onlee a phantom and to live zee life of a shadow.…"

My heart breaks as those words reverberate throughout the courtroom. "Thank you, Mme Giry. That will be all."

_Luzano's POV:++ _

The bella Ms Counselor skillfully dances her way through M Phantom's defense in her elegant high heeled shoes, which by the way, set off her very shapely legs. But Ms Counselor's lovely legs are not the only thing I've noticed this morning in the courtroom. _"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie... that's amore..."_ Ha, ha, ha! No, I am not crazy. When it comes to amore, love, I am more expert than in matters of the law! I see that Ms Counselor cannot help glancing back at M Phantom to see how he is reacting to this very personal testimony of Mme Giry. He is much calmer today. Ah this is very good. I think young Mlle Daae's testimony turned out to be good for him. Like lancing a boil - very painful but it releases the infection and lets the body heal. M Phantom needed his obsession with his young student lanced out of his heart. She was too young for him. No, I am certainly not against a man enjoying a young, beautiful companion. And many young women appreciate a man who has matured like a fine wine. I am not talking about age here. I am talking about maturity in mind and spirit. And now I think M Phantom may be seeing his attorney with fresh eyes. This bellisima counselor may be just the match for our musical genius. It makes me want to sing for joy!

This happy turn of events more than makes up for the fact that I know our case has suffered greatly from the testimony of Mme Giry. We will have difficulty challenging her on cross-examination, but, of course, we must. It is our job. But, in my heart, I feel this case is already slipping from our grasp. I am not upset by that possibility though. I for one would be most happy to see the defendant found innocent. After all, the world needs more music, more art, more amore!

My eyes follow Ms Counselor as she finishes the testimony of the witness and takes her seat next to the defendant. M Phantom leans down, smiles and whispers something into her ear, and she nods in response, but her eyes disclose something more than professional interest. I can see the look in the eyes of M Phantom when he watches her as she spins her legal magic in the courtroom. I can also see that he hides his feelings from her, as she is hiding her feelings from herself. I smile knowingly as I ponder that it is a dance of denial, and I wonder how long they can maintain it.

Madame Judge announces that since Mme Giry's testimony has taken all day, she will be recalled a week hence, at next Friday's hearing for her cross-examination. Yet another happy occurrence today! This will give me more time back home in Italia to enjoy some amore myself! As the judge bangs the gavel and dismisses court, I hear Mr. Broadbent snort in disgust. He grabs his briefcase and mumbles several vulgarities under his breath. Ah, the man is a swine with no appreciation for the finer things in life. I smile to myself at the thought that M Phantom may be proven innocent of the murders charged against him in this trial, but considering the state of Mr. Broadbent's heart, this trial may be the death of him++

Rappleyea added some humorous touches to M deVere's objections during Mme Giry's testimony. A million thanks to Phanna for her diligent editing!!


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Mme Giry's testimony is not over. She still has to face cross-examination the following Friday and between those court dates, she stays with Erik at Horatio's home. But something is deeply bothering Erik, and it has to do with Laura. When Laura comes to the house to prepare Mme Giry for her next testimony on Saturday, will Erik take advantage of that opportunity?**

**Thank you to each of you who posts such wonderful comments!! We writers are SO glad to hear your thoughts and reactions, and know you are enjoying our story….We care about The Case and are so glad to hear when you do, too!!**

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**Chapter 22 The Gazebo, Part 1, by Phanfan 44 **

_Seattle, Washington __  
__Saturday, September 10, 2005 _

_Laura's POV:_

Racing up Horatio's driveway in my black Corvette, I feel invigorated by the unusually sunny, mild weather. There is just a tinge of coolness in the air and very little wind. A perfect day, and I cannot deny that I am looking forward to my weekly consultation with Erik. Our conference today includes Mme. Giry since she will be facing the prosecution's cross-examination at the next hearing.

As usual, I arrive at 2:00 p.m. What is not usual is that Matt, my bodyguard, is sitting in the passenger seat of my car rather than following in his. Since I won't be taking Erik anywhere today, Matt proposed that he ride with me.

When I stop my car in Horatio's driveway, my heart skips several beats. Erik is already waiting for me on the entrance patio, seated on the short brick wall that borders the pathway. His arms are folded, and he is deep in thought. When he hears my car, he looks up at me and beams that glorious grin of his, which includes a devilish twinkle in his sea-green eyes.

Unfortunately, Matt, too, observes Erik's reaction. He looks at me and says with a wicked smile, "Well, it's nice that Erik doesn't mind taking time out of his weekends to talk to his attorney!"

Ignoring Matt's comment, I get out of the car and walk slowly down the pathway, not wanting to seem too hurried or anxious as I approach Erik. But, I am upset that Matt seems to think there is something personal happening between Erik and me. And, if he thinks that, the other men probably think that, also. I will have to work harder to demonstrate that the relationship between Erik and me is mostly professional. I resolve to make the boundaries apparent to everyone!

Although he is dressed in 19th century style, Erik wears no jacket today, only his black waistcoat over the white ruffled shirt and a cheerful green silk cravat pinned with a pearl stud. Just looking at him standing up to greet me makes my pulse quicken. I chastise myself for these thoughts, these feelings. He is my client, and we may have become friends, but it stops there. If the defense is successful, he returns immediately to France. That is his life and his destiny. Mine is here. I must keep personal feelings out of this.

"Good day, Laura!" Erik says warmly, as he towers above me and takes my hand in his, as has become our custom. I am not wearing my 4-inch heels today. In fact, I am wearing the comfortable light blue dress Freuda purchased last weekend for me, as well as the Italian sandals, so my 5 foot, 6 inch height is increased by only a fraction. Erik, on the other hand, is wearing his formal boots with the rather tall heels, increasing his 6 foot 4 inch height a couple inches. So, today he is a foot taller than me, and I gasp as he leans over and takes hold of my arm. Somehow, I never quite get used to Erik's striking presence and fluid, commanding movements.

Finding my voice, I finally respond, "Hello, Erik, how are you today? And, Mme Giry? Are you enjoying her company?"

"Oh, yes! We have been sharing our stories of what has happened since we were last together at the Opera house." Then he opens the door and directs me to the den, never letting go of me.

"However, her stories are not as pleasant as mine," he says with a sad shake of his head, "The chaos caused by the fighting between the Commune and the military has been a terrible hardship on the people of Paris. M. Lefevre was wise to sell the Opera when he did and move to Australia."

I nod my head in understanding. I have read about the Commune which lasted only months, from the middle of March 1871, just days after the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, to the end of May, before the government suppressed it. What began as an idealistic movement to restore rights and political power to the people, led to violent fighting and the bloody suppression of the movement. Political chaos continued for sometime.

Looking up at Erik, I respond, "Indeed, had The Program not interceded in the past and rescued you, you would have died along with several Commune members. As for me, Erik, I am very thankful that part of its history—and timeline—has already been changed." He looks down at me with thoughtful intensity and almost says something, but seems to think better of it as we enter the den. Erik is still holding my arm and formally directs me over to the chair where Mme Giry is seated.

"Mme Giry, it is a pleasure to see you again!" I say, as I extend my hand.

"Good day, Ms. Counselor! Eet ees an honor to see you. Erik was correct. You are a very good attornee, for wheech I am deeply zhankful!" she says as she rises from her chair. She is dressed today in a black dress which is much simpler than the formal one she wore in court. This one has a low cut bodice with lace border and shorter sleeves that come to just below the elbow. The skirt is not as full, and she looks much more comfortable and relaxed.

"Please, call me Laura," I respond with a smile.

"Zhank you. I am looking forward to getting to know you better at zee dinner Erik has arranged for zee three of us!" she says as she takes my hand warmly, holding it between both of hers as Erik has done with me on occasion.

I glance up questioningly at Erik who is grimacing. "I did not know about the dinner," I respond.

"No. I had not told Laura yet, Antoinette. After all, Laura just arrived, and well, I was going to tell her after our conference--as a surprise!" Erik raises an eyebrow in chastisement at Mme Giry.

"Oh! Zhen you should have told me so zhat I deed not make a fool of myself!" Mme Giry retorts with good humor.

"Well, actually, I was extended a standing invitation to dine here after the Saturday conferences with Erik," I add to smooth any ruffled feathers.

"This is different, Laura," Erik smiles down at me. "Just the three of us will be having dinner in the Admiral's Japanese garden."

"Oh?" I ask, slightly puzzled.

"Yes. Horatio is still gone, and since Antoinette will be here only this one weekend, I asked if the three of us could have a private dinner. Freuda graciously understood, and Jeremy said he and Matt would like to watch a sporting game on the television. So, dinner will include only the three of us!"

"But Jeremy and Matt are our shadows, Erik! How can they NOT be with us?"

"Well, we will be dining in the Japanese garden of the Admiral. Remember, his home is connected to Horatio's. His garden is surrounded by a high wall, which apparently possesses security cameras that are able to guard all the country surrounding the garden. So, for once, Matt and Jeremy need not hover over us. They will still be nearby should some need arise."

"Oh! I see!" Actually my mind is churning trying to "see." Why this special, private dinner, which includes only Erik, Mme Giry and me, is not clear at all. I wonder if they are concerned about the trial and want to ask a lot of questions about my opinions of the outcome. I will be glad to reassure them that everything is going very well. Being in our modern culture must be difficult for both of them. They probably have many questions. Yes, I decide. That must be the reason.

"Shall we get started?" I say, wanting to get down to business. When we are all comfortable, I look at Mme Giry and say, "Today we will only be doing one thing. We will be preparing you for the cross-examination. I have prepared a very long list of possible questions that may be asked. This allows you to think about them and practice your responses. Some of these questions may seem very harsh, even difficult to answer, but I am doing that so you will be aware of what questions may be posed in court, so that you will not be surprised. In fact, if my questions are more difficult than you face next week in court, that is to our advantage! It means your testimony will be easy in comparison," I say with a chuckle, hoping to put her at ease.

Mme Giry smiles back, "I understand, Laura. Zhen do your worst!" We all laugh, and I begin immediately.

I direct many questions at Mme Giry, but she fields them expertly. She clearly has a fine mind and can even spot the traps and maneuver through them with grace. I rarely need to suggest alternate responses. Occasionally Erik adds an important insight, or reminds Mme Giry of a forgotten event. After three hours of this intense preparation, I declare the session complete. Mme Giry sighs in relief. Erik quickly stands and leans over me, again taking my arm to help me out of the chair and direct me into the hallway.

Erik leads us to the elevator and when we get to the lower floor and the door opens, I recognize the wide corridor of the Admiral's home. Erik guides us down several hallways. Obviously, he knows the layout well. I wonder how much of the planning for this dinner he had done himself. Finally we turn into a hallway which leads to heavy double doors carved with an oriental design, and when Erik opens one of the doors, we enter into a large Japanese garden. It is so large, in fact, that I cannot see the surrounding fence Erik referred to when speaking of the security cameras.

We walk down a natural stone path through Japanese myrtle and pine trees to a patio that is adjacent to an enormous pond filled with koi. A dining table is set at the water's edge. The table is square and black in the Japanese style, as well as being quite small and intimate with no room for serving dishes. A beautiful floral arrangement occupies the place where a fourth person would sit.

"I have never seen such a beauteeful and unusual garden! Why Erik…zhees ees veree special of you to have arranged!" Mme Giry seems almost stunned by the setting, but I have been in many Japanese gardens and always love them. This one is well designed and clearly very old with gracefully sculpted pines, but it is the placement of the table and its elegant settings and flowers that draw my attention.

"Yes, this is a lovely garden. But the location of our table and its settings are exquisite! Thank you, Erik!" I look up at him with a smile of appreciation only to discover he is watching me intently.

"Laura, I am pleased that you find it agreeable. I spent considerable time in this garden last week with both the gardener and the chef trying to choose the right spot for our dinner. The water's edge seemed to have a very lovely aspect, and, frankly, the pool reminded me of my old home. Except, of course, that it did not have the koi!" he says with an impish smile.

Erik pulls out the chair for Mme Giry, then for me. He seats himself to my right and across from Mme Giry who glances sideways at me with an eyebrow raised in surprise as she picks up the stem of orchids that is placed on a glossy black plate atop her elegant white satin placemat. I have an identical one at my place setting as well. They both have short stems that contain five butterfly orchids, which are interwoven with miniature green and white heart-shaped ivy, tied with a bow of black silk ribbon. Our orchids are the same as those in the beautiful floral arrangement on the table that had first caught my eye. That arrangement stands gracefully tall, with the stems of orchids and twisted live bamboo shoots arranged in a tall black vase. All the linens on the table are made of snow-white satin, the plates are black with simple Japanese styling and the glasses fine, cut crystal.

"Erik, you put these here for us?" Mme Giry asks with tears in her eyes as she admires her orchids.

"Oui, Antoinette. A small gift. A 'thank you!'" Erik responds with an endearing gentleness in his voice and in his lovely, expressive eyes.

I pick up my stem of orchids and examine it. They are creamy white except for a touch of delicate pink in the center. "The color is so delicate, so beautiful! Thank you!" I observe with a look of wonder at Erik.

"Oui. Zee colors are very special and meaneegful. Zhank you, Erik," Mme Giry says with a catch in her voice.

I give her a curious, questioning glance, so she explains. "Laura, in our culture, flowers are chosen for zheir meaning! Even the color has meaning! Zee black ribbon, well we know what zhat represents!" Mme Giry laughs with a twinkle in her eyes as she looks across the table at Erik. "But zee white symbolizes puritee. Pink represents unconditional love and happeeness. Ivy means fideltee and friendship. When a rose ees pink and white, eet means endureeng love! So, you see, Laura, Erik ees telleeng us somezheeng. Zhese are a compleement to us, but zhey also tell me somezheeng perhaps Erik deed not know was also being said…zhat he ees happy! Zhere are no more red roses!!" A knowing look goes between Erik and Mme Giry, and I tactfully refrain from asking what Mme Giry means. But, I can't help wondering what significance does "red roses" have? I make a mental note to ask her if the opportunity arises.

We only visit a few more moments before the Admiral's Japanese chef brings sushi and calamari appetizers. We are then brought miso soup and thinly sliced cucumber salad, followed by a meal of sashimi, teriyaki and gyoza, each prepared with delicious sauces. Mme Giry has never had such food, but she is very adventurous and samples everything, commenting on the unusual textures and flavors. She is a true French woman with a delicate palate for delicious food.

We eat slowly, enjoying each course and delicacy, and surprisingly talk about anything _except_ the case. Mme Giry and Erik tell me delightful, often hilarious stories of the challenges of putting together an opera, with all the details to manage, as well as all the things that can and do go wrong, but must never, ever show to the audience. Then Erik encourages me to share some of my stories of my travels in the orient. Mme Giry enjoys them, but is particularly surprised that I had traveled alone. She considers me to be very brave. Thinking back on it from her viewpoint, perhaps I was a bit young and foolhardy, but angels seemed to watch over me and whenever a problem occurred, someone always seemed to help out, and it just became another special memory.

By the time we finish eating, twilight is setting in. The yellows, pinks, peaches and blues of the sunset are streaking across the western sky, around the white cumulous clouds. It is a magnificent sunset and the colors are glorious, as if someone had ordered it to go with this enchanting garden and delightful dinner. That is when Mme Giry finds out I have never heard Erik play the violin or organ, or sing.

"Zhat is simplee unbelievable," Mme Giry says with both eyebrows raised in stunned indignation. "How can zhees be. How long have you known Erik?" she asks, turning to me.

"Well, Mme Giry, we met the first of June, so we have known each other for over three months," I say with an embarrassed grin as if I were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Zhees ees unacceptable! Erik, why have you not played for Laura? She ees defending you, workeeng so hard to clear you of zheese reediculous charges so you can return back to your home, to France. And, you have never played for her? Zhat ees just not posseeble." She begins to speak rapidly to Erik in French. He seems taken off guard by this verbal assault. There is a bit of a discussion, almost an argument. I watch the exchange, my eyes going from Mme Giry on my left to Erik on my right. Personally, I bet on Mme Giry. I don't think Erik has a chance of winning this one, but I tactfully put my hand over my mouth to hide my grin.

Finally, Erik turns to me, quite unhappy with the outcome, and says, "Laura, it appears that I am going to be playing a violin piece for you, whether you want to hear it or not!"

"Erik, I would love to hear you play. It would be an honor," I say, hoping to calm the ruffled feelings. Saying nothing more, Erik rises, bows politely to me, curtly to Mme Giry, and leaves, presumably to get his violin to carry out this unexpected requirement imposed on him. I do not understand why he is so reluctant to play his violin for me, but then there are still a number of things I do not understand about Erik.

I turn and look at Mme Giry who is wearing an expression of triumph. I cannot contain my grin any more, looking at the victory written all over her face.

"He can be quite stubborn sometimes," she confides in me conspiratorially.

I hardly know how to respond to that since it was her determination and stubbornness that won that argument, so I just nod my head in agreement and keep quiet. It seems wise to change the subject. And, I have some things I want to discuss with her.

"Mme Giry, may I ask a question about something you said earlier this evening?"

"Well, of courze. What ees eet?" She answers, looking kindly into my eyes.

"You were talking about the meaning of flowers and colors and you mentioned red roses, what did you mean?"

"Ah! You are veree curious about zee red roses." She looks even more deeply into my eyes. "You know about zee red roses zhat Erik gave to Christine?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, zhey had a great meaneeng. You see, roses, especially red roses, represent love, romantic love. But, eet means somezheeng more, eet means secret, hidden love. When Erik gave Christine zee red rose, he was tryeeng to tell her of hees love. Zhat he loved her, but zhat eet had been hidden. He was tryeeng to gently eentroduce her to hees real feeleengs. He gave me zee red rose weeth zee black ribbon to present to Christine on zee night of her debut. A red rose does not say 'you sang well.' Eet says 'I love you, but I have not been able to say eet openly.' Christine grew up een zee opera house. She had seen flowers geeven to zee divas, to zee dancers. She knew what eet meant."

I am sitting, speechless. I did not know that flowers and colors had such meanings. I go over what Mme Giry has just told me. "So, when you said something about Erik being happy and you mentioned there are no more 'red roses,' may I ask, exactly what did you mean?"

Mme Giry sighs, sits back in her chair and looks away from me. "Eet means zhat Erik deed not choose red roses tonight."

Her words seem strange. What on earth does she mean by that? But since she is intentionally looking away from me, I feel I dare not continue to pry into this subject.

A few moments later, however, Mme Giry looks back at me with a compassionate smile, and continues, "I took eet to mean zhat he no longer needs to use zhem to express hees feeleengs…and zhat ees veree good."

I return Mme Giry's gaze, and now I am totally confused. We sit in silence, watching the colors of the sunset melt into each other as they darken. I try to sort out Mme Giry's implied meaning, but I cannot. However, there has been something else on my mind which I want to discuss with her.

"Mme Giry, you are the only person being brought from the past, other than Erik who has been allowed to see our modern world. What do you think of it?"

"Well, Laura, I have seen veree leetle, of courze. But enough to find it quite wondrous. I particularly love zee keetchen and zee bathrooms. Manee very useful eenventions you have now. Quite amazeeng," she says with a light laugh.

"When those who are brought from the past are returned, it is done so that they have no memory of this time or of the trial. But, I was wondering what you might feel about your being able to remember this…remember the trial and what Erik has experienced here…when you return to France?"

"Oh!! Zhat ees a veree good question. Franklee, I have zhought about zhat myself. Eet would be helpful for me to be able to remember all of zhees. Eet would be good for Erik eef I could remember so zhat I can understand and share all of zhees experiences weeth heem when he returns. I theenk eet will be eemportant for heem to have me to confide een regarding zhees events," she says with a knowing nod.

"Have you discussed that with anyone?"

"Yes. Last night weeth Freuda. And, she agrees! She ees goeeng to recommend eet to zee people een charge."

"I think that is an excellent proposal, and I will add my support to it. I will present a persuasive argument that this would be very important to do for the benefit of Erik."

"Zhank you, Laura. You are veree kind…You seem to want to do what ees best for Erik. You seem to care about heem…"

I do not know if her last comment is an observation or a question. I decide to consider it an observation so that I do not have to respond. I do not know exactly _how_ to respond to that.

After many minutes, Erik returns, carrying a violin case. He sits it down on his chair and opens it gently, picking up the instrument as if it were an infant. He puts it easily to his shoulder and rests his chin on it, then plays a few notes, as if testing, tuning. He stops, looks at Mme Giry, and asks, "Antoinette, what would you like me to play?"

"You told me you have been composeeng while you have been here. I would like to hear somezheeng new, somezheeng you have wreeten zhat I have never heard before," she nods her head and directs with an attitude of confidence as only a Mistress of Dance would possess…and a woman who Erik respects so much that he accepts her bidding with graciousness.

Erik nods in agreement, bows to Mme Giry and me, then begins to play. It is the most celestial music I have ever heard. So light and floating that listening to it makes me feel like I could disconnect from my body and become part of the colorful lights that dance on the horizon above the setting sun. Transfixed, I do not know how long the music continues, but I soon realize that after Erik looks briefly at Mme Giry, he turns his gaze on me and never looks away again. Feeling as if the music enfolds me in an embrace as soft as a cloud, I disconnect totally from time and reality. All that exists is the music and Erik's graceful form masterfully playing, moving in complete unity with the sounds emanating from his heavenly violin.

When Erik plays a final, exquisite note, I inhale sharply, pulling myself back into my body. "Erik, that was extraordinary. I have never before heard music like that," is all I can get out of my mouth, a horribly feeble expression of what I am feeling.

Erik smiles at me with relief and gently returns his violin to its case, closes the lid and latches it with a snap. "Zhank you, Erik. Zhat was wonderful. Your museec ees even better zhan when you were at zee opera house. Your new life agrees weeth you!" Mme Giry's pronouncement brings the musical interlude to a conclusion. "Zhees has been such a glorious eveneeng, Erik! Zhank you for everyzheeng, but now eet ees time for me to excuse myself. I talked unteel late last night weeth Freuda, and I must retire earlee tonight before I embarrass myself and fall asleep sitteeng in my chair as M. Firmin did during Carlotta's rehearsals!" she says with a laugh.

"Mme Giry, I am sorry you are leaving so early!" is my startled reaction to her leaving this unexpectedly.

"No, I feel you and Erik will have a lovelee conversation weethout me! An old woman must get her rest!" And saying that, she rises from her chair, gives me a shake of the hand and Erik a warm hug, then disappears down the pathway before I can get my wits about me.

Suddenly, Erik is standing over me, extending his hand and saying, "Shall we take a walk through the garden? It has a pathway that winds through it and gives many interesting aspects of the pond and trees. Indeed, there is a gazebo which has much more comfortable seating where we could sit and talk."

I look up into Erik's eyes, and my mind is saying "How did this happen? I was having dinner and a conversation with Mme Giry moments ago, and now I am alone, at dusk, in a garden, with Erik. What will Matt and Jeremy think? Good God…what do I think? Shouldn't I leave now? I promised myself to make clear to everyone what my relationship with Erik is." That is when I realize I am having difficulty thinking at all. The only thing I seem to be able to focus on is Erik. His face is so close to mine, bending over as his hand remains suspended in the air, waiting. His visible eyebrow is slung low, and his eyes seem to darken and pierce into me with expectancy. Somehow, in the midst of my mental confusion, my feelings tell me that more than a walk in the garden is at stake here. Much more. Do I really want to start down this path?

_Erik's POV:_

I stand here…patiently…hopeful, afraid to say anything more, to move closer to her, for fear of tipping the scales in the wrong direction. Will my invitation to Laura be the beginning or the end? I look into her eyes, searching, wondering. She could so easily make a polite excuse that she is tired, like Antoinette just did, and all that would be left would be for me to escort her to her car. Could I do that? How would I react? Could I just let her go that easily…now? Inside my gut twists into a painful knot at the thought of that possibility.

I look into her face, trying to fathom her feelings and seeing there the reflection of my own anxiety. I wonder if her mind…and heart…are racing like mine. But, I have put much thought into this evening, into this moment. I have already crossed the bridge of what my feelings are. The almost panicked look in her eyes tells me that she has not. As I had feared, she does not realize what my feelings have become. And, perhaps, as with Christine, they are unrealistic. Perhaps I am always fated to reach above my grasp, above my station—my appearance, my deformity always there overshadowing all else.

Suddenly, her hand is in mine. I let out a gasp of shock and look down at her tiny hand touching mine, not even a glove to separate our flesh. My heart begins to pound in my chest. I look back into her eyes and see something I haven't seen before. Resolution? Peace? I am not certain, but in mine I am sure there is only joy. I gently lift her up from her chair. She smiles, but I cannot talk. My mouth has gone dry. Instead, I just turn and lead her toward the path that winds through this magnificent garden. I want to show her all of it, to share this special evening. I realize we have so little time. I had hoped to make a memory today she will never forget, as I know now, I will never forget her.

We walk slowly, casually, my hand gently but firmly holding hers. I do not want to let go of her tonight. We stop to admire a Japanese maple which has leaves cut as delicately as lace. Farther down the path, we cannot help but share our wonder at the graceful shape of an ancient pine, sculpted by man's hand into a shape that is elegant, almost heart-breaking in its beauty.

Then the path winds near the pond to an area where the koi like to congregate. I have been through this garden many times this past week, becoming intimately familiar with it, preparing for tonight. With my free hand, I scoop out of my pocket the koi food that I had put there for this very purpose. I throw some of it toward a school of the large fish. They rise to the surface to catch and eat it, swimming gracefully, the last light of day shimmering on the golden-hued ones.

"Oh, Erik! How wonderful! I love to watch koi. Did you know they will sometimes eat from your hand?" Laura says as she looks up at me with the innocence and enthusiasm of a little girl.

"No, I did not! Shall we try?" I put some of the food into her free hand, never letting go of the other. We kneel together beside the pond and reach out our hands with small bits of the food. Within seconds the koi come and gently take the food, their mouths like delicate kisses against our fingertips. It is almost a magical experience. We continue feeding the koi, laughing and looking into each other's eyes. When I have exhausted my supply of the food, I sigh in regret that I did not bring much more in my pocket. I stand and when I bring Laura up with me, her cheek brushes against my chest briefly, and I suppress my desire to take her in my arms. I know now is not the time.

We continue our slow progress through the garden, stopping often to share our impressions about a plant, a gnarled old tree or a thoughtful grouping of rocks. Although I have walked through this garden many times, now that I share it with her and see it through her eyes, I am in awe of its intricate design. Laura even explains about the philosophies that the Japanese express in their gardens. As I listen to her soft voice telling me of a people and a place I can only visit in my imagination, all comes alive in her descriptions.

We pause on top of a gently arching wooden bridge, which crosses the stream that winds through the garden, finally spilling into the large central pond. The sun has set and twilight rests on the garden shedding a fading light that casts dark shades and shadows. As we stand, leaning against the bridge's fence, looking in all directions, Laura looks up and exclaims, "Oh! The stars are coming out. I love watching the night sky!" Her upturned face is rapt with the joy of the moment, and I reach out instinctively touching her cheek with my hand, running my fingers down her silken skin.

Realizing what I have done, I quickly retract my hand. "I'm sorry, Laura. Forgive me for being so bold." To my relief, her eyes register surprise, but not dismay. We stand silently for many minutes on the bridge, enjoying the gentle, cool evening breeze, which embraces us and listen to the soft rush of the water flowing beneath and splashing gently over the round stones. My hand which holds hers rests on the railing of the bridge as we stand, absorbing every mood, every sight and sound until darkness fully descends. I do not want to forget anything of this moment in time with Laura. After all, I cannot ignore the realization that these moments here on the bridge may be my last pleasant memories of Laura. Considering what I plan to tell her in the gazebo, there may never be another. So, I savor as best I can this precious picture of her standing here on the bridge with me. At least I have this to carry with me back to France and to my lonely years ahead.

I look down at Laura's hand which I hold in mine. Once again in my life I have reached a point of no return. Reluctantly, I lead her slowly down the path. I do not want our walk together to ever end, but the gazebo is just ahead. This part of the evening has been haunting me all week. What I have been looking forward to with the utmost trepidation now looms over me, like a hovering phantom.

* * *

Profuse thanks to Phanna, our intrepid editor! 


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: For Erik, another bridge to cross, so he cannot help but approach it with the ghosts of past memories, hoping to exorcise them. **

**Thank you to all our loyal reviewers and welcome to each of our new Case family!!Your comments are humorous, thoughtful, delightful, perceptive, and most of all…appreciated!!! Pink cupcakes to each of you!! **

**Chapter 23 The Gazebo, Part 2, by Phanfan and Phanna+ **

_Seattle, Washington  
Saturday, September 10, 2005 _

_Erik's POV:_

Feelings of sadness mixed with familiar and painful shadows of loss overwhelm me as our walk through the Japanese garden ends, and Laura and I enter the gazebo. Inside are several groups of elegant rattan chairs and tables, but on the farthest end is a single, elegantly cushioned bench that accommodates two people. I lead Laura there, hoping she will allow me to sit close to her. As I stop in front of the bench, I pause, silently asking her consent for us to sit here together, and she nods her head in agreement. As soon as we are seated, I hold her hand between both of mine, studying it absentmindedly. I am struggling, trying to choose the right words to begin to tell her what has been plaguing me all week and had only intensified in court yesterday, watching Laura during the testimony of Mme Giry.

Adjacent to this side of the gazebo is a waterfall. Laura comments about how beautiful it is, cascading at least ten feet straight down jagged rocks and creating the stream that travels through the garden and empties into the pond. When I first saw it, I felt the same, but now, the sound of water crashing on the rocks merely heightens my sense of how the flow of my life can be just as unpredictable and out of control, rushing away, out of my grasp. I wonder if that will happen again…tonight.

After an uneasy silence of several minutes, I begin, tenseness aching in every muscle of my body. "Laura, there are things I want to tell you, but only if you wish to hear them."

She looks around at me, startled, "What are you referring to, Erik? What things?"

I struggle to find the right words. "Laura, you have heard what happened in the Opera house, what I did, what people say I did, and what people believe I did. When you asked your questions of me as you were preparing for the trial, I always answered them simply and factually. But, I never told you my feelings. I never told you why I did what I did, how I felt. When people talk about the events that took place, I am portrayed as if I were a crazed madman with only my own desires, my wants….my selfish passions driving me. I need to ask you, Laura. I need to know. What do you think? Is that what you believe about me?" Looking down into her open, trusting face, my heart begins to pound in my chest. I just want to take her in my arms, but I know I must not.

Laura's response is a surprised, confused expression. She takes several moments and says emphatically, "No, Erik. I do not believe that about you," then after a pause, she looks deeply into my eyes and adds, "but I would very much like to hear from you…your feelings. Anything you would like to share with me."

I take a deep breath. I have never explained my feelings to anyone in my life. Never justified my actions. Never wanted to. Never needed to. But, now, with Laura, I feel compelled to tell her. I want her to understand why I did…what I did. I must risk telling her. Squeezing her hand between both of mine, I look away as I begin.

"Laura, you know about the gypsy tent. I was there for five months. I felt as if I were going mad. Perhaps I did. I was treated, exhibited, like an animal, and I began to believe that perhaps that is all I am." I pause, needing to bring my anger under control—the deep anger I always feel when I think of the degradation of those interminable months. Still looking away from Laura, I continue, "When the opportunity presented itself to strangle that evil man, I took it. I caught him by surprise. I was very lucky. Had I failed, I would probably have been beaten to death for my action, but I could not survive much longer in that hellish tent. I realized my attempt to escape had to succeed. So, I pulled the rope around his neck tightly. He passed out, but I was small, only nine years old, and weak from lack of food and proper sleep. Probably not strong enough to kill him. But, I wanted to. For a second, I truly wanted to. When he passed out, I let the rope loose. I decided right then that I did not want to be like that…like him." I stop talking for a minute to calm my labored breathing. "I grabbed my one possession, my stuffed monkey, and the coins that had been thrown at me by the crowd…and fled. I didn't know where I would go, where I would hide, how I would survive. I just knew I had to flee. And….there was Antoinette. This angelic girl in a delicate white dress. She followed me out of the tent and took my hand. My filthy, unwashed hand!"

With that I look back down at Laura's hand held in mine and turn it up so that I can look at the palm. I remember the old, kind woman in the gypsy camp who had been the only one to befriend me, to put salve on the whip lacerations, to bring me extra food on occasion as a growing boy craves. I remember how she would read my palm and tell me of my future and now wonder what she would find in Laura's palm. Suddenly, Laura's other hand encloses mine, and gently squeezes. Our hands are interlocked together, and she gently lays her cheek against my shoulder. I look down at her and see tears in her eyes. I clench my teeth. I struggle not to give in to my emotions.

"We raced as fast as we could. Thankfully, the gypsy carnival had been set up in a lot near the Opera house so it only took minutes to reach it, and Antoinette took us into a small side opening. She was a young ballet student and had been living there for almost a year, so she knew this huge building very well from her own curious explorations. We wound through so many corridors and rooms, I thought we would be lost forever." I stop and shake my head and smile, "Little did I realize then that I would come to know every inch, every nook, every corner, every secret of that building myself! It became my home, my sanctuary…and my life."

"That building truly became my world." A myriad of memories begin to flood through my mind. "Antoinette took me to the fifth level because no one ever went there. Few knew it existed, and only because of her own innate curiosity had she found it. At first I limited my explorations to the fourth level, where all the costumes and props were stored. I spent my first months going through the many rooms and touching, examining everything I could get my hands on. It was an adventure! A wealth of treasures! I explored with amazement all the glorious materials and clothing, as well as the endless array of clever props and mechanisms."

"Then, one day, I got very bold. I went to the third level. It contained more storage rooms, but also some workshops where all the wondrous things were made. I explored always at night when the many people who inhabited the Opera house were sleeping. This was when I became a shadow in the night. As time went by, I became more comfortable, bolder, and floor-by-floor, room-by-room, I expanded my range until I knew every inch of that grand building. But always in the dark. I would carry my candle, of course, but over time my eyes adjusted so that I could see well in the dark and could even get around with no light at all, if necessary."

I pause and look down into Laura's face which reflects her open heart. That gives me hope to go on. "So, as Antoinette explained in court, I created my home from discarded clothing and furniture. I taught myself how to play the violin and honed my skills on an old pianoforte that was stored on the 4th floor. I read voraciously. I even painted and taught myself how to sculpt using the techniques I observed in the workshop. My first fitted masks were made out of paper mache, you know," I grin at Laura, "but those would loose their shape and disintegrate in the humidity of my home. Then, one day, I found a discarded piece of leather in the junk bin. I made a plaster cast of my face, and learned how to stretch and work the leather over the mold, creating a properly fitting and practical mask. I was always busy. Exploring, reading, drawing, making my clothes and all the furniture for my home, or practicing my music."

"My food for the first years was provided by Antoinette. She brought it from the opera kitchens. They cooked for hundreds of employees, and there was always food left over from each meal. Antoinette would bring it, hidden in her wicker basket. I was never hungry. She made certain of that. By the time I was fifteen, I was venturing out at night into the streets of Paris for frequent walks. I found all the art shops in Paris, and began going to them just before they would close to show them my drawings and small sculptures. Thankfully, they bought them, and from that time onward, with this money, I purchased everything I had in my home….my food, my clothes, my candles, supplies, books…everything. So, I created a home for myself. I loved the Opera house, watching the performances as they were created, then rehearsed and finally performed.

Music became my passion. I practiced endlessly on the pianoforte, as well as the violin, until I mastered them. I finally saved enough from my earnings to purchase a discarded organ from a church. As Antoinette said, I dismantled it, piece by piece, taking it on my small boat, then refinishing and reassembling it in my home. That took almost a year, but when I was done, the music I could play on it reverberated against the walls of the cavern, and I could not only hear, but I could _feel_ my music!"

I swallow hard and force myself to continue. "I had everything I needed. All was ordered and arranged and settled in my world. Then, Antoinette's husband was killed. Her happiness evaporated over night, and I think that the only thing that kept her connected to life was the baby that was to be born. When Meg arrived, that blessed little child brought her out of her melancholy, and she began to smile, to want to live again. She supported herself and her child with her earnings at the Opera house and was promoted to assistant to the Mistress of Dance. The hours she worked were very long, and the little one would wake in the middle of the night, needing to be fed and cared for. I lived at night, so each evening I came to Antoinette's small apartment in the Opera house and sat, reading and watching over the baby. When she cried I would give her the bottle, then change her nappies and rock her to sleep. This allowed Antoinette to sleep through the night. I was about nineteen when this began, and I continued these nightly visits for the first year of Meg's life, then frequently over the next several years whenever my help was needed. It was when Meg was almost four years old…old enough to begin to form memories of me…that I stopped going into their apartment and faded back into the shadows of the opera house. That was when I realized I missed caring for Meg, holding her, talking to her, telling her stories as I rocked her to sleep…and, the frequent chats with Antoinette before she would go into her bedroom and fall asleep out of exhaustion from her work. I missed the human contact. But, I was resigned to my solitary existence. I was twenty-three and had lived in the Opera house for fourteen years. I had come to an acceptance of what I was, that I was not meant for normal interaction with humans, I was not quite one of _them_. I felt that only Antoinette had the heart to accept someone such as me…a gargoyle…_not really, fully human_." I stop when I hear Laura's gasp.

"No, Erik, no! That is not true!" she breathes the words out almost in a hush as tears stream down her cheeks. One of my hands automatically rises to her face and gently wipes the tears from each cheek, lingering there, wanting to do more, but restraining myself once again, I place my hand back on top of hers.

"Ah, but it was how I felt…and how I had been treated. Remember, I had been exposed in a cage and labeled the "Devil's Child," placed there by my adoptive mother. God only knows what my real mother thought of me, but she did not want to keep me at all and cast me off for others to raise. I had heard the horrified screams of the crowd when my face was exposed. Who but Antoinette with her compassion would accept a creature such as me?"

"Oh, Erik!" I can hardly breathe as Laura takes one of my hands and lifts it to her lips and places a gentle kiss on it. For many moments I sit in stunned wonder at the gesture. Does it represent pity? Sympathy? Or something else? Before this night is over, I must know the answer to that question.

Finally I inhale deeply and go on with my story. "Then, around this time, Antoinette brought Gustave Daae to my home. I was stunned and could not believe my eyes! I knew who he was as soon as he stepped from the boat. He was a famous violinist whose pictures were often exhibited in the Opera house announcing his performances. I stood ready for his shocked reaction when he faced me, but it never occurred. He warmly embraced me, listened to my music and kindly taught me his masterful artistry with the violin. Incredibly, he took my original compositions to publishing houses. They purchased them, and I began receiving even more earnings to place into my coffers. I now had enough money for my clothes to be tailored by some of Paris' finest shops. And, I purchased many, many brass candelabras. I filled my dark world with a myriad of candles and light, trying to make is seem as if daylight infused my darkness."

Now, sad memories flood back. "But, unexpectedly, Gustave died. I was thrust into despair. I went into a deep melancholy, as I had seen Antoinette do when her husband had been killed. I wandered the Opera house aimlessly for several weeks. One night I heard the crying of a child in Antoinette's apartment. I wondered if it was Gustave's daughter, who had come to live with Antoinette. I listened in the hallway outside her room and could hear her prayers. She missed her father deeply. I heard her crying and praying to him, asking him where the Angel of Music was whom he had promised her. I remembered then that Gustave had often referred to me when he heard me play my compositions as an "Angel of Music." I wondered if he could have told her about me? My heart soared at the possibility."

I search Laura's eyes, hoping she will believe me. "Of course, I immediately discussed this with Antoinette, and she said that indeed he had told his daughter on his deathbed that the Angel of Music would come to help her and give her comfort. We both felt that Gustave had given me a charge…to help care for his daughter. So when I heard her crying and saying her prayers each evening, I sang to her. We also began to talk a little, and when she would fall silent, I assumed she went to sleep. This became a nightly ritual. Every night. For years. She had a beautiful voice, even as a child and would often sing with me. I would tell her bedtime stories, and sometimes she would share a special event or small problem and ask for my guidance. When she reached twelve her voice was already blossoming into a very special gift. I then began to give her voice lessons during the day. As ever, I would stand on the other side of the wall from the music room for at least an hour a day and instruct her, train her voice. She was an apt student and learned quickly. Her voice became angelic. So, strange…she always had referred to me as her "Angel of Music," and I began to refer to her as "Angel" because of her voice. I realize now we had an idealized relationship. Centered on our love of music…but no real…_human_ contact."

Although I feel her questioning gaze on me, I cannot look into Laura's eyes now, "And, as you know, that changed. When she turned fifteen, and I saw her dancing on the stage during her birthday celebration, feelings I had never experienced flooded through me, as if a dam had broken. I was shocked and ashamed. I did not know what to think. I had always ignored or suppressed such feelings, such passions. I had seen the dancers and divas with their trysts in the corridors of the Opera house…I had even seen furtive couplings. I had felt passion rise in my blood, and I had denied it, suppressed it. When on occasion it overwhelmed me, I would play my music until sound would shake and cascade off the stone walls of the cave that surrounded my home, and in this manner I would release this _need_ to the point of exhaustion."

"So, watching Christine on that day was both sublime and agonizing. I did not know what to do." I cannot control the intense emotion in my voice any longer, "I roamed the Opera house for days, thinking, feeling things I had never allowed myself to feel before. Then I made my decision and went to Antoinette, asking her permission to court Christine. She was not surprised. I think she always knows me better than I know myself. But, she asked for me to give Christine more time to mature so that she would be better able to understand about me…my background. I agreed and promised I would wait for Antoinette to decide when I should introduce myself and begin my courtship. I truly felt that because of the long relationship Christine and I had…eight years at that time…that she already knew me. She could trust me. We understood each other. We shared a love of music. She already knew my soul and accepted it. Surely that would help her overcome her reactions to my face. And, I continued to work on making my masks more attractive, my clothes impeccable, my appearance acceptable."

I pause and swallow hard. I dread to imagine what Laura will think of me when she hears what I have to tell her next. "Months passed. Watching Christine dancing at Opera rehearsals and hearing her sing during my tutoring sessions became a torture. I had never felt this way about anyone before. I could not control my thoughts or my feelings. It terrified me. Sometimes I could not sleep. Often I could not eat. I had to do something…something that reflected my intentions of courtship. I did the only thing I knew to do. By then I was under contract with the owner of the Opera to design sets, backdrops, posters, even costumes. So, I drew the design for Christine's wedding dress. I hung the picture next to my drafting table and looked at it for many more months. Then, as time stretched on endlessly and Antoinette still did not give her consent for me to announce my intentions, I did a crazy thing. I took the design to my tailor's shop when I was being fitted for a new suit. I asked if he knew of a dressmaker who could create the dress from my sketch. He said yes, he did, and I told him Christine's size…shamefully, I had gone so far as to measure one of Christine's costumes. The dress was perfection. I could not leave it in the box, and took a mannequin from the 4th floor costume storage room and put the dress on it, even sculpting a likeness of her face. By now I was hopelessly possessed…" looking down at Laura my eyes plead with her, "can you understand that?"

"Yes, Erik. I can. You were a man over thirty years old who was in love for the very first time. You had no experience of it before, and that would be an overwhelming sensation, especially since you were prohibited from…doing anything about it," she looks up with only compassion in her eyes, which gives me the courage to go on with what I am trying to tell her, knowing the most difficult part is yet to come. The part where I went…_insane._

I struggle even more with the words now. "Laura, the night of her debut, Christine wore a white gown with encrusted crystals on the skirts and in her hair. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I had seen her perform at the dress rehearsal, but during the debut I could not watch her, since Raoul had been given my box earlier that very day. So, I listened in a dismal, drippy chamber below the orchestra pit where at least the sound traveled well, and I would be able to hear her. She sang, indeed, like an angel. As I listened, my thoughts were about how Gustave would be so proud, and I wished he knew that I had fulfilled his promise to Christine. My feelings, on the other hand, were quite different. They were full of the hope and anticipation of a suitor. I had lit all the candles in my home before I left, feeling that maybe that would be the night I could take Christine there and introduce myself to her. Antoinette had hinted earlier that day that perhaps it was time, and I was ready. Indeed, Laura, I was more than ready." I let out a wry smile, but Laura is not smiling now. Her eyes search my face as she waits to hear what I will tell her next.

"You know what happened. Antoinette spoke truthfully in court. She was very upset with Raoul's behavior, trying to take Christine out that evening without her consent or the confirmation of a chaperone being present. She came to me and handed me the key to Carlotta's dressing room which Christine was using that night. She waited while I locked the door so Raoul could not take her to dinner and gave her blessing on my escorting Christine to my home, to introduce myself, to announce my intentions of marriage."

With my stomach clenched into a knot, I force myself to complete this tale. "I entered the dressing room through a huge mirror which hid a corridor. I gave Christine a slight hypnotic suggestion so she would not see the reeking hallways I would be taking her through…would not see the rats. I made the suggestion that she would only see golden candelabras held by golden arms. That the hallways were clean and bright. That candelabras would be everywhere, even rising out of the waters. That was the only thing I suggested to her. Nothing more. Just so she would not be afraid. The underbelly of the Opera house is not so pleasant, but I had become accustomed to it, come to accept it because it was where I had lived for twenty-five years. My own living area was totally surrounded by water and was quite pleasant. I had long since banished all the rats from it, and it was furnished that night with a hundred lit candles, but the trip there is long and arduous. I did not want it to be frightening to her."

I pause, again, choosing my words carefully, "Well, Laura, you have heard what happened next. I sang to her of my love. That seems strange to others, but singing seemed a natural thing to do. We had done that, communicated that way, for nine years. I sang to her, no doubt very passionately after having waited for so long. She responded and even seemed willing to be very…open, but I did not take advantage. I would never do that. Then, I made a terrible, embarrassing mistake. I showed her the wedding gown. I think I did it because she seemed so happy, so accepting of me. I thought it was a way to fully communicate my intentions, but instead it shocked her. She fainted." I stop and lower my forehead into my hands, which are still entwined with Laura's. "How could I be so foolish? So stupid? So impulsive?"

Then, I hear Laura's soft voice. "Because, Erik, you were so lonely….and because you _are_ human!" At these words, uncontrollable tears fall from my eyes onto our joined hands. I cannot look up. I must go on. I must finish telling Laura my story.

"I laid her on my bed, lowered the bed curtains, and left her there. I did not touch her further. She slept for many hours, so I occupied myself, working on a new composition. When she woke up, she approached me from behind, and oh, so, gently placed her hand on my shoulder. Then, her hand caressed my cheek. I had never felt such a touch, and I leaned back with sheer joy. The next moment she removed my mask!! I was horrified!! I jumped up in anger at being so exposed, and when I fled, I accidentally knocked her over….After all, she was standing so close. I confess. I went into a rage. Whenever anyone removes my mask, my mind goes back to that cage…to the tearing off of that reeking, filthy hood that covered my face…to the jeering crowds…to the things being thrown at me…to the beatings…to the humiliation. I was angry with her and at first ranted at her, accusing her of her treachery for removing my mask without my consent, then I pleaded with her to understand and to see beyond my face and into my soul…to see the person she had known all those years. She said nothing, just looked at me with tears and fear and sadness, so I took her back to the Opera house. I knew it had been disastrous. But, somehow, I could not let it go…could not let HER go. I felt I had to try again, to help her see who I really was…to help her see our bond was our love of music, and that connected both of our souls!"

"But, things only got worse. Raoul came every day to the Opera house after her debut and formally began courting Christine. Soon Il Muto was ready for performance, and I admit, I interrupted Carlotta's terrible croaking. Yes, Laura," I cannot resist grinning and giving Laura an impish look, "I do mean her voice before she used the tainted spray." She grins back at me and nods. "I felt Christine should have the lead. I felt that interrupting the performance would fluster Carlotta who is very temperamental and would be enough to cause her to walk off the stage. Ironically, my act of interrupting the performance from the dome is what proves I did not either tamper with Carlotta's voice spray or kill Buquet. But, tragically, it did put me on the rooftop because the dome's spiral staircase only goes there, and I arrived as Christine and Raoul were stepping onto the roof from the main building. I was trapped. There was no way to get to an exit door except past them, and I did not want them to know of my presence. So, I stood behind the statues, waiting while they talked. That was when I overheard Christine telling Raoul about me."

Again, the pain rises up within me, and I stop to control my surging emotions. Finally, looking into Laura's saddened eyes, I plea for her understanding. "Do you know how she described me? As being so distorted, so deformed, that I hardly had a face at all! She called my home a world of darkness! Imagine!! I had a hundred candles lit and gleaming! All the corridors were lit with torches. She has no concept of what darkness really is! But there she was, saying these things…about me. I was devastated beyond belief…utterly and completely humiliated! Then, I listened as she asked Raoul to take her away from the Opera house, from her life in the theater where her soul and her talent lay, and just make her life pleasant and protected! From me! She wanted Raoul to protect her—from me!! I had watched over her, protected her, nurtured her, comforted her, taught her for nine years, and she told Raoul she needed protection _from me_! I felt as if I had been stabbed in the heart! Then, when she and Raoul left, I found the red rose with the black ribbon I had given her—on the ground, in the snow, where she had discarded it. That made the sense of betrayal complete. The anger of rejection overcame me. Right then, I vowed not to let her turn away from me, discard me so easily after all the years, after all the patience, the guidance, the love I have given her. I vowed to do one last thing to break through the false aura of a golden life which Raoul was weaving. Then, afterwards, I even learned that she thought me capable of killing Buquet! I was driven to prove to her who I really was!"

I stop for a minute to slow my breathing and racing heart. I look away from Laura. I do not know if she will ever want anything to do with me again after I tell her this, but I must tell her. After I have calmed and steadied my voice, I begin. "So, the daily voice lessons with Christine ceased, and I began my endless writing of Don Juan Triumphant. Three months later, I presented the opera to the new managers and owners…the junk dealers, as Antoinette so accurately calls them. I made quite an entrance at the Bal Masque, I do admit that!" I add with a chuckle, "Obviously the dramatic highlight of the party!"

"That is when I saw the engagement ring on a chain around Christine's neck. I became inflamed, tore it off and escaped down the magician's trap doors. As expected, Raoul followed, and I was ready for him with the mirrors. He spun around helplessly, as I intended, not harming either himself or me, and Antoinette soon lead him out. But, that was not enough for him. I drove Christine to the cemetery the next day, and he followed, jumping off his horse with his sword again drawn, wanting a fight. I was no match. The only thing I had to defend myself with was my fury at his interfering again when I just wanted to talk with Christine. He had all the training and skill in swordsmanship on his side, and he soon had me on the ground, ready to skewer—to kill—me. He did not go through with it because of Christine's begging. Raoul acceded to her pleas, and although I was angry at her for riding off with him, I felt her pleading for my life meant that she had sincere feelings for me. All that remained was the actual performance in Don Juan Triumphant, and I most certainly planned to be there, to be_ in _the performance!"

Laura is still holding my hands in hers and has been silent for many minutes. I cannot look into her eyes. I am too ashamed and fear what I will see there. But, I must tell her this. Then it will be her decision what happens next…in her life…and mine.

"I felt I had to perform the part of Don Juan. I wrote it full of my passion for Christine, and to finally awaken her passion for me. I HAD to sing it to her. Even as I wrote it, I meant that I would sing it to her myself on stage. It was my last chance to make her admit to herself her true feelings toward me. But it was also my last attempt to help her connect to the music that was her soul, her real nature and her true destiny. I was utterly driven. What else did I have to fight with? How could I compete with Raoul and his youth, his noble status and wealth, and his handsome, unblemished face? I felt that I was not just fighting for my sake…I was fighting for Christine's. But, now I realize how deluded I was in even that!" I again lower my head to the tangle of our four hands, which still enfold each other.

I must now admit what rips at my heart and my conscience. "I intended only to tie up Piangi. I threw the rope around him, and he let out a small gasp and fell over. I thought he fainted. I just dropped the rope there, feeling he would awaken in a few minutes, and that was all the time I needed to perform this one scene. I meant no harm to him… Then I entered the stage and saw Christine. My blood was boiling at the sight of her. She was beautiful and on fire in her golden costume. She carried the red roses in her hands and wore one in her hair. That was not part of the costume in my staging directions. I felt she was sending me a message. It was the same flower I had given her twice, and they, of course, meant "hidden love." Was she telling me that she also had hidden love for me? I thought it must be so. I sang my heart out, and so did she."

I pause to bring my emotions under control before I can tell what happened next. "When we came together at the top of the stairs, in the middle of the bridge, it was like an explosion, and it was mutual. I turned her around to face me and changed my song to one of commitment, of my love for her. I thought she was finally ready to listen. Instead, she ripped off my mask. In front of hundreds of people. I was stunned with disbelief. I looked into her face trying to understand how she could possibly do that AGAIN, knowing how it devastated me…destroyed me!"

Breathing hard, I continue, "But a totally different, urgent need took priority then--survival! I looked down and saw the armed soldiers coming toward us through the audience and other soldiers in the wings of the stage putting their guns up to their shoulders, in readiness to shoot. Mme Giry had warned me they may be in the Opera house at the manager's behest. I was prepared. I drew the knife from its hidden pocket in my boot, cut the cord holding the chandelier and brought it crashing to the stage to distract the soldiers and keep them from shooting anyone, especially Christine. Then I hit the lever to the trap door, and we both fell to the cushion below. I lead Christine to the underground corridors before anyone knew what had happened. Her ripping off my mask that second time, in front of an audience that called out in horror at the sight of my face, triggered all my worst memories of the crowd who had jeered at me in the gypsy tent. I became incensed."

I stop for a minute, steeling myself for the final part of my story, still not able to look into Laura's face. "When we got to my home, I told Christine to put on the wedding dress. I was furious at her final betrayal, her taking off my mask! Raoul arrived minutes later, intervening yet again. It was easy to capture him with the rope and tie him to the portcullis. That is when I went insane. I told Christine she had to choose Raoul or me, and if she chose Raoul, I would kill him."

My anguish now cannot be hidden. My real fear pours out. "Laura, how can you continue to defend me in court? How can you even stand to see me, to have anything to do with me?" I look down at our hands, still entwined. I am beyond tears. I have little hope that this woman who I so dearly respect and treasure will be able to ever look beyond what I am, now that I have admitted fully what I felt, what I have done.

After long moments of sickening silence, Laura pulls both her hands free from mine, and my heart plummets. Unable to look up or to gaze into her face, I realize, it is over. She has made her decision.

Then I feel her hands on my face. They delicately cup each of my cheeks, one touching my uncovered skin, the other gently touching my mask but not disturbing it. Strangely, I do not react, and I have no fear that she intends to remove it. She turns my face with her gentle touch so that I must look into her eyes. All I see there is compassion. Her hands then return to mine, carressing them.

"Erik, did you kill Raoul?" Her voice is steady and strong.

"No, of course not. You saw him in court!" I answer with confusion at her question.

"Did you force Christine to go with you against her will?"

"No, I did not."

"Why?" The tone in her voice is insistent.

"Because I could not. Even though she chose me, even though she kissed me, I knew she did not do it of her own accord. I could not force her to be with me…in any way…without her love and without it being her choice," I respond truly from my soul.

"And, you didn't kill Raoul out of spite because Christine did not go with you, did you?"

"No."

"What did you do, Erik?" She persists with her questioning.

"I let Christine leave. I told her to take Raoul. And, to go quickly before the mob arrived, or they may be harmed."

"But Erik, Raoul was tied to the portcullis. He could do nothing to prevent you from taking Christine, and Christine had put on the ring, kissed you…and had told you she chose you. You could have taken her with you, and Raoul could not have done anything about it. Isn't that true?"

"Well…yes…of course." I am trying to understand why she is asking these things, what it means.

"So, in the end, despite her betrayals of you, her removing your mask twice, which is the most emotionally devastating thing anyone can do to you, and despite Raoul's trying on numerous occasions to kill you, you could not harm either of them, and just let them go, correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"That took great self-control, great wisdom…and compassion." She says with an intensity that takes me by surprise. "When Christine returned with the ring, what did you feel?"

"I felt hope for a moment that maybe she had changed her mind, and was returning to me, choosing to stay with me instead of Raoul."

"You have told me that she just put the ring in your hand and left without a word, how did you feel?"

"I was utterly devastated. I knew she had chosen Raoul. That it was over. Everything was over…the music, the Opera, and that she would never, ever, be mine. I do not know what compelled me to actually get up and leave through my escape passage before the mob came. Something did. Something inside. I destroyed three mirrors, hitting each mirror twice. Once where the reflection of my face looked back at me, and the second blow where my unfulfilled passion mocked me. But, somehow, I left before the mob came. I knew Paris well. I knew where to hide and had a safe, protected tunnel prepared where I stayed for several days. By then the Commune had begun. Somehow, I lived. But I didn't want to. When I was captured, I was ready to die. I did not fight them. I did not even attempt to escape. Then, the utterly bizarre happened, and three men came and kidnapped me, and here I am in your world, this strange world of the future."

"And Erik, what do you feel now?" She continues to press me.

"At this moment, I feel that you will never want to have anything further to do with me. You will fulfill your obligation as my attorney, but you will never want to have _any other contact_." I reply, completely bereft.

"Why do you feel that way?" Her voice infinitely gentle, the sound of it breaking my heart.

"Why, Laura, because of what I just told you."

"Well, then, Erik, you are wrong. Very wrong." I gaze into her eyes. Hope rears its head. I listen intently. "Nothing you have just told me has changed how I feel about you. Quite the opposite. I understand you much more deeply now. For that I am truly thankful. But, Erik, if you thought your telling me this may drive me away, may end our personal friendship, why did you take the risk of telling me these things?"

"Because Laura, I want no lies, no half-truths, between us. If you care for me, it must be for who I really am. I need to know you understand what I have done, why I have done it, and can still care for me….in any small part of how I care for you."

She draws a sharp breath as those words are spoken, but her eyes never leave mine. Then, she breathes out softly, "Oh, I see now. I see it all. The pink and white flowers…. Except, one other thing, Erik. Why didn't you want to play your music for me?"

I look down in embarrassment. "Well, perhaps I was being a little superstitious. At the beginning of the evening when I first told Christine my true feelings, I sang to her. And, the last thing that happened between us was my singing to her in Don Juan Triumphant. And, as you are aware, none of that ended well," I point out with a sardonic smile.

Then I look up and search her eyes—her expression. Is it really acceptance instead of condemnation?

"Erik, there is so much I want to say to you," she begins hesitantly, and I can barely breathe. "I hardly know where to begin. I want to say to you that my heart breaks when I hear of your rejection and abuse as a child. My heart is sad at those moments when you lost your way with anger and rage and struck out at others because of how you have been treated all your life. I want you to know that I understand you have a psychological reaction because of that severe trauma when you were imprisoned in the gypsy cage…that all who suffer such trauma react with rage, often uncontrollably and without thinking, when that trauma is triggered. But, please understand that I know your real self is that of a man who in his own soul cannot hurt others, even when you have been deeply hurt by them. I know you to be a man with a soul who longs for and creates beauty despite all the horror the world has done to you. And, despite being shunted aside, you rose above that and worked courageously to develop your abilities, contributing in meaningful ways to others. I want you to know I respect who you are, and I can understand and have compassion for those moments when you lost control of yourself because of your deep trauma. And," she pauses and searches my eyes with deep sincerity, and something more, a deep caring, "I want to be in your life as much as possible. As much as I can until you leave."

My mouth drops open in shock. I do not know what to do next. My mind is spinning and my emotions can barely be contained.

"Well, then, Laura, how shall we proceed?" I choke the words out.

She chuckles softly. "I think we need to discuss that. Right now. Erik…just what do you think…feel…we should do?"

I have never been asked such a question…or faced with such a choice. I am at a total loss. I blink at her in stunned silence.

"Are you saying I have permission to court you?"

Now she laughs that contagious, joyful laugh which makes everyone around her smile. "Erik, um…we don't court anymore…here…in this century."

"Well, then, what is the word that you use?" struggling to get a grasp on this situation.

" 'Date'…the word we generally use is 'date.'" Laura says with an unabashed smile.

"Well, what does one do when one 'dates'?" Now my mind is spinning ahead, and I am getting very intrigued with the direction this conversation is going.

"Well, first of all, you meet someone, and they seem pleasant and you get introduced."

"Yes…then?"

"Then, you chat with them. Have some conversations."

"Yes…then?" I persist.

"Well, you meet outside work and do enjoyable activities and get to know each other better."

"Yes…very good. Then?" I am very pleased with how this is unfolding.

"Well, then perhaps you have a special date. A dinner, or a night at the theater. Something special."

"YES!"

"Erik, why do you keep saying 'Yes!' to everything?" she says with a perplexed, but very pleasant look in her eyes.

"Well, Laura, it is so clear! We have already done each of those things that you have enumerated! So, what comes next?" I hold my breath waiting for her response.

Laura's eyes get very large, and I can see she is putting a lot of thought into this answer. "Well, Erik. Then the two people begin to share their innermost feelings and experiences!"

"Yes!! Very good!! We did that tonight!" I am beginning to realize that our relationship has already progressed very well. "And, what is next?" I ask in anticipation of her response.

"Erik," she pauses, searches my eyes and smiles, "Well, then people will tend to become more intimate."

"How is that?" I can hardly believe what I am hearing.

"That means, hugging, kissing…things…" Laura is now smiling and blushing.

"That is NEXT?" I am quite surprised at this. "So, such things can properly occur before a formal engagement?"

"Yes…actually…under our current customs, yes, they can!"

"But Laura, if you are successful with the trial, and I am acquitted, I return to France in six or seven weeks. Marek told me I would be sent back the very day of the jury decision. I will not compromise your honor, if you understand my meaning."

"Yes, Erik, I do. And that is part of the reason why I feel so deeply about you. You are at your core a gentleman…a real one, not the artificial kind that only wears it for show in public and when convenient."

"Mme Giry would like to see you again before she returns after court next Friday. She suggested I invite you for dinner on Tuesday. Could you come again…on Tuesday?"

"Yes, I would love to come for dinner on Tuesday."

"Very well, that is all settled. May I now do the next thing which is permissible in the dating ritual?" I ask with intense need now pounding through my body. +

She looks at me with questioning eyes, but as I reach my arms around her, she smiles, nods her head and then slides her arms caressingly around my neck. I pull her more securely into my arms and feel her surrender in anticipation of what is about to happen. I lower my lips to within inches from hers and our breath mingles as we linger on the threshold of our first kiss. We look into each other's eyes, and I hope that she can read in mine what I feel since I am still too hesitant to say the words. Her deep, dark expressive eyes look into mine, and the expectation and tenderness in them is palpable. Looking down at her upturned mouth, I cannot hold back any longer. My lips gently press on hers, savoring their sweetness and telling her that I cherish her.

My experience is limited to the two kisses that Christine had given me, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I am performing this correctly. Laura's lips are soft and yielding, and mine seem to know what to do instinctively. Waves of pleasure begin to sweep through me, and I want this to last until time itself stands still.

However, Laura is sitting on the bench on my right side and is considerably shorter than me. I must lean down to embrace her, and I feel that there is too much distance between us. I need to have her in my arms so I gather her up and place her in my lap. She gives a deep sigh of contentment, and our lips continue their dance of discovery. I can feel the tantalizing warmth of her body as I enfold her once again in my arms.

Now that she is sitting in my lap, her lips and face brush against my mask at an awkward angle, and we are in near danger of unmasking me. Reluctantly, we interrupt our kisses, and Laura emits a small chuckle, "Erik" she whispers softly against my lips, "I think that it would be better if I sit the other way on your lap so that I am on the side away from your mask. That way it will not be in the way so much and…" In one swift movement, I turn her around, anxious for another ardent kiss.

Our kisses are languid and sweet, and I feel my blood warming. I tentatively touch my tongue to her upper lip. Laura pulls back slightly and smiles at me with a quizzical look in her eyes. I feel a bit embarrassed. I must have done that all wrong. "I was just thinking about some of the books I have been reading from Horatio's library," I try to explain. "I was most curious about the ones called 'historical romances' and picked one up just a few days ago. It contained some very…uhmm…. explicit…. uhmm….personal moments between a man and a woman."

Laura is now grinning impishly, and her beautiful eyes sparkle with laughter. I can sense the teasing tone in her voice as she remarks. "I remember reading books like that in college and found them to be most….enlightening."

This time when our lips touch, I feel something different. Laura's tongue moves tentatively, gently between my lips, and I eagerly part them for her. She begins to explore my mouth, and I follow her example, realizing she is teaching me. This velvety exploration becomes a rapturous sharing which soon leaves both of us breathless.

My hands want to move over her, and as if they have a will of their own, they slide down her arms, touching her bare skin that is so soft, so silken as pleasure courses through me at being able to touch her like this. In response, Laura places one of her small, delicate hands on my chest. I can feel the warmth of her touch through my shirt as her hand rests tenderly above my heart. She moves her other hand to the back of my head and brushes it gently through my hair at the nape of my neck.. Surely she can feel my pulse pounding now with the pleasure she is giving me from her mere touch and soft caresses. I am experiencing such elation and pleasure…such sublime happiness that I have never felt before…not even with Christine. This is so different….Our pleasure is mutual, and I realize that her reactions to my embrace are fueling my own passion to a greater height than I have ever dared dream.

Laura kisses the corner of my mouth, then trails more warm kisses across my neck, continuing to my ear. My blood is boiling now, and even though I do not want this exquisite ecstasy to end, I realize my body's needs are beginning to overwhelm me. Reluctantly, I pull away and try to calm my racing heart and control my ragged breathing. "Laura, we need to stop."

Her impassioned eyes, half closed and full of emotion, look up at me. She merely replies, "uummmm…" and reaches to kiss me again.

"No, Laura, I cannot withstand much more of this. I need some time to…uhh…to…"

Realization dawns on her, and she breaks into a large smile and says "Oh, I understand..."

"Let's just sit here for awhile," I propose as I try to quiet my growing passion for fear of overstepping the boundaries.

Laura looks up at me with total acceptance, and my heart melts completely. She gently wraps her arms around me and leans her head against my chest. The tender embrace continues until our breathing has calmed and returned to normal. I reflect on all that has just happened. We continue to sit for endless moments, our arms around each other, our bodies molding together. +

Finally, I whisper in Laura's delicate ear, "I regret to say that it is time for us to return. We have been here for several hours and the others will wonder." She nods her head in reluctant assent. I place her gently on the floor and rise from the bench. Taking her hand, we retrace our steps back to the bridge and pause there for several minutes. I hold Laura in my arms and her head rests against my chest as we gaze up at the star-filled sky. Then, after many moments of contentedly holding her in my arms, she turns around and looks up, searching my face with sadness and longing. We cannot resist a few more, deep, breathless kisses before we turn to go.

When we reach the table, I pick up the stem of orchids and hand it to her. She takes it, reaches up and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, saying, "This is the most precious gift I have ever received!"

I lead her down the long hallways, and as we are standing in the elevator, I turn her to me. I cannot let her leave without one last kiss to linger on my lips until Tuesday. It is a bittersweet one.

We walk to the den and find our shadows playing billiards. They look up at us with smirks that irritate me at their implied insinuations. I give them both a scowl as warning to remain silent, and that wipes the impertinent expressions from their faces. They follow us out to the driveway, and Matt gets quickly into the Corvette, while Jeremy remains on the front patio.

Clearly, we have no privacy to say our goodbyes, and this pains me deeply. So, gazing down into Laura's eyes, I bring both of her hands up to my lips and kiss each one gently.

Looking up at me from the driver's seat, her eyes say what I am feeling. Tuesday is too far away. I step back from the car as it departs slowly down the driveway, and watch it until it disappears into the trees. I realize that every minute with her now will be counted _and precious _because of the unavoidable fact that our futures will soon be a _hundred years apart._

And, as ever…thank you to our very intrepid, romantic editor, Phanna!


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Mme Giry faces the prosecution's crossexamination, but it is definitely NOT a typical court day, with romance and humor ruling...**

**Pink cupcakes and kudos to each of you wonderful readers who have written your delightful, thoughtful comments!!**

**Chapter 24 Cross-examination of Mme Giry, Part 1, by Phanfan, Barbkesq++ & Sebbied +**

* * *

_Seattle, Washington  
September 16, 2005 _

_Laura's POV:_

Erik reaches around me and opens the door that leads into the front of the courtroom. Nothing unusual about that. He always opens doors for me. He is a very traditional gentleman, modern social customs not withstanding. Then, something happens. As he stands aside to let me pass, his hand reaches out and rests on the small of my back in a brief and gentle caress. THAT is different.

Things in court today just don't seem to be quite the same. For the first time Erik is not dressed in his usual formal black suit and leather gloves. Today he is wearing a more casual version of 19th century men's clothing known as a morning suit, as well as a colorful cravat in a rather cheerful shade of burgundy. And, his hands are uncovered, his customary black gloves nowhere in sight. All of this, however, makes his final bit of attire very perplexing. He is carrying his black cloak over his arm. He hasn't taken that into the courtroom since the very first day when he came in very formally regaled. This has me extremely puzzled.

As usual, he pulls out my chair, but today he leans close enough that I can feel his warm breath in my hair as he seats me. Before sitting in his own chair, he pulls it so close to mine they almost touch. I observe this, but say nothing. Then I watch as he swings his cloak off his arm and with a slight flourish drapes it across the back of his chair, pushing it back as if he were trying to prevent our accidentally stepping on it. I give him a sideways glance wondering again what he is doing, but Erik concentrates on his task and doesn't look at me. I remember the first day in court when I was so aware of its folds next to me on the ground, and took great care not to step on them. Today he makes sure the cloak stretches out on both sides of his chair and even has some of the folds extend behind my chair. Very strange.

Then, as ever, I pull out my files and notes and begin reading to remind myself of key facts that need to be brought out during testimony. Erik does not interrupt me, and as usual turns to have his chat with Counselor Sebbied who is already seated at the defense table.

I open my file and begin reading:

"_If there is any doubt raised concerning the abuse Erik suffered in the gypsy tent, make sure Mme Giry testifies about…."_

Suddenly my mind is short-circuited by something that never happened in court before. Erik's large warm hand is enclosing mine underneath the table. A soft, startled exhale escapes my lips before I can stop it. Erik does not react to this, but continues looking at Counselor Sebbied. To all eyes in the courtroom he appears totally absorbed in her latest tales of her very exasperating bodyguard. Next, Erik gently, but insistently, lifts my hand and rests it on his leg. My heart begins to race, and my mind futilely attempts to function, with little success. So I sit here in court with my palm resting on Erik's thigh, which tenses the second my hand touches it, and try not to think of warm kisses and caresses. He then places his hand gently on top of mine, enclosing his fingers around mine, and I am utterly lost in sensation.

Then a panicked thought occurs to me! What if we are seen? I look back nervously over my shoulder to see if any spectators have observed Erik's affectionate actions. Gossip about our relationship is the last thing we need right now. That is when my eyes fall on Erik's cloak. It totally protects us from prying eyes, and I cannot keep a small chuckle from escaping. Ah! So that is what the cloak is for! He had planned this! I glance at the defense table and realize it is so large that no one in the jury box or the front of the court can see us. I turn my head to the left as if just looking around, and check out the prosecution table. Mr Broadbent is not yet in his seat, and M DeVere is busy scanning his note cards in preparation, but my eyes catch S Luzano who is looking directly at Erik and me with a huge grin beaming from his expressive face. He has caught me off guard, and I look at him with a questioning arch to my eyebrow, imploring his discretion. He nods his head and mouths a silent response, "Your secret is safe." I give him an appreciative smile in return, hoping I can trust him, and turn back to my notes and try to read them again.

"_If there is any doubt raised concerning the abuse Erik suffered in the gypsy tent, make sure Mme Giry testifies about…." _

Just at that moment, Erik squeezes my hand and my mind skips back to his doing the same thing at dinner last Tuesday at Horatio's home. Instead of sitting directly across the table from me as he had done in the past, he seated himself to my right. I had assumed that he chose to seat himself there so that the uncovered side of his face was toward me, as in court.

It was during the conversation after dinner that he gently reached over, under the table and took my hand, carrying it back to his leg and resting it on his thigh. I tried to hide my startled reaction, but sensed that Mme Giry noticed. She doesn't seem to miss much, especially anything regarding Erik. I tried to keep my mind on the conversation, but discovered that it was impossible. All my senses seemed focused on his warm and gentle hand above mine and the taut muscles of his leg beneath it. Then, he began to explore my hand, moving his fingers along mine, feeling each one. He glided his fingers slowly up and down in the soft areas between, sending shivers through me that I tried to hide from the other people at the table. I looked around to read their expressions and see if they noticed. Matt and Jeremy were in animated discussion about their favorite football teams, and Freuda was kidding them that their preoccupation with that sport was because of sublimation. Horatio was not back from his trip to San Diego, so my eyes rested on Mme Giry to assess her, and sure enough, she was gazing at Erik and me…and smiling.

That was when Erik turned my hand over and began his exploration of my palm brushing his fingertips ever so lightly across it. I never knew that hands could be so sensitive to the touch. Just then, thank God, Mme Giry announced that she would love to take another walk in the Admiral's Japanese garden, and asked Erik and me to accompany her as we had on Saturday. Everyone politely assented and so the three of us excused ourselves, went down the elevator and were soon back in that glorious garden.

A short way down the winding path an ancient, weathered stone bench stood gracefully next to the pond. Mme Giry made her excuses about wanting to rest and enjoy the garden from that aspect. She sat down, and in best Mistress of Dance fashion, directed Erik to continue the stroll of the garden with me. I think that was when I fully realized what a jewel Mme Giry is. I bent down and kissed her cheek, then Erik and I turned to continue our walk. He immediately took my hand in his, not hiding it from Mme Giry. Clearly, there was no need.

Walking faster through the garden than we had last Saturday, we only stopped when we reached the koi. Erik came prepared with food, so we fed the magical fish for several minutes. We soon continued down the path, enjoying the soft glow of the garden's hidden lights on the trees and bushes, and the star-studded night sky above us. When we reached the arching wood bridge, we did not pause, but crossed over and were soon in the gazebo. Erik led me quickly to the cushioned bench and wordlessly sat down, pulling me into his lap in one smooth movement.

We paused for only a heart beat to look into each other's eyes before joining in a luxurious, soft kiss. More kisses followed, each more insistent, deepening until they became all encompassing, with all of our senses aroused. One of my hands ran through Erik's soft, black hair at the back of his neck, as one of his arms slid around my waist and his hand splayed on the small of my back, pulling my body against his. Our other hands were entwined and rested in my lap—our effort to keep them from wandering. After all, Mme Giry was in the garden, and we could not keep her waiting too long.

We continued our impassioned kisses until Erik groaned and pulled his head back. I looked into his darkened eyes filled with emotion and saw his longing and need there, but also read the disappointment. We needed to stop. Neither of us could speak, so he just gathered me into his arms, and I curled up with my head on his shoulder, savoring these moments within his arms.

Finally, reluctantly, Erik sighed deeply and said the only words spoken between us that night in the garden, "Laura, it is time to return." His deep voice resonated beneath my ear, and I did not want to move, did not want to leave his warm embrace, but I nodded my head in sad acceptance.

We walked back slowly, very slowly, holding hands and stopping every few feet, not wanting this night to end, needing more time together. We stopped on the bridge to gaze at the stars, but somehow I found myself in Erik's arms again, both of us stealing one more kiss that must last until the next time we could be together. We continued our journey down the path, but soon stopped to admire the pond. That turned into one more kiss. We walked a short distance further, and stopped to look at the garden. At each stop, one last kiss. So, we stopped a lot.

Eventually, we turned the bend in the path and saw Mme Giry ahead of us, deep in thought as she gazed at the garden. She looked up and greeted us, "Well, deed you enjoy your walk?" She asked with a knowing grin.

"Yes, thank you," I had responded with a shy smile and a blush in my cheeks.

I pull myself out of my reverie and realize I am sitting in the courtroom. Looking down I see my notes in front of me. Oh, yes!! I was reviewing my notes. I begin reading again,

"_If there is any doubt raised concerning the abuse Erik suffered in the gypsy tent, make sure Mme Giry testifies about…."_

"All rise please for the Judge!" Bailiff George's voice rings out in the courtroom and everyone automatically stands as the Judge enters. Erik releases my hand, and we stand as if we are attorney and client instead of two people who cannot keep their hands off of each other, even in a courtroom, I think to myself with a wry smile. Even the Judge's flowing black robe reminds me of Erik, and I wonder if I will ever be able to concentrate sufficiently whenever he is near.

The Judge looks over at the prosecution table and directs a question to the two attorneys sitting there. "Where is Mr Broadbent? Is he late?" with a slight tone of displeasure.

S Luzano stands quickly and with an apologetic tone in his voice, says with his usual graciousness, "Your Honor, Mr Broadbent's plane flight was cancelled. He will not be able to arrive in Seattle in time for today's hearing, but the prosecution is entirely prepared to proceed with its cross-examination of the witness."

"Very well," the Judge nods her acceptance of Mr Broadbent's absence and directs Bailiff George to bring in the witness. Mme Giry makes her graceful entrance as before in the same formal black dress and jacket, settling down in the witness stand with a regal, assured calm. With a kind smile, the Judge advises Mme Giry that she is still under oath.

M DeVere stands with great self-importance and walks around the prosecution table, taking the measure of this witness with his hawk-like gaze. He peers above the rims of his dark framed glasses and tries to adopt the air of a ferocious interrogator. The mood is broken when he trips on the edge of the carpet, and his copious note cards go flying through the air. He regains his balance and gives the bottom of his suit vest a sharp tug to restore its order and a small modicum of dignity. Bailiff George rushes to his aid, kneeling on the ground and gathering the myriad of cards. The light reflects off M DeVere's bald spot as he bends forward to retrieve his cards from the Bailiff. Mme Giry politely suppresses a grin, and I cannot help but wonder how M DeVere will fare with this indomitable woman.++

M DeVere quickly poses his first question to divert attention from his clumsy start, "Mme Giry, prior to attendance at the gypsy carnival at which you met M Phantom, did you know anything about this carnival?"

"Non. I knew zee carneeval was een town, but like I said, zee other girls said eet would be fun. So I went weeth zhem."

"Was this your first time going to this carnival, or for that matter, any carnival?"

"Oui, I had never before been zhere before."

"At the carnival, you and your friends observed many acts, side show performances, magic tricks, even people performing acts of illusion, did you not?"

"We saw many theengs at zee carneeval. Some of zhem were funny and some of zhem were scary, like zee cage M Phantom was een."

"You testified that when you saw M Phantom you were shocked?"

"Oui. I was indeed shocked to find zee boy in zee filthee cage like that being beaten by zee gypsy. Would you not have been, Monsieur?" Mme Giry asks with a questioning tilt and emphatic shake of her head.

"Please, Mme Giry, refrain from asking me questions," M. DeVere says with a slight pique of irritation, and then continues, "Did any of the other ballet girls appear to be frightened or shocked when they saw M Phantom in the gypsy cage?"

"Non. Most of zhem were not."

"In fact, they were laughing and having fun watching the performance?"

"Zhere were many people laughing at zee boy," she responds with disgust. "I was not."

"If M Phantom was being brutally beaten by the gypsy man as you described, wouldn't the other girls have been just as shocked and frightened as you?"

"What do you mean 'eef he was being brutally beaten by zee gypsy man?!' I saw zhat happen, and he was clearly being forced to live een horreeble conditions!"

M DeVere unwisely ignores Mme Giry's outrage at his question and presses further, "Perhaps the reason why the ballet girls were frightened is because what looked like a beating to you was in reality an illusion, merely part of the routine performance, just like the other acts at the carnival, which you even said you found funny?"

"Zat ees absurd!" Mme Giry is clearly getting angry at these insinuations. "He was being beaten for no reason! Zhat was no act!" I debate about whether to object to the manner of M DeVere's questioning, but decide that he has not yet crossed the boundary. Indeed, if he keeps upsetting Mme Giry like this, we may get some very interesting responses from her. I decide to wait. I am secure in the knowledge that she will say nothing to harm Erik. I look up into his face and see his eyes have narrowed into slits as he gazes at M DeVere with barely disguised contempt. I reach over, underneath the table, and hold Erik's hand, gently squeezing to let him know that I am here for him.

"Isn't it true that the only time you saw what looked to you like a beating of M Phantom was when M Phantom was required to remove his mask during the performance?" M DeVere clearly is trying to lead Mme Giry into a trap. I feel certain she will handle it fine.

"OUI! I saw zee gypsy man beet M Phantom when he would not remove hees mask. Eet made me sick to my stomach!" Mme Giry's voice is now registering a highly irritated pitch. I look over my right shoulder to see what effect this is having on Christine. She looks pale, and her eyes seem to be glistening with unshed tears.

"And after the ballet girls left the tent, M Phantom was no longer being beaten by the gypsy man, correct?"

"Non! He was not, thank God!" She spits out.

"And the gypsy was not beating M Phantom at the moment M Phantom took a rope and wrapped it around the gypsy's neck and began to strangle him?"

Mme Giry answers the question reluctantly, perceiving where M DeVere is going with his questions, "Non, he was not."

"And it's also true that at that moment the gypsy man was not threatening M Phantom life in any way?"

"Non, unless you conseeder zhat he could not have survived much longer een zee horreeble conditions zhat zhey forced heem to leeve een—zhat filthee, reeking, smelly cage." Mme Giry is now clearly distressed and on the edge of tears.

"What was the gypsy doing at the moment before M Phantom strangled him?"

"He was pickeeng up and counteeng zee coins that zee peeople had thrown eento zee cage and was putting zhem eento hees bag."

"You also testified that M Phantom took a key from the gypsy's pocket, a toy monkey and a small bag which was the same bag that the gypsy was putting the coins in just before M Phantom strangled him?"

"Well, I don't know. M Phantom never showed me what was eenside zee bag."

"M Phantom was scared and frightened for his life the moment he struck the gypsy, yet he had the presence of mind to steal the bag that contained the gypsy's money he made for the day's performance, did he not?"

"Eef zee bag contained zee money which zee man had just picked up from zee ground, zhen M Phantom deed not steal zee monee. As you so correctly just said, zee money was geeven by zee crowd een payment for seeing zee boy. Zhat was zherefore money which zee boy earned and rightfullee belonged to heem. And, quite frankly being beaten and deesplayed een front of jeereeng people was a veree, veree hard way to earn monee, eef you ask my opinion!" she says with vehemence.

An audible gasp is heard directly behind us, above the surprised mumble in the courtroom in response to Mme Giry's very graphic description. I do not look back, nor does Erik. We know it is Christine. These must be very disturbing words for her to hear, especially coming from Mme Giry. Erik's hand tightens around mine under the table in an unconscious reaction to these words which no doubt bring back terrible memories. I squeeze his hand in response, trying to let him know…I understand, and he is no longer alone.

Somewhat embarrassed and clearing his throat, M DeVere changes the subject, "You offered testimony that after M Phantom strangled the gypsy, you ran OUT of the side door of the tent after you saw M Phantom flee from the cage. At the point you left the tent, the strangled gypsy was still IN the tent lying unconscious on the ground. How could you possibly see the gypsy man yelling and swearing, if the gypsy was IN the tent and you were OUTSIDE the tent, in fact running away from the tent with M Phantom?" He asks this question, emphasizing some words in an almost mocking tone.

"Because, Monsieur, I said zhat I ran out of zee tent. I deed NOT say zhat I ran out of zee tent BEFORE I saw zee man cougheeng, sweareeng and sitteeng up. I clearly saw zhat first, while I was STEEL EEN ZEE TENT! I also said zhat was when I saw zee ozher men runneeng at us, and so I fled out of zee side door, followeeng zee boy! Zhat ees what I said!" Mme Giry retorts with an equal emphasis in her words.

"And how far away from the tent were you when you claim you saw the gypsy men come out of tent to chase you?"

"We were about one hundred feet away."

"Weren't you and M Phantom too far away from the carnival and being chased by an angry mob of men to be able to look back and confirm that the gypsy man was alive?"

"Non! I beleeve zhat M Phantom did not kill zee gypsy! I glanced back before I left zee tent, and he was starteeng to move." Her mouth flattens into a line as she looks at M DeVere with clear dislike.

"You indicated that when you brought M Phantom to the Opera House, you brought him clean clothes, water to bathe and gave him food to eat?"

"Oui!"

"However, you had no knowledge of his living conditions at the gypsy carnival, isn't that correct?"

"I could tell he leeved poorly by zee way he was dressed. Hees clothes were een tatters, and zhey were feelthy. Eet was clear he had not had zee bath in a long time. He was also starveeng." Mme Giry glances at Erik with compassion in her eyes. Erik meets her gaze and nods his head subtly in agreement. "He was definitelee beeing mistreated by zhem. Zhey even beat zee poor boy!"

"Now, Mme Giry, are you saying that just because it looks like a child is living in poverty, that the child is being abused by the caretaker?"

"He was not liveeng een poverty. I grew up een a poor family. I know what poverty ees. But zhees was somezheeng totallee different!! He was being cruellee mistreated. Even a fool could see zhat!" Mme Giry's voice is now taking on a low, intense edge.

An uneasy wave of laughter flows throughout the courtroom. M DeVere turns a distinct shade of red and pursues this issue. "Did M Phantom ever show you any marks or scars indicating he was beaten?"

"Non. M Phantom never showed me any scars.…" M DeVere nods his head as if emphasizing that her statement is a point for the prosecution.

"You've also stated that M Phantom went outside the Opera Populaire to sell his artwork. Isn't it true that you told the Vicomte that M Phantom knew nothing of life outside the opera house since you decided to hide him there?"

"What I meant when speakeeng to the Vicomte about M Phantom's life is that he had lived at zee Opera house all of hees adult life and knew no ozher life zhan zhat. I meant zhat he knew notheeng else of life outside of museec and art."

"Isn't it true that the items M Phantom took to furnish his 'home' were items that were kept in storage by the Opera House?"

"Oui. Some of zhem were."

"So isn't it true that these items still were OWNED by the Opera House, BELONGED to the Opera House, and remained in the Opera House's POSSESSION, even though they were not being used, did they not?" M DeVere again emphasizes certain words.

"Zhey were ON the Opera House property, but zhey were no longer being USED! Zhat was why zhey were een zee STORAGE room!" Mme Giry responds in kind.

"But, they had not been thrown out as garbage or trash, had they?"

"Some of zee theengs he took were thrown out as garbage and some were not!"

"Isn't it possible that the Opera House stored these items for the purpose of reusing them again?"

"Oui, zhat ees posseeble weeth some of zhees theengs."

"Mme Giry, if M Phantom was given formal permission to live at the Opera House, would he not have been offered living quarters above ground?"

"But he was geeven permeession to live een zee Opera House. Eet ees een zee contract he had weeth zee owner. Have you not seen zhat?"

M DeVere sputters as he says tersely, "Mme Giry, please refrain from answering my question with a question! I repeat…then why did he not live above ground?"

"Zhere were no rooms available for heem…" she pauses, looks apologetically at Erik and continues, "…for hees particular needs."

"You are telling this Court that no living quarters became available for him, and nobody moved out of a room which would be an appropriate vacancy for him during those twenty five years?"

"Well, he had become used to leeveeng below ground so he could play hees museec whenever he weeshed. And, he could have hees privacee zhere. He was not accostumed to liveeng around ozhers. He deed not feel comfortable meeteeng people because of hees…mask." Mme Giry looks over at Erik with her gentle look, trying to take away the sting of the words she has to speak.

"But that contract was only for the last several years that M Phantom lived in the Opera house. For the twenty years before that, you indicated you gave your consent for M Phantom to live there, but you were not an owner or manager of the Opera House, so you really had no authority to make that decision, did you?"

"Oui, indeed, I deed have such authoritee. From zee time I became zee Assistant to zee Mistress of Dance, I had authoritee to offer residence rooms to zhose who worked een zee Opera house, and beleeve me, M Phantom always contreebuted to zee performances, even before he was paid under zee contract!"

"How old was M Phantom when you became the Assistant?"

"He was about nineteen years old."

"How long had he already lived at the Opera house?"

"He had been zhere about ten years by zhat time."

"But you did not have the authority to consent to his living there before that, did you?"

"Non, I deed not." Mme Giry says reluctantly, looking down at her hands, clearly distressed that she could not help Erik regarding this issue. I make a mental note to reassure her later not to concern herself about this. We most certainly have THIS matter covered.

M DeVere shuffles the cards in his hands, and I can hear him talking to himself under his breath… "Let's see… "Managers," "Profit-making," "Junk Business vs. Opera." I look down, appearing to study my notes, but in reality trying to cover up my grin as I can pretty well guess what the next line of questions will be.

"You testified that things began to go wrong when the new managers took over the Opera House, alleging that they did not want to pay for new costumes, backdrops, and props, or to honor M Phantom's contract?"

"Oui, zat ees correct."

"Mme Giry, do you have any personal experience in running a business?"

"Non. I have never run a business. However, I have been zee Mistress of Dance for manee years at zee Opera Populaire."

"You are aware, Mme Giry that the Opera House is a business?"

"Oui. Of courze, I am," she snorts back.

"And you are aware the managers M Andre and M Firmin were very successful in their previous venture in the scrap metal business?"

"Oui, I am aware of zhat, but runneeng zee opera house is not like being with zee junk." Erik's head cocks sideways as we hear laughter behind us coming from the spectators. He looks at me, not able to hide a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

"Aren't you aware that they have invested a significant amount of money into purchasing the Opera House?"

"I do not know anytheeng about the financial affairs of M Andre and M Firmin."

"Didn't they seek patronage from the Vicomte deChagny in order for the Opera house to have the necessary funds to be able to maintain its operations?" M DeVere doggedly pursues this issue like a tenacious terrier.

"I said, I know nozheeng about zheir business affairs or arrangements!" Mme Giry says with a dramatic sniff of her nose, indicating graphically her opinion about the junk dealer managers. M DeVere gets the point and frowns, knowing that since she didn't say any disparaging remarks, he couldn't complain about her response. However, S Luzano is covering his mouth discreetly to hide a small smile and laughter is getting louder throughout the courtroom.

"Wouldn't you want them to be successful in running the Opera House?"

"Of courze."

"After M Andre and M Firmin's took over the ownership and management, all of the performances continued to sell out, did they not?"

"Oui."

"If the costumes and props that M Andre and M Firmin decided to use were old and broken and worn out, as you indicated in your testimony, then the quality of the performances would have suffered, would they not?"

"And, zhe performances deed indeed get worse!"

"Did the audience attendance at the Opera drop at all from what it was under the previous ownership?"

"Non, it did not, but zhat was because most of zee seats in zee theater were sold for zee entire season, just before zee junk dealers purchased zee Opera Populaire from M Lefevre. Zhose season teeckets were sold based on zee high qualitee of zee previous seasons at zee Opera!" Mme Giry emphatically declares.

The Judge leans over the bench and directs, "Mme Giry, I must ask you to please refrain from referring to M Firmin and M Andre as 'junk dealers,' no matter how much you may feel that term fits them." Her touch of humor in her admonition carries the implication that she agrees with Mme Giry! M DeVere gets the point and goes to a different issue.

"Turning to the courtship of Mlle Daae, you testified that the Vicomte's behavior on the night of Mlle Daae's public debut was allegedly improper, and he damaged her reputation. Were you not standing right outside the dressing room when the Vicomte entered to visit Mlle Daae?"

"Oui, I was."

"And you heard the entire conversation, everything that was said between Mlle Daae and the Vicomte?"

"Non, I deed not!! I assumed he was onlee delivereeng flowers to her, zhen he closed zee door behind heem. I was outside een zee hallway, so I could not hear any of zee conversation."

"And on that same night, you did not explain that you are Mlle Daae's guardian?"

"Non, but as I said before, I saw him breeng zee flowers to Christine, and I zhought zhat ees all he would do. Nor did he ask Christine eef she had a guardian!" she says with dramatic indignation.

"As a matter of fact, you never confronted the Vicomte at any time and explained that you felt his actions on the opening night of Hannibal was compromising Christine's reputation, did you?

"Non. I deed not."

"When the Vicomte came to the Opera House during the rehearsal of Hannibal, did the owners introduce you to the Vicomte as Mlle Daae's guardian?"

Mme Giry takes a moment to think about her answer, "Non, zhey did not, and zhey certainlee should have done zhat. But again…zhey were negligent!"

"But you did not introduce yourself to the Vicomte during the rehearsal for Hannibal, or tell him you were Christine's guardian, did you Mme Giry?"

"Non, I deed not."

"Mme Giry, you've also stated that you've seen that many of the girls were led into trouble and their reputations compromised by rich patrons?"

"Oui, I have."

"And from that, you assumed that the Vicomte would do the same to Mlle Daae?"

"Oui, because he was very deesrespectful to both Christine and to me, her guardian on zee night of Hannibal! From zhat I could draw conclusions about hees character, and zhat is my responsibilitee as a guardian!" she replies, pulling her shoulders back with annoyed emphasis.

"However, you testified that you knew nothing about the Vicomte prior to his arrival at the Opera House. So other than what you felt was disrespect to you personally, you had no other information which would lead you to conclude that the Vicomte was a bad person."

"I knew notheeng more about him other zhan how he behaved zhat night."

"Mme Giry, you gave M Phantom permission to take Mlle Daae to his lair because you felt it was the only place they could meet in private. Yet isn't your room located in a private corridor of the residence area?"

"Oui eet ees."

"Isn't it true that M Phantom can come and go to your apartment easily without being seen by anyone?"

"Oui, he can."

"At your room, you would be able to see that M Phantom and Mlle Daae met in private?"

"Zhat ees true."

"Would not your presence as a chaperone have been required?"

"Oui, eef zee chaperone felt zhat zee young man needed such supervision. But I felt zhat M Phantom needed to show Christine hees home and hees museec so she could understand more about heem. And I could not accompany zhem since zee boat only held two peeple. But more importantlee eet ees permisseeble for zhere to be no chaperone when zee man ees goeeng to propose marriage, and I knew zhat was zee eentention of M Phantom." Mme Giry looks from Erik to Christine with a kind and loving expression.

"So, you let Mlle Daae go with M Phantom unchapperoned, and even the defendant admitted to you that the meeting did not go well and that he got very angry at Christine?

"Oui."

"Isn't it true that she was so frightened by M Phantom's anger that she did not want to see anybody?"

"Non. She wanted to be alone to rest because she was exhausted by zee debut and zee trip to M Phantom's home."

"Didn't Mlle Daae have a curfew at the Opera House just as the other girls did?"

"Oui."

"Certainly, you as Mlle Daae's guardian would not approve that M Phantom kept Mlle Daae out in violation of your curfew?"

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Mme Giry responds, "Well, eet ees obvious zhat eef I am zee one who sets zee curfew, I am also zee one who has zee right to make exceptions. And, zhees ees one of zee manee times I made such exceptions for zee girls!"

"And yet didn't you hear that the Vicomte had told Christine that he would not keep her out late?"

Now speaking through clenched teeth, Mme Giry responds, "Non, I deed not hear zhat, and eet was quite irrelevant how late he kept her out, when hees own behavior was questionable to begin weeth!"

"Turning to the events at the Bal Masque, isn't it true that M Phantom drew his sword and pointed it at Carlotta, S Piangi and M Andre and M Firmin?"

"Oui, he deed."

"You did not see anyone approach M Phantom in any sort of threatening manner before M Phantom drew his sword at the attendees, isn't that so?"

"Non. I deed not."

"So, it did not appear that M Phantom drew his sword because he needed to defend himself?"

"Non, but holding eet made a very dramatic entrance! Zee kind WE een zee THEATER are MOST FOND OF!" Mme Giry says with an impish smile and a quick meaningful glance at Erik. Since I am still holding Erik's hands, I can feel Erik's body shake, as he laughs inwardly trying to make no indication of his glee at her response.

Mme Giry is definitely getting a little testy at M DeVere's questions and manner. His eyebrows have shot up in surprise at her response. I look down for a minute to hide my smile because I can also hear him muttering under his breath as he sorts through his cards… "Red death," "Masque ball," "necklace snatching…." ++

The Judge sees that things are getting a little out of control, when laughter breaks out again in the courtroom. Suppressing a grin, the Judge announces, "It is now noon and this appears to be a good place to break for lunch. Court is recessed until 1:30 pm."

I look over at Erik with a grin and can tell he is trying not to laugh. What a nice way to end the morning's testimony, with something funny for a change. It will set a pleasant tone for our lunch break and after all, it will be the last meal that Erik will share with Mme Giry before she returns to 1871 France following her testimony today.

Erik carefully gathers up his cloak, catching my eyes and giving me a guilty look that confesses to the reason for his cloak caper. As he pulls out my chair, I stand and smile back at him, shaking my head with good-natured humor and looking forward with anticipation to an enjoyable lunch. Just before we leave through the door at the front of the courtroom, I catch the watchful eyes of S Luzano. I remember that he saw Erik holding my hand, and I sincerely hope he will be discrete and not tell anyone.

_S Luzano's POV: _

Ho-ho, I thought we would have to strike up the Marseilles this morning with the fiery exchanges between our French attorney and their French witness. They are quite a match. I reflect happily that the trial is going better today than has been our normal luck, but we on the prosecution team should never be too confident. Ms Counselor always seems to be one…or two…steps ahead of us. My intuition tells me we cannot rest on our laurels.

This has been the first day I have truly enjoyed during this trial. Today even started off bellisma! Mr Broadbent called me at my comfortable hotel room this morning and told me his flight was cancelled and the next one to Seattle would not allow him to arrive in time for today's trial. He was quite angry that he would miss court, but for me, it was a gift! What a relief that I did not have to sit next to his hulking presence and listen to his disagreeable comments about all who passed by.

So, with this good news and wearing a new and beautifully tailored suit, I arrived in court early in the hope of persuading some bella lady to accompany me to lunch. I can be very persuasive! There are so many beautiful women who come to this trial and sit in the spectator's section. I suspect that it is because they want to see the mysterious masked defendant. But, for me, that creates a bountiful feast for my eyes, and many pleasant lunches while I am away from my loving wife and beautiful mistress.

But do you think a little success in court or Mr Broadbent's absence is the only reason for my joy today? You do not know Franco Luzano if you think that! No, it is because M Phantom is quite changed. I can see that cupid had been busy in his life since last Friday. It is a subtle difference and perhaps only I, with my Italian sensibilities, have noticed the difference in his demeanor, but he is glowing like a schoolboy in love. The energy sparking between them is unmistakable, and I smiled as I realized that M Phantom has succeeded in breaking through Ms Counselor's cool reserve. I wonder what happened. I regret that I will never know, but clearly, the bloom of romance and amore now flows between them.

I surreptitiously watched with amusement as M Phantom draped his cloak over the back of his chair. I thought that was very strange since he had not worn it into the courtroom. Out of curiosity I continued to spy on them. Then I saw it! Under the large table, M Phantom's hand reached over, caressed the hand of Ms Counselor and placed it on his leg. Ah ha! I told you he could be an Italian! A man after my own heart! That is something I would have done myself, if I had a bellisima counselor sitting next to me rather than that swine Broadbent! Ms Counselor was very surprised by his bravado, but I could see the electric charge go through her. She looked in every direction to make sure no one else witnessed this. Luckily, I was the only one who did, and when she looked at me with those dark, pleading eyes, how could I deny her? I reassured her with a silent wink that I would never divulge her secret.

And, indeed, I won't. It is very good that Mr Broadbent is not here today and did not see this. When we next have court, I will keep his attention and head turned in my direction. I will make sure he never learns of this relationship because I know he would divulge it to those who hired us, and they would spread it far and wide. That is not fertile ground for a budding flower to take root in, and this amore that is blooming between the dark man with a mask and his lovely lady must be carefully nurtured.

I sadly reflect that although I think it is possible Ms Counselor will succeed in defending M Phantom, The Program has committed to returning him immediately to the past. They have so little time.

We Italians are an ancient culture and know that love is under the auspices of the goddesses like Sophia and Venus. There are shrines to both of them near my family villa in the Italian countryside that has been in our family for centuries. To keep their fate from ending up like the star-crossed lovers of the Montagues and Capulets, I will take some candles from my wife's private chapel. Then, I will light them at the shrines of both these goddesses and ask their guidance and protection for them. I have a deep feeling that _they will need all the help that the heavens can bestow. _

_+Counselor Sebbied's POV:_

Remember a moment in your life when something happens that you suspected but dare not voice? Remember that sublime feeling of, "Aha!"…and then the subsequent victory dance which involves wiggling your rear end and waving your feather boa around in wide circles?

Okay maybe not the tushy wagging and the boa…but at least that "Aha!" feeling.

Well, that is exactly what this Diva experienced today.

Oh, Counselor Sebbied what are you possibly referring to? You all ask with baited breath. Well, I shall keep you in suspense no longer. Let me spell it out **CLUE** style.

_Erik Phantom and Ms. Counselor. In the courtroom. With the cloak. Holding hands._

That Luzano thought he had the goods before me. Actually giving me—the devastatingly attractive opposing counsel—a salacious and knowing smirk over the head of my client and my co-counsel. Meatballs to him I say!

I knew what was up as soon as M. Erik Suave fanned his luxurious cloak out behind both chairs. Ah, the chairs, he might as well have requested a loveseat so close did he push them together.

And yet, I have to admit, I didn't think our genteel client from days of old would actually be so brazen. But they say it only takes the true heart and a bit of flint from a good woman to start the soul fires burning.

I have seen Laura provoke and push and prod the most reluctant of witnesses, the most weary of lawyers, but I never suspected she of all people could have summoned Erik's passionate spirit back to the world to bestow its captivating, heated intensity on her.

And judging by how many times she reread the same line, (my baby blues are gorgeous _and_ 20/20) I don't think she realized this about herself either. Lucky for me Erik had no more interest in conversation than I. We were both secretly, secretly, thinking about the same thing. The tender shenanigans under the table.

While I quietly cheered this delicious behavior, I could not help but have some fun with my client. I asked him a few questions pertaining to the trial and though I don't recall exactly what I asked…I do know that his answers were seriously off the mark: 'Towel,' 'Opera Score,' and 'Gazebo'?

Very strange. Intriguing, but strange.

Wait! I hear footsteps approaching the lunchroom. Ms. Counselor's, so assured and swift…and M. Phantom's, a stealthy, soft shadow behind her. Now good readers, I must cease my conversation with you, get back to my sushi and work on my most innocent of Diva expressions.

Laura and M. Phantom enter the lunchroom in an intimate cloud of murmured conversation and shy glances. Upon seeing Jeremy, Matt, Mme Giry and me sitting at the table, they freeze. I deftly pop a spicy tuna roll between my ruby lips with my pink bamboo chopsticks while their faces turn identical shades of red. How darling!

I merely chew and give them both a cheery (oh-so-innocent) "Come on in!" wave.

They take their seats. Erik pulls Laura's chair out for her before taking his own next to her. I assume they thought I missed the part when his hand cupped her shoulder, and she touched her fingers to his. I assume they both thought I was busy pouring myself a cup of orange-pekoe tea. Heh heh.

I wait until they are both comfortable in their chairs, with the naive notion that their puppy love antics have gone unnoticed.

Then I pounce.

"Very clever with that cloak." I say brightly as Laura takes a bite of her Normandy salad.

She chokes and sputters while M. Phantom shoots me a fierce look. "I beg your pardon? What did you say?"

My eyes widen. "I said, the last question from M DeVere was a joke. What did you think I said?"

"Nothing," Erik mutters and returns to his lunch.

Laura's eyes are suspicious as they rest on me, but she says nothing, so I eat another bite of sushi.

Conversation is abbreviated, with only a few remarks made about the afternoon's testimony and Laura's planned redirect questioning.

I dab my mouth delicately with a linen napkin. "When we get back, are you going to hold his leg?"

Honestly, people should not eat salad if they can't swallow properly. This time when Laura pulls herself together, she pins me with narrowed eyes. "Come again, Counselor Sebbied? I didn't quite get that."

"With the redirect…Are you going to try the same tact that you did with Meg?"

If I weren't made of sugar and spice and everything fabulous, I might have melted under Laura and Erik's hot scrutiny. But I don't. Instead, I smile quite winsomely at the two lovebirds and pack up my belongings.

As I walk to the door, I call over my shoulder. "I think it's cute that you were holding hands."

I put my hand on the knob and hear M. Phantom grumble, "I suppose if we were to inquire on that last comment you would tell us you said something along the lines of—'you think the day has fine weather for a band.' "

"No, I wouldn't." My smile grows wider. "I do think it's _very_ cute that you two were holding hands. See you in the courtroom!"

Oh, to be a fly on the wall after I left. I suppose I shall have to be happy with the absolute shock splashed across their faces. Identical shock.

How darling!+

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**Rappleyea** interwove some humorous passages into Luzano and DeVere! And...Our intrepid and romantic editor, **Phanna,** added her usual brilliant touch! 


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Mme Giry's morning testimony was humorous, but the afternoon does not go so smoothly. Erik is deeply disturbed by this, as event after event pushes him toward a Phantom mood. How it ends...well...you'll see...**

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**Chapter 25 Cross-Examination & Redirect of Mme Giry, Part 2, by Phanfan, Barbkesq, Phangirl and Phanna**

_Seattle, Washington __  
__September 16, 2005_

_Erik's POV:_

Lunch today has been the most pleasant since the trial began. Antoinette's last answer left us all in a spirited mood, which continued throughout the lunch. The only sadness for me is that I know Antoinette will be leaving this afternoon immediately after her testimony is over. We have been told we will have only a few minutes for our goodbyes, so she and I exchange looks across the table, connecting with each other as best we can.

She knows I will only return to France if I am acquitted, and so there is an uncertainty that hangs over our heads. We hope to see each other again, but we do not know what the future will bring. And, I cannot help but reflect that if I see Antoinette again, that means I have returned to 1871 France, and I will no longer be able to be with Laura. If I am convicted and imprisoned here in the present, Laura will be able to visit me, but I will never see Antoinette again. A strange paradox that I do not want to think about. I decide for now to enjoy the friendship and humor that we are sharing in this unusual moment of time.

I discover that taking my cloak into the courtroom has missed no one's attention. Each person pointedly remarks about the cloak. Laura blushes at some of the comments and does not reply. I cannot let them go by so easily and respond to several. It is evident, however, that everyone knows that the relationship between Laura and me has…changed. Is it truly so evident, I wonder to myself. Are we _so_ obvious about our feelings? Somehow, I feel there is more to this than meets the eye.

Just as we are about to return to the courtroom, Laura gets a call from her office on her cell phone. She explains she needs to talk privately about another client, and proposes I return to court without her. I feel disappointed I will not accompany her, as I have always done, but remind myself that she does have other clients…that I must not monopolize her time…_too much_. I pause at the door for one look back into her dark, understanding eyes, which gaze back at me with regret. Russ, her body guard on court days, stands nearby, and I grudgingly leave Laura to his care.

I escort Antoinette to the bailiff's room where she will wait until she is brought in to testify. Jeremy follows me into the courtroom as usual, and Counselor Sebbied joins us again, chatting all the way. She has the most delightful and bawdy sense of humor and a keen eye for observation especially when it comes to Laura and me, but I always enjoy listening to her stories.

As we approach the defense table, Counselor Sebbied steps around the far left end, and I turn to the right to enter past Laura's empty chair. Perhaps because Laura is not with me and occupying my attention, I happen to glance into the spectator's section, which is almost full again, everyone mulling about and taking their seats for the afternoon spectacle, no doubt.

That is when I espy Christine and cannot help but notice her eyes intently following me as I walk to the defense table. She is utterly striking in a blue frock dress, with a low bodice that follows the curves of her elegant form. I gasp unexpectedly at her beauty. Her hair falls lushly on her ivory shoulders and frames her delicate face. Huge eyes stare into mine with deep meaning, and questions seem to hover there. For a minute old feelings well up in me, and I almost lose myself in her..._again_.

But, then I remember. _Everything._ The desperate, overwhelming passion that drove me to attempt to create a life for us that I thought would fulfill my dreams _and_ hers. My mind quickly retraces the memories from the first meeting after her debut, to the crazed decisions—by both of us—that spiraled downward to a disastrous ending. I remember her face…proclaiming sadness laced with pity, there, in my dark, cavernous home. She had come back to me, only to place the ring into my bare hand, the glimmering stones burning mercilessly into my skin. Then she simply slipped away without a word, crushing any flickering embers of hope. She had effectively doused them with her eyes. Yes, I remember them well. They sought mine that last time she looked back, confirming her rejection of me and her choice of Raoul. Then she clasped her body tighter to his when they disappeared in that damn boat.

I had gone berserk! Possessed by wild rage, I had fled the darkness of my life. Darkness had always been everywhere...from the murky black of the water that surrounded my home to the blackness that pervaded every part of the opera house, not only my underground cave, but even the many rooms and passageways of the theater where light never reached but for the flames of gas lamps. I destroyed the mirrors, sick to my very soul of what my life had become, and what I had done to it. My devastating anger had been unleashed, and the opera house paid the price for its many years of shunning me into hidden corners, turning its back on me and banishing me to its nocturnal depths.

I had gone up that day, up into the world, only to find that the manmade darkness of destruction had descended upon it as well in the Communard uprising. For several weeks I wandered in that desolation, witnessing the starving children and the torn bodies of the injured and dead on the streets from the infernal fighting. I no longer wanted to exist in this world and yielded without protest to my capture…to my fate which returned me to the gloom of the very cavern where, ironically, I had existed as a living phantom for so many years. There, in the familiar darkness, I awaited death with indifference, feeling that I would now be released from my agonized, despised body to haunt those well-known chambers as a true ghost.

But fate seemed to have something else in store for me. Somehow I awoke in a room full of brightness. Suddenly I was in a world of light. I have now experienced the lush greens of mother earth, the clean whiteness of clouds in soaring skies, the radiance of sunsets that paint the skies with water colored hues, and expanses of ocean that stretch to the sky, joining it in purifying shades of blues. I have now met people who care about things other than their own petty wants. I have crossed a bridge in my mind, my heart and my soul, and I cannot, will not, go back. I want to cast what happened to me in that other lifetime into the dark abyss of the past where it belongs. I want to create now a life that has meaning and purpose. And, I will never, _ever_ live in darkness again.

All these thoughts flood my mind, and my only response to Christine is an impassive gaze. Then I turn my back to the spectator's section, taking my chair and pulling it as close as possible next to Laura's. I did not bring the cloak this afternoon. I know Laura will be asking more questions of Antoinette, and I must refrain from distracting her further. For the next several minutes I sit and think about Christine, about her expression, and about my reaction to her. In these last months of my life, so much has happened. So much has _changed._

I anxiously await Laura, but can only manage a flattened grin when she enters the courtroom and takes her seat next to me. She looks into my eyes, perceptive as ever, sensing my troubled mood. She raises a concerned eyebrow and asks what has happened. I just shake my head wearily and assure her, "Everything is fine. Do not trouble yourself." She smiles back, but does not seem convinced. Seconds later, the bailiff calls the court to session, the Judge enters, and Antoinette is again taking her seat in the witness box.

M DeVere stands and walks the other way around the prosecution table, clearly wanting to avoid whatever caused his acrobatic display this morning. He coughs and shuffles through his cards as usual, and Antoinette raises an eyebrow impatiently. All of us at the front of the courtroom can hear him mumbling under his breath as he reads his infernal cards, "Vicomte deChagny, Friend Of Prosecution," "sword-waving," "mirror image."

"We were discussing the events of the Bal Masque, Mme Giry. Where was the Vicomte when M Phantom entered the grand hall?"

"He was standeeng next to Christine at zee end of zee Grand staircase when M Phantom entered."

"Isn't it true that the Vicomte left the hall while M Phantom was still wielding his sword?"

"Oui."

"Isn't it true that M Phantom took Mlle Daae's engagement ring that she was wearing on a chain around her neck."

"Oui, he deed."

"And didn't he appear very angry with Mlle Daae because she was wearing it?"

"Oui."

"And you saw M Phantom leave the Bal Masque through a trap door on the grand stairway?"

"Oui."

"Did the Vicomte follow M Phantom through the trap door on the grand stairway?"

"Oui."

"You testified that the Vicomte had his sword drawn in the mirror room and that M Phantom was simply trying to confuse the Vicomte. But M Phantom was still in possession of his sword, was he not?"

"Oui."

"And isn't it true that M Phantom was perfectly capable of using a sword?"

"Oui, he could use eet, but not veree well. After all, he had never had anee formal traineeng."

"Please Mme Giry, just answer my questions simply." I hide a chuckle since M DeVere appears to be upset that Antoinette is adding her personal opinions to her answers whenever she can.

Then he continues with an irritated tone. "Nonetheless, M Phantom could have used his sword against the Vicomte in the mirror room?"

"Oui, but he deed not do zhat."

"You also testified that the mirror room was simply created for tricks and illusion. Thus, you would not consider the room to be dangerous for anybody to be in it?"

"Non! Eet was no threat to anyone. I knew how to get een and out easilee."

"Isn't it true that one can become dazed and confused by their surroundings in a room full of mirrors?"

"Oui, eef you do not know your way around, eet can be veree confuseeng."

"And isn't it true that the Vicomte while holding his sword to defend himself became dazed and confused by the mirrors in the room?"

"Oui."

"And that is why you went into the room, so you could lead him out?"

"Oui, he deed not know how to get out."

"Isn't it true that the Vicomte was only reacting to the appearance that M Phantom was trying to kill him?" M DeVere leans forward trying to emphasize his question.

"M Phantom deed not have hees sword drawn! How could he kill the Vicomte? Weeth a mirror?"

There is a scattering of laughter in the courtroom. "Please, Mme Giry, you are to answer my questions, not ask questions of your own!" I can tell that M DeVere is getting a little upset because Antoinette is not cooperating.

"Well, zhen, please ask questions wheech I do not need to clarify!!" Antoinette parries, causing laughter to ripple throughout the spectator's section again, and M DeVere's shoulders straighten in reaction to her barb. He clears his throat and proceeds. I glance over at S Luzano and notice he is trying to cover his smile and is shaking his head, apparently in disbelief that M DeVere has once again been made to look the fool.

"You testified that the Vicomte almost hit you with his sword when you entered into the room. Therefore, did you not enter a dangerous situation caused by the illusion that M Phantom created to confuse the Vicomte?"

"M Phantom deed not know I was comeeng een to zee room, and he deed not know zhat zee Vicomte would bee wildly swingeeng hees sword!"

"Mme Giry, isn't it true that at night, after the performances are over, nobody from the general public is in the Grand Foyer and the residents are in their rooms and dormitories?"

"Zhat ees correct."

"Isn't it true that after the Opera House closes, the carpenters perform their work late at night on stage, constructing the various stage sets and props for the operas?"

"Oui, zhey do work at night doeeng zhat."

"And the reason that they work during the night is because the loud noises generated by hammers and saws would interfere with the rehearsals during the day?"

"Oui. Eet would be difficult for zee performers to rehearse weeth all zee noise."

"And it is also true that the work from these carpenters can be heard at night by the residents living in the dorms?"

"Oui, sometimes zee noises can be heard een other parts of zee Opera House"

"You said it would also take a lot of money to build these traps, but isn't 20,000 francs a month a substantial income, enough to live comfortably and to purchase supplies?"

"Oui, but he did not build anee traps!"

"Disguised by the noise from the carpenters, M Phantom could easily have built the trap door and mirrored room himself, as well as the other traps around the Opera House, could he not?" M DeVere once again leans in to give his question added impact.

"Non. It was zee mageecian who required zee trap door een zee Grand Foyer for a grand exit after hees performance, as zee audience was leaveeng zee theater. Everyone who leeved zhere knew of zhat trap door. Zhey were just surprised zhat M Phantom used eet so dramaticallee on zee night of zee Bal Masque. However, I knew how to get eento zee room because I had assissted zee mageecian weeth hees trick! Zhat ees why I could enter zee room so queeckly!" I chuckle as I recognize that Antoinette delivered her last sentence like a Dance Mistress putting an unruly ballet rat in her place.

M DeVere is obviously taken aback by her attitude and stutters out his next question, "Regarding _Don Juan Triumphant_, you testified that the performance was M Phantom's last chance effort to win Christine's heart, but isn't it true that Christine was just acting and did not want to be with M Phantom?"

"Christine's actions were very confuseeng. Dureeng zee performance of Don Juan, her actions seemed to be showeeng zhat she loved heem. She seemed to mean zee words zhat she was singeeng, zhat in essence she wanted to be with M Phantom."

"But they were not her words. Weren't they words written by M Phantom for her to perform?"

"Zee passion in her singeeng appeared to eendicate she was not acteeng."

"Yet she pulled off his mask before an entire audience as M Phantom essentially asked her to choose him. Isn't it true that the unmasking was her response to him that she did not choose M Phantom?" I groan inwardly. Would this torment of hearing my personal life displayed to the entire world never end?

"She had been under pressure to go along weeth zee Vicomte's plot to capture M Phantom, and at zhat moment, she clearlee was doing zhat." I reflect sadly that Antoinette would be very surprised if she knew what Christine had said in her testimony.

"Before M Phantom and Mlle Daae went through the trap door on the stage, was it M Phantom who cut the rope causing the chandelier to fall?"

"Oui."

"The crashing of the chandelier resulted in a fire, correct?"

"Oui."

"Didn't considerable fire, smoke and significant interior damage occur to the Opera House?"

"I do not know, Monsieur. I left immediatelee, helpeeng zee performers to get out of zee buildeeng as quicklee as possible, and I have never been back to zee Opera house seence zhen. Zhey plan to repair eet, but zee work has not yet begun."

"But M Phantom was the one responsible for the damage to the Opera house and the injuries to the members of the audience, was he not?" Laura places her hand on top of mine and looks over at me. I sense that she is trying to calm my reactions to the inflammatory accusations.

"Non! Everytheeng was zee fault of zee jun…un, managers and zee Vicomte. Zee Vicomte wanted to capture M Phantom, so he proposed zhees crazee plot. I heard M Firmin say zhat he would make certain zhat zee doors were locked. Zee managers also wanted zee gendarmes to be armed, and zhey could have shot innocent peeple while tryeeng to capture M Phantom. Eet was clear zhat M Phantom onlee cut zee rope to breeng down zee chandelier when he saw zee gendarmes beginneeng to raise zhere guns to shoot. Had zhey shot eenside zee close space of zee theater, other innocent people could have been injured or killed…especially Christine who was standeeng so close to heem. But zee gendarmes deed not fire zheir guns because zee falleeng chandelier deestracted zhem. So, people were onlee hurt when zhey could not get out zee locked doors. It was a stupeed plan!"

Antoinette is now barely controlling her anger, and her voice is getting an edge as sharp as a knife. Even as I listen to this devastating testimony that has me feeling deeply regretful for the people that were injured because of my actions, I notice that M DeVere seems to be quite satisfied with the reactions he is extracting from Antoinette. It is almost as if he feels he is making a stronger case whenever he upsets her. I do not like this pompous little man, and I especially do not like his behavior toward Antoinette!

"Wasn't it true that many of the people were hurt not because the doors were locked, but because M Phantom caused a fire and panic in a crowded theater?"

"M Phantom never eentended to hurt anyone, and he deed not know zee doors were locked, nor deed he have aneetheeng to do weeth zhat dangerous decision!"

"But did you not warn M Phantom about the plan to capture him once you learned of the trap that was being set?"

"Oui. I deed tell him."

"So despite his knowledge of the plan to trap him, M Phantom chose to attend and perform the opera anyway?"

"Oui. He was desperate. He wanted to win Christine's heart!" Antoinette glances up at Christine and gives her what looks like a sad, disapproving look for not understanding who I was, or what I had hoped to accomplish with my opera.

"Indeed, he was desperate, so desperate that he would do anything to win Mlle Daae's heart despite any of the consequences to the people in the Opera House, even despite Christine's safety?"

"Zhat's not true!"

"During the performance, did M Phantom appear to be aware of the presence of the armed gendarmes?"

"Oui, how could he not. Zhey were everywhere ready to trap heem like an aneemal."

"And you testified that you were afraid that the gendarmes could misfire their guns and hit Christine, true?"

"Oui, I was."

"Yet M Phantom did not keep his distance from Mlle Daae on the stage so she would not be accidentally shot."

"Non! He was close to her on stage for onlee a few moments!" Antoinette protests.

"Ah!! But on the bridge, at the end of the performance, is it not true that M Phantom held her right in front of him which shielded him from being shot?" I feel my blood surging with anger at this insinuation that I would intentionally endanger Christine. I would like to take my Punjab lasso to this aggravating diminutive weasel of a man. How dare he suggest that I would use Christine as a shield!

"Zee closest gendarme was een zee weengs, at zee level of zee bridge. He could have shot M Phantom from zee side, while Christine was standeeng een front of heem. Zee problem, of course, ees zhat evereeone knows zhat gendarmes are not experts at marksmansheep. Zhey could aim at M Phantom and easily be off ze mark and heet Christine." Antoinette directs a withering glare at the offending little man.

"So, M Phantom had no regard for the danger of his being close to Christine and drawing the fire of these incompetent gendarmes?" He persists like a dog that will not give up its bone!

"Zhat's not true at all! He wanted to get her safely away from all zee guns pointed at zee stage!"

"And his way of getting her to safety was to free fall from high atop a bridge though a narrow trap door to a level far below the stage?" I watch in disbelief as M DeVere smirks and tosses his head, snorting out his apparent disgust. He missed his calling--he should have been an actor!

"Non!! Zee trap door on zee main stage zhat was used een Don Juan Triumphant was one zhat evereeone knew about and was often used een performances. Een fact zee ballet rats eenjoyed jumpeeng down eet for zheir entertainment after rehearsals. Zee trap doors around zee Opera house were known to evereeone, and zhere were no traps on zee way to M Phantom's home! Please show me anee proof you have to zee contrary!"

"Mme Giry, if you had NO concern for Mlle Daae's welfare, then why did you assist the Vicomte to find where M Phantom had taken her?"

"Because I knew, as deed zee Vicomte, zhat an angree mob was beginneeng to look for M Phantom. I wanted zee Vicomte to find zhem first to warn zhem!" Mme Giry responds with disgust that M DeVere would imply her actions were for any other motive!

"With regard to the death of S Piangi, you indicated that M Phantom did not tie up S Piangi because he saw S Piangi had already fainted. So it would be logical to conclude that S Piangi could have waken up from his fainting spell at any time while M Phantom was on stage during the _Don Juan _performance?"

"I guess he could have, but zee time zhat M Phantom was on stage was onlee a few minutes, so I am sure he felt zhat would be enough."

"I see, but isn't it true that S Piangi had his heart attack as M Phantom surprised and startled him from above—when he lassoed him with the rope?"

"Non! S Piangi's heart attack could have been caused by manee theengs. S Piangi was veree heavee, and hees health had been bad for some time. Even M Phantom told heem at zee Bal Masque eet was not healthee for a man of hees age to be so overweight."

"Did the coroner's report, which claimed that S Piangi died of a heart attack, specify that the cause of the heart attack was due to health reasons?"

"Non, eet did not. I have never heard of such a theeng. Perhaps you can know such theengs een zhees day, but een our day, how could zhey know such a theeng?" she spits back.

"You claim that M Phantom was given a medallion that belonged to the deChagny family, but your knowledge of how M Phantom obtained the medallion is only from what M. Phantom told you, correct?"

"Oui, eet ees."

"Isn't it possible that he stole it, the same way he stole the gypsy's bag of money him and the same way he stole Mlle Daae's engagement ring at the Bal Masque?"

"Objection!" Laura suddenly rises to her feet, and with an edge in her voice declares, "The allegation that the gypsy's bag of money was 'stolen' does not reflect the evidence presented and should be stricken, Your Honor. Furthermore, the unrefuted testimony is that the ring was returned to Ms Daae."

"Objection sustained!" the Judge orders without hesitation.

"Then, Mme Giry, rephrasing the question, is it possible that M Phantom stole the medallion?" M De Vere asks with a slightly embarrassed catch in his voice.

"Non! Zhat ees not true! He told me he was geeven zee medallion by hees adopteev mozher before he was placed with zee gypsies. She said eet was from hees fazher, and we both took zhat to mean hees real fazher, hees birth fazher, not hees adopteev fazher."

"Isn't it possible that it could have been a prop used in the performances since many of the operas involve characters of nobility, and M Phantom merely found it in his searches of the 4th level storage rooms?"

"Non! Zhat is not zee case! Zee tapestree zhat zee older brother of zee Vicomte gave me has zee same crest as zee medallion! Zhere ees definitelee a connection between zees two, and how could M Phantom have chosen zhat veree medallion weeth zee deChagny crest so manee years before, when he first came to zee Opera house?"

"Mme Giry, please try to refrain from answering questions with questions! Now, even so, you cannot claim with any degree of certainty that M Phantom is of the deChagny family, isn't that true?" I shift angrily in my chair and my leg brushes accidentally against Laura's under the table. I can feel her tension and know she is as upset by these questions, as I am.

"Oui, we do not know for certain."

"Mme Giry, you testified that M Phantom protected the girls and the women at the Opera Populaire. Wouldn't they see him as a hero?"

"Well, he was protecteeng zhem but deed not want to be seen, so whenever he scared off zee men who were makeeng zee unwanted advances, he became known by zee treecks he used to scare zhem. Thus he appeared to be a ghost, or a phantom. So zhey, too, were afraid of heem, and zhat ees how he got zee reputation of zee Opera Ghost!" I cannot help but agree bitterly with Antoinette's assessment. She is correct—that is how I obtained my reputation. Ironically, that is also one reason why I am here in this courtroom.

"You also testified that M Phantom did not write the notes that were sent to S Giudicelli, the Vicomte and the new managers because he would never refer to himself as O.G., correct?"

"Oui, zhat is true."

M DeVere walks to the prosecution's table, picks up an item of evidence, and then walks back to face the witness, "I show you what has previously been entered into evidence. Have you seen this before, Mme Giry?"

Antoinette nods, not seeming surprised and answers, "Oui, that ees zee opera M Phantom wrote."

"And the leather portfolio containing M Phantom's score—do you know if it also belongs to M Phantom?"

"Oui, eet does."

"Mme Giry, could you tell the court what are the initials inscribed on the leather portfolio that belonged to M Phantom and contained his opera?"

"Zhey say 'O.G.'" Then she adds without hesitation, "But, he may have put zhem zhere as a joke, because zhat ees what everyone always called heem!" I suppress a smile and think to myself…if only she knew!

"Mme Giry, when was the last time you saw the handwriting of M Phantom?"

"Earlier zees year…my year, zhat ees. I saw hees handwriteeng often."

"You also testified that M Phantom did not write the notes because the handwriting was, as you put it "scrawl" and not M Phantom's artistic and elegant style as you claim. But, you also state that M Phantom is a creative artist. How would you know if M Phantom disguised his writing style to make it look like someone else wrote the notes?"

Sighing, Antoinette responds, "Well, perhaps, een zhat case, I would not."

"In fact, might he not have used the name 'Opera Ghost' to hide his activities, just as he had used the name 'Angel of Music' to hide his identify?" .

"I deed NOT say zhat he used zee name 'Angel of Museec' to hide hees identity! Eet was zee name zhat M Daae and Christine gave to heem!" I am becoming concerned that Antoinette is starting to lose her calm demeanor.

"Did M Phantom ever tell Christine that she should not call him that name?"

"No, he deed not! But zhat was because…."

"Please, Mme Giry. Only answer the question. And, that question only required a 'yes' or 'no.'"

"Regarding Carlotta's use of the spray bottle, is it your testimony that the spray bottles had to have been switched during the _Il Muto _performance?"

"Oui, because she used eet just before M Phantom interrupted zee performance, and she could seeng. Two minutes later, she used zee bottle again, and zhen zee croakeeng sound occurred. So someone had to have been backstage to do zhat, and eet could not have been M Phantom because he could not be een two places een such a short time."

"However, you did not see anyone backstage during the _Il Muto _performance make the switch, correct?"

"Non, I was busee assisteeng zee dancers."

"Before _Il Muto _began, you didn't see anyone make a switch of the spray bottle, correct?"

"Non, I deed not."

"And at any time before M Phantom interrupted the _Il Muto _performance, you did not see him anywhere, correct?"

"Non!"

"Approximately what was the length of time between the start of _Il Muto _and the time you saw M Phantom interrupt the performance?"

"I believe eet was about five minutes."

At this time M DeVere walks back to the prosecution's table and juggling his note cards picks up the certified report, previously entered into evidence, which indicated that the substance in the spray bottle was laced with "tincture of toad." M DeVere addresses the Court and the witness, "I would like to note for the record that this report indicates that the "tincture of toad" found in S Carlotta's spray bottle, upon ingestion, would take several minutes to have any effect on a human's voice."

The judge responds to M DeVere rather abruptly, "So noted."

M DeVere then proceeds to address the witness. "Isn't it true that M Phantom could have made the switch of the spray bottle before the _Il Muto _performance?"

"Non. Because he could not have made eet to zee dome from zee flies in five minutes"

"You've testified that it could not have been M Phantom who murdered Joseph Buquet because he would never pause to let anyone see him, yet M Phantom let himself be seen when he interrupted the _Il Muto _performance?"

"Zhat was a different seetuation because he wanted to make a point to zee Vicomte zhat he should not be in Box Five."

"Since you've testified that no one ever saw M Phantom's mask for more than a brief second, if at all, that means that M Phantom has to be moving very fast for _no one _to be able to see him."

"Oui, he learned how to move around zee opera house weethout beeng seen."

"And would you agree that M Phantom is a rather agile individual?"

"Oui, I would." Antoinette replies reluctantly. She clearly senses that these questions are leading to something that she will not like.

"You've seen how quickly and easily he can climb ropes and move through the flies?"

"Oui, I have."

"And didn't you testify that you believed M Phantom could do anything?"

"Non!! I testified zhat it could not have been M Phantom who murdered Joseph Buquet because M Phantom could not get from zee dome to zee flies een five minutes to be able to commeet zee murder!"

As he returns to the prosecution table, M DeVere smiles like the proverbial cat that has lapped up all the cream. He picks up an item that appears to me to be a slim book and a document. He dramatically turns and addresses the Judge, "Your Honor, I hold a DVD that has a virtual design of the Opera House based on surviving architectural diagrams of the building. It also depicts a "virtual person" of the same size, weight and strength as the defendant M Phantom. Furthermore, it contains a virtual recreation of the events of the night of Il Muto demonstrating how M Phantom could travel between the dome and the flies. An expert who assists various law enforcement agencies in their investigations created this DVD. With permission of the Court I would like to play this simulation for the witness and the jury."

"OBJECTION!" Laura jumps to her feet at this unforeseen evidence. "Your Honor, this is manufactured evidence, which is not founded on an actual survey of the real Opera house, of its dimensions and any obstacles that may have existed in the pathway described. I move that this evidence not be admitted as entirely speculative!"

The Judge turns to M DeVere, "Your response, counsel?"

"Yes, Your Honor. It is a known fact that the Opera Populaire was destroyed in the bombings of World War II…" A shocked exclamation escapes from Antoinette as she hears these unknown facts. Laura, too, looks at her and sees the horror on her face. I wonder if it is because of M DeVere's reference to the destruction of the Opera house or that it occurred during a second "world war." I know how deeply disturbing it had been to hear those facts during the conversation in the conference room as Phen discussed her trip back to the opera house to obtain the requested prosecution evidence. I watch with concern, as Antoinette looks down at her hands, digesting this information. "…and so, we all know it is impossible for us to go to the actual structure and perform the exact journey from the dome to the flies above the stage. That is why we had an expert attest to the virtual journey, based on the data we have about the structure of the Opera house which exists in a French library."

The Judge rules with a tinge of sadness in her voice, "Because this issue of the time that it takes to travel between these two points is key to the charge of murder, and since the building in fact no longer exists, we will allow the admission of this evidence, subject, of course, to factual challenges by the defense." I see in her eyes a shade of disappointment. Laura sits back down, looking over at me with regret in her eyes.

The video is then played for all in the courtroom to witness. I have watched the television in Horatio's den on occasion, but have never seen such artificially drawn, moving images. I can only imagine what Antoinette must be thinking about this. I also recognize that the portrayal of the opera house, the passageways and distances are not correct. How can such a fabrication be allowed as evidence? My distress at M DeVere's behavior toward Antoinette now expands to a seething anger at his presenting such inaccurate information for the jury to see. Will it influence them? Will they actually believe this as if it were reality? How will Laura refute this?

When this startling presentation concludes, M DeVere again addresses the Court, "I have here a certification by the person who prepared this simulation that is based on M Phantom's size, weight and strength as well as the speed he could have traveled, along with the conclusion that he could have made the trip from the flies to the dome of the Opera House in five minutes. I request that this DVD and certification be entered into evidence." M DeVere turns around and smiles a self-satisfied smile of victory at S Luzano. I make note with some satisfaction that S. Luzano does not return his smile.

"So admitted," the Judge confirms.

Looking back at Antoinette, it is evident that she is disturbed by this video and has no frame of reference for what she has just seen, but she knows it is not good for my case. M DeVere now directs his attention to Antoinette, "Do you still maintain that M Phantom could not have committed the murder of Joseph Buquet based on timing?"

Antoinette hesitates, but when she finally answers, there is steel in her voice. "I do not know what kind of mageec zhees ees which you have just used, but, eet does not change aneetheeng wheech I have said. I do not beleeve zhat M Phantom could have traveled zhat deestance een such a short amount of time. I have been een zee real theater, and I know zee deestances we are talkeeng about. I theenk zhere has been treekery practiced here! But, NON, I do not theenk he could have traveled zhat deestance een five meenutes…and I do NOT beleeve he killed Joseph Buquet!!

M DeVere responds with a frustrated sigh, "Thank you, Mme Giry. Your Honor, no further questions."

The Judge turns to Laura and asks, "Is there any redirect, Ms. Counselor?"

Laura stands, smiles and nods her head, "Yes, Your Honor, the defense has just a few questions of this witness." Walking calmly as she always does, she stops just in front of the witness box and gives Antoinette her gentle smile. I am again thankful that Laura is my attorney. She has a reassuring demeanor that communicates itself to everyone around her and, after the horrible experience Antoinette just had with the prosecution attorney, she needs that.

"Mme Giry, you testified that M Phantom did not adopt the name 'Angel of Music' to hide his identity! You stated that was the name that M Daae and Christine gave to him, is that correct?"

"Oui, zhat ees correct!" she nods emphatically.

"You also stated that M Phantom never told Christine that she should not call him by that name. Why did M Phantom never do that?" Laura is clearly giving Antoinette the opportunity to state the truth…all the truth.

"Well, first of all, M Phantom and I believed zhat her fazher, M Daae had referred to M Phantom as zhee 'Angel of Museec' when he told Christine about heem as he was dying. So, M Phantom deed NOT tell Christine to use zhat name, she used eet because she believed heem to be zhat angel! And, M Phantom was singeeng to her everee night, comforteeng her. Christine clearly felt he was acteeng like an angel, and so SHE called heem zhat!" Antoinette looks over at Christine and gives her a kindly smile. "Do we not call people who do kindnesses to us 'angels?' So, was M Phantom to correct her, to criticize her and say to her "Non, Christine, I am NOT an angel, do not call me by zhat name?" Would not zhat have been a veree unkind and cruel zheeng to say to her? Would you say such a theeng to someone who refers to you as an 'angel' because of a kindness you have done?" Antoinette shakes her head in disgust, then continues.

"And, zhen, I theenk zhere was anozher reason. He never said zhees to me, but I feel zhat hees being called an 'Angel' had a veree special meaneeng to heem, after all, zhere had been a sign over hees cage een zee gypsy tent. Zee sign said, 'Devil's Child.' I saw eet!! Zhat was horeeble!! I can eemagine zhat M Phantom would be veree touched by being called an 'Angel' instead of zhat foul name." Antoinette finishes her long answer with a firm nod of the head and looks at me with tears in her eyes. Her last comment has left me dumbfounded. I had never admitted that to myself, but now I realize she speaks the truth. It had been a balm to my soul to be called an 'Angel' instead of a 'Devil's child'!

Laura glances back at me, and I see deep compassion in her lovely eyes. Then she continues with her soft, melodic voice, "You testified that you did not introduce yourself to the Vicomte during the rehearsal for Hannibal, or tell him you were Christine's guardian. Why was that?"

"Non, I most certainlee deed not.! One does not introduce oneself to a Vicomte. One must wait to be introduced! Perhaps people no longer know proper etiquette with zee nobilitee." Antoinette looks over at M DeVere as she emphasizes the last part of her statement and gives him a stony stare.

"You also testified that you never confronted the Vicomte at any time to explain that you felt his actions on the opening night of _Hannibal_ were compromising Christine's reputation, did you?

"Non. I deed not."

"Why was that?"

"I was zee Mistress of Dance of zee Opera and would not dare to do such a theeng to a Vicomte who ees also zee patron of zee Opera for fear of loseeng my position. Zhese was especially true seence zee new owners were fawneeng all over heem and wanted to keep hees monee floweeng eento zheir coffers." Antoinette snuffs again her dislike as she refers to the new owners, and I can see the edge of Laura's mouth curl up in a small grin.

"You testified that some of the property of the Opera Populaire that M Phantom took was junk and others were not. The items that were not discarded as junk, but taken from the storage rooms, what happened to them?"

"All zee furniture and zheengs wheech M Phantom took from zee storage area were returned, one by one, as he replaced eet weeth theengs he purchased as he began to earn hees own monee."

"So, are you saying that none of the items in his home at the time he left it belonged to the Opera Populaire?"

"Oui, zhat ees exactly what I am sayeeng. And eet ees true! He had paid for all hees clotheeng, hees food and hees furnisheengs for manee years!" Mme Giry straightens her shoulders in a matter-of-fact gesture. I give her a look of deep appreciation for standing by me and telling the truth.

"Regarding M Phantom drawing his sword during the Bal Masque, you testified that you felt he did that as a theatrical gesture. Why did you say that?"

"Because he made a dramateec and grand entrance, and only after he threw down hees opera portfolio did he take out hees sword and only to point out zhat he was throweeng down a gauntlet. Eet was a veree theatrical gesture. And, when he used zee teep of hees sword to muss up Carlotta's rideeculous hat, zhat was high comedee! Zhat deed get Piangi a leetle angry, but M Phantom onlee responded weeth a witty and true statement zhat hees weight endangered hees health, wheech turned out to be very propheteec!! Zhen, after addresseeng zee managers, M Phantom sheathed hees sword, and he never drew eet again. Had zee Vicomte not run off so soon like a hothead, he would have seen zhees!"

"So, M Phantom never even took out his sword in the mirror room when the Vicomte was swinging his sword around?"

"Non, never!"

"Were you at any time during the Bal Masque or in the mirror room afraid of M Phantom?"

"Non, I was not afraid of heem or zhat he would harm anyone. Indeed, I have never been afraid of heem zee entire twenty five years I have know heem!" Antoinette declares that with her characteristic vehemence.

Now Laura lowers her voice. I know that tone. It means something difficult is coming next. "Mme Giry, you said that M Phantom never showed you any scars on his back caused by the beatings he received in the gypsy tent, is that correct?"

"Oui," Antoinette shifts uncomfortably in her chair, and I focus on my hands. We both know what is coming next.

"But, did you ever see those scars in some other circumstance?" Laura's voice trembles slightly at the end of that sentence. My heart plunges to my stomach, as I await Antoinette's answer.

"Eet ees true he never showed zhem to me. He was too shamed by zhem." Antoinette looks over at me, tears suspended in her eyes. "But, I did see zhem one time when he deed not know. Eet was zee first week…zee first Sunday zhat he was een zee Opera house. I was bringeeng some food for heem. Eet was earlee een zee morneeng, and he was still sleepeeng on zee ground een zee quilt. He heard me comeeng, so he jumped up and grabbed hees shirt and put eet on quickly, but I saw hees back anyway." The tears that were threatening before are now coursing down her cheeks. She uses a handkerchief to wipe them away. My stomach in is a knot.

Antoinette proceeds relentlessly with her story, "I saw zee long scars covereeng hees back, but I pretended zhat I deed not see. I never mentioned eet to heem." Indeed, I did not know this until we prepared Antoinette's testimony last Saturday. She had never told me. I swallow hard, trying to hold my own emotions in check as Antoinette finishes her answer. "But when I went back to zee Opera house zhat day, I could not go to church. I was too upset, so I went to my room and cried for a long time."

Shocked gasps and comments can be heard throughout the courtroom. Counselor Sebbied leans over to me and motions me to turn to the spectators. I know she wants me to look toward Christine, but I do not. So Counselor Sebbied whispers in my ear that Christine is also crying. M DeVere clearly had not expected that answer from Mme Giry. He is coughing nervously at the prosecution table and keeping his eyes down on his notes shuffling them around, his bald spot exposed for everyone to see. S Luzano is sadly nodding his head, and he steals a quick glance at me, deeply touched by Antoinette's words.

Laura responds softly, "Thank you, Mme Giry. That will be all," then she turns and comes back to the defense table. As she sits in her chair, our eyes meet, and I can see the tears glistening at the corners. She cannot hide her anguish at this testimony, and that deepens my own feelings toward her. She has such compassion and understanding of what I have been through.

The Judge looks over at the prosecution table and asks if they have any further questions. M DeVere stands briefly and tells the Judge he does not. Thankfully, the Judge adjourns the court with no further delay. I jump to my feet, wanting to be out of here, out of this stifling room. And, I want to have as much time as possible with Antoinette before she leaves.

Laura understands my impatience and hurriedly scoops up her papers and stuffs them into her briefcase. We arrive at the conference room door at the same time that the bailiff arrives with Antoinette.

Antoinette speaks to me in French, requesting that only Laura and I accompany her into the conference room for our goodbyes. I repeat the request in English. Counselor Sebbied smiles and extends her hand to Antoinette, wishing her well, then excuses herself. Something about a pressing appointment with a gentleman. Russ and Jeremy nod their consent to remain in the hallway, and I open the door to the conference room for Laura and Antoinette.

Once inside, Antoinette's contained emotions break loose. Tears flow down her cheeks and I hold her in my arms to give her comfort. I do not know what is causing this. I consider the possible reasons. The intense grilling she has just been subject to? The thoughts of the destruction of the opera house? Or perhaps her being sent back to France now? I just hold her until her crying subsides and wait for her to share with us what troubles her. Over Antoinette's head I gaze into Laura's dark eyes. She is clearly trying to suppress her own tears, and her expression tells me that neither does she know the exact cause of Antoinette's tears.

"Antoinette, what is it?" I gently ask, wanting to give her whatever comfort I can before she must leave.

"Erik, I fear zhat zhees ees zee last time I may ever see you! I fear zhat zee trickeree which I weetnessed today will be used to conveect you…Zhat you will never be able to return back to…your home!" Tears again pour out of her eyes, so I hold her closer. The anger I felt when the tape was played deepens, but I control it. I must help Antoinette through our parting, not vent my own feelings.

"No, Antoinette. Do not fear. Laura is a very good attorney. You said so yourself. I feel she will succeed in refuting this evidence, and I will soon return to France. You will see me again! Is that not so, Laura?" I look pleadingly at her, asking that she say whatever will reassure Antoinette.

"Yes, Antoinette, Erik is right! You were wonderful in your testimony! We have not presented all our evidence! Please know that nothing you said hurt Erik's case, and I believe we will still prevail. Everything will turn out alright!" Laura's soft tone seems to soothe Antoinette, who finally looks up at both of us and nods her head in acceptance.

"But, zhere ess somezheeng else I weesh to say. To both of you. Somezheeng zhat has been bothereeng me all week as I discuss with Freuda zhee charges against Erik and learn more about zhees trial," she looks from Laura, then at me and frees herself from my arms, stepping back and studying me as if deciding what she should say.

Taking in a deep breath, Antoinette explains, "Erik, I feel zhat I have been at fault. I cared for…loved…both Christine and you. I thought zhat by waiteeng unteel Christine was older, she would be able to more easily accept you…your situation. But, I know now I waited too long. I made a great meestake. I should have begun to introduce you to her as soon as you declared your desire to court her. I should have had you come to my apartment and meet her zhere so she could see who her 'Angel of Museec' was. Zhen you could have taught her, face-to-face for a period of time so zhat she could trulee get to know you before you announced your suit of her. I was wrong not to eentroduce her to you een a slow, gradual manner. I wronged you, as well. I should not have weethheld my permission from you. I see now how your love festered and became inflamed. Zhen when Raoul arrived, so unexpectedlee, I was afraid and cast caution to zee wind and allowed you to take her to your home zhat eveneeng. M DeVere was right about zhat. Why deed I not eentroduce you een my home first? I feel I am also to blame for zee tragedy zhat followed!" she searches my face, seeking my reaction, but I am reeling in shock from this admission. It will take some time for me to digest what she has just said. Then she adds, "Please forgeeve me!" and begins crying again.

Stunned, I can only answer, "Of course, Antoinette. I forgive you. I do not blame you. I know you have a good heart and only have done what you thought best. If it were not for your good heart, I doubt I would even have survived. Certainly I would never have been able to pursue my music. I would have been totally lost." Hot tears now flow down my cheeks, and I take her again in my arms and comfort her. "There is nothing to forgive!"

When Antoinette's weeping has subsided, she reaches up and gives me a kiss on each cheek. I lean down and kiss her forehead. Looking over at Laura who is on the threshold of tears, clearly struggling with them herself, Antoinette says, "I wanted Laura to hear what I said. I theenk she knows you veree well, Erik, and I theenk she is veree good for you." She smiles at Laura, "And, I know you care for each ozher. I pray to God all will turn out well for both of you!"

"Thank you, Antoinette. I will do everything I can for Erik. And I hope he returns to his life in France. You should be seeing him soon," Laura responds with a constricted throat, clearly having trouble speaking these words realizing that they portend our separation.

"Thank you, Laura," Antoinette's eyes reveal that she knows the internal conflict that Laura must struggle with to accomplish that goal. Antoinette then adds, "Blessings on you, Laura."

All too soon we hear the knock on the door, and Jeremy opens it to announce that the people from The Program have arrived to escort Antoinette to the departure area. We give each other one last hug, and all I can manage to say is, "Antoinette, do not worry. You will see me soon," but, as I speak those words, my own heart reels in agony with their full meaning. I cannot ignore the reality now that when I return to France, I leave Laura. Antoinette nods and responds, "Go weeth God, Erik!" Then she is gone, the door closing noiselessly behind her. I take in a deep breath, suspended in time, between my past, my present and my unknown future.

Laura's sob breaks free from her throat and shakes me out of my own misery. She is bent over, holding her sides and shaking with the violence of her weeping. I rush across the room and gather her into my arms, comforting her. But I am unable to find words to ease her pain because I, too, am trying to deal with this horrible realization to no avail. So, I hold her small body against mine, trying to impart some of my strength to her. Just then Jeremy opens the door, looks in and says, "Erik, it is time to go. We must leave right away for Horatio's home."

Outraged by this ungodly intrusion at this moment, I yell at Jeremy, "GET OUT! NOW!"

Startled, he reflexively slams the door shut. I can feel my anger rising, almost to the brink of exploding. I am trapped between my own sense of violation and my concern for Laura. But, once again controlling myself, I continue to hold and comfort her. Her crying is now soft, and she holds one hand over her face, as if trying to hide her anguish from me. I reach down and take the wrist of that hand, and pull it aside. Then I bend over and kiss her tenderly on the forehead. Her crying stops, and she looks up at me with large, expressive, expectant eyes, and I gently wipe her tears away with my fingertips. My mouth moves down from her forehead to her cheek, all the while continuing to look into her eyes. Then our mouths meet in mutual, all-encompassing need. We hold each other closely, kissing and comforting each other for many minutes when again, Jeremy knocks on the door, and his voice from the other side intrudes, "Erik, we HAVE to go now. We must get through the highway traffic before it gets too heavy with the commuters. If we are caught or slowed down, that could be a danger! PLEASE!"

We reluctantly cease our kiss, but our embrace tightens, not wanting to let go of each other and unable to speak. Finally Laura breaks the silence, "Erik, you must go. I will see you again tomorrow at Horatio's."

I look down into her beautiful face, torn between my torment at leaving her now, and my rage that is increasing with each intrusion by everyone around me.

Laura leads us over to the door of the conference room and opens it. With a sad look in her eyes, she accompanies my bodyguards and me to the elevator and all the way to where the cars are parked. I watch her as she stands next to her Corvette, waiting until my car turns a corner, and we can no longer see each other.

As I sit in the front seat, next to Jeremy who is driving, my anger is brewing and broiling. Finally I must ask, "Jeremy, why did you have to interrupt us? Was there no way to give us more time?"

"No, Erik. I am so sorry. There is no other route to Horatio's home except by the freeway, and soon the traffic will be heavy for several hours as commuters go home from work. It would be very dangerous for us to be slowed down, to be in traffic where we might have to stop frequently. We had to go now." He shakes his head, glances over at me and adds, "I really am so sorry!"

From the back seat, the two other bodyguards overhear our conversation, and one of them, Joe, comments jokingly, "Well, Erik, cheer up! You won't have to wait very long. Laura comes every Saturday, doesn't she?"

I do not look back at him or respond, but clench my teeth and fight to control my impulse to strike out. Throughout our drive, Joe and the other bodyguard talk about their experiences with women. They are trying to make light of such relationships, but I find this to be anything but humorous.

When we pull up to Horatio's front patio, I can hardly wait to escape the confines of the car, where I have been forced to listen to the unwelcome comments and conversation between the two men. Just as we get out of the car, Joe finishes this discussion with a final unexpected comment directed at me with a laugh in his voice. "Oh, and by the way, Erik, if you take Laura on another walk through the Admiral's garden, don't forget to wave at the guys who are monitoring all the security cameras!"

I only had known of the security cameras outside the wall of the garden. Instantly I realize that Laura and I had been watched…been seen…by others. Our privacy totally violated! And, Joe is making light of this travesty! In one smooth pivot, I turn and throw my fist with lightening speed catching Joe completely unaware. He falls to the ground, dazed and confused. Jeremy grabs my arm and shoulder to keep me from following Joe to the ground and further pummeling him, but I have no intention of doing so. I believe Joe got my message. The other bodyguard helps Joe to his feet and steadies him when he sways. His hand gingerly touches his jaw where I have landed my blow, and he grimaces painfully.

"Joe! Apologize to Erik!" I hear Jeremy's exasperated voice behind me while he continues to hold my shoulder in a tight grip, apparently afraid that I will lunge at Joe again.

Joe looks up, astonished, "Yes. Uh…Erik. I spoke out of line."

"Erik, he was wrong to say that," Jeremy tries to ease my feelings.

I turn to face him as I hiss out my indignant response, "No more wrong than it was not to tell me before now that those cameras were there!" I respond accusingly as I pull myself free from Jeremy's restraint, and he backs away from my searing gaze.

"I am sorry, Erik. I didn't know how to tell you…afterwards…" Jeremy looks down, not able to meet my eyes, and I snarl in disbelief. Each man takes a step back as I glare each one in the eyes, then I turn and storm up the pathway. I slam the front door behind me so hard that the glass panel rattles to the point of breaking, no longer able to contain my anger. Jeremy had told me that Horatio arrived back home earlier today, and so I go straight to his den. I am exploding for a confrontation!

With my temper at the boiling point, I throw open the door to Horatio's den and reach his desk in several strides, broiling energy pouring off me. I stand imposingly over Horatio and glower down at him, still breathing hard from my encounter with Joe. My fists clench open and closed, open and closed, and I feel on the edge of not being able to restrain myself any longer.

Horatio looks up from the computer on his desk in shocked surprise, "Erik! What in hellfire?!"

"Horatio, I am tired of being a prisoner!" I spew out in fury. "I am confined to this house, carted to the courthouse one day a week, watched every--"

"Now hold on just a minute, Erik!" Horatio pushes his chair back, stands and holds up his arm to silence me, but I will have none of it and continue on.

" I am watched every minute of the day, and when I want…private time…Jeremy barges in! Now I discover you even watch me on your television screens when I am with Laura! That is outrageous! I thought we trusted each other!"

"Erik!" Horatio snaps. "Belay that, Mister!"

I am surprised by his uncharacteristic rudeness. "I beg your pardon! I will not be silent!"

"For the love of God, man!" Horatio roars. "You WILL listen to me!"

"Horatio…" I begin with my angry tone, but stop short as I suddenly notice his appearance. He is frowning fiercely at me, and what I see in the depths of his red-rimmed eyes is alarming. Obviously he has not slept for days, is in bad need of a shave, and his hair is unkempt. It strikes me that he is only a shadow of the man I had come to know. I barely recognize this man who looks back at me from hollowed angry eyes.

"Well, then, what do you want? Spit it out, Erik! I don't have all day!" He snaps as he sits back down, reaches around and picks up a wine bottle and two glasses off the credenza behind his desk. Setting them on the desk between us, he looks up at me as he pours two glasses of the ruby liquid and hands me a glass. I drink down several gulps, not even savoring the taste, all while he continues to glare at me over the rim of his goblet.

I press on, determined that he will hear me out. "I want answers, Horatio! What is really going on here? Am I already a prisoner? Why am I under such close guard?" My voice has a low, raspy edge that warns that I want truthful answers. "And don't just tell me that this is all just for my protection!"

He slams his glass down onto the desk so hard that wine sloshes onto a stack of papers. "Of course it is for your protection! You have no idea the kind of loonies there are in the world nowadays! Let me tell you something, and don't you forget it, Erik! There are people out there who would kill you if given half a chance! And for no other reason than because you are the Phantom of the Opera! But you are suggesting that we simply want to keep you prisoner? Even after one of our operatives disappeared while on duty and may be dead?"

Horatio pauses, takes a huge draught from his glass, then continues, "We are trying to save your life, but if that is how you feel, you could go back to that cell we busted you out of! That really _was_ a prison if my memory serves me correctly!" And with that, he flings himself back into his chair and resumes glaring at me.

I am incensed by his words, but need time to think of a response that will not inflame the situation. I exhale, trying to calm myself and sit down in a chair opposite him, "I realize this has been difficult for us both, but it was not my choice to come here."

"Difficult?" He interrupts with a bitter laugh. "Difficult? Considering where you were in that prison cell?!"

Anger burns in my chest again at his insulting words, but I decide I will not let it overtake me. I take another deep breath and say with considered discretion, "I am very grateful for everything that has been done for me, and I do understand that you and your team have a dangerous job, but…"

"But what?" Horatio interrupts.

"Could they not watch me so closely here in the compound? Or when I am with Laura?" I demand, irritation lacing my voice.

Horatio takes a sip of his wine, studies me for a moment and admits, "Yes, we have had you under very close watch but only because of your importance to the Program. As you already know, we were trying to keep your presence here a secret. But when the Powers That Be found out about you, well, that changed everything!"

"Yes, how could I not be aware of how they have been using me for their propaganda purposes!" I respond, my temper flaring again. "Because of them I was forced to go on trial!"

"Exactly!" Horatio exclaims. "You are exposed to the media spotlight and thrust out in public every time you go to court! Which means that you are vulnerable to attack! And the Program is responsible not just for your safety but its own reputation. They pay for your bodyguards, and I confess that a good part of our job is to protect The Program as well as you. Of course, they don't want you escaping. _That_, they could never explain or live down."

Horatio's tirade seems to have taken a toll on him, for he now sits in silence, staring at some spot on the wall beyond my left shoulder. A few moments pass thus as he continues his internal musings. He seems to debate with himself about how much to say to me before continuing in a voice that sounds tired and old. "We now have confirmation that the PTB has learned of our plans to fund projects in the past to change the timeline. That tampering by The Program directly affects the PTB, as well as their current domination of the world's economic and political systems. So, The Program has a lot at stake and wants you acquitted and sent back to France to resolve their current political problem."

"So, indeed, I am but a prisoner and a pawn!" This new information only inflames my resentment.

Horatio seems to be more in control of his temper now as he says with icy calm, "Well, you could look at it that way, Erik, but there is another side of this, don't forget. The Program hasn't made its decision regarding you yet. They are watching the information about you that is coming out at trial. They are assessing what kind of man you really are."

As he speaks, his dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity I have never seen before, and I have the distinct feeling that he must have looked at his enemies just this way during the battle in Afghanistan that earned him the Purple Heart medal. But he does not seem to expect an answer, nor do I give one. I just return his glare.

"The Program is still assessing whether they should send a team back to France with you and fund one of their projects in the past around you. Do you deserve all the time it will take in France to research and try to find proof that you are the rightful Count deChagny? After all, if we can prove that, then you would be in the very place of power they need…a high political position in France, to begin their work on the timeline to change the events that lead up to... well, to certain calamitous events that will happen during your lifetime. So, Erik, if The Program does decide that you really are worth all this, you will go back with a team that will be assigned to establish your real status and identity and continue to protect you. Don't you want that?"

"You mean that The Program wants to stop the Great War, don't you?" I reply drolly. "Horatio, yes, I already know about it. When Phen mentioned on the day of the junk dealers' testimony that the Opera Populaire was bombed during World War Two, I had to find out about it. You have a very informative library."

"I know what you've been up to. Jeremy keeps me well-informed of your activities." My eyebrow goes up in indignation at this admission. Responding to my reaction, Horatio says. "Well, we didn't exactly try to keep certain books away from you, did we? So, now you know what The Program's agenda is concerning you."

I search his face and see that he seems to be telling me the truth. This is the first time that The Program's plans have been fully explained. And this is the first time I begin to see the picture of why they are spending the time and the money on my case, beyond getting them out of their immediate political difficulties. I sit back in my chair and raise my hand to my forehead, considering this information and the possible consequences. But still, I do not know whether this knowledge makes my current situation any more tolerable. It is hard for someone who has lived the reclusive, independent life that I have suddenly to be the focus of such scrutiny and limitation.

"So, at least I am considered a valuable political pawn!" I respond with a wry smile. "But does that really justify this constant incursion into my life…this continuous excessive guarding and violation of my privacy?"

"Erik, I'm afraid it does. I'm sorry. There is another element here. We…Freuda, Jeremy, the rest of your guards and I…as well as Laura and the attorneys…really do care about you personally. Sometimes we go a bit overboard in your opinion because we want to make sure you live long enough to go back to France. We all hope that Laura and her team succeed in your defense and that The Program backs you when you return to France. Your bodyguards have all agreed to be the very team that would accompany you to France. That is a real commitment on their part. They have volunteered to leave their world and their lives here to do that. And, there is real danger that the PTB may try to eliminate you, especially since the trial is not going well for them."

I look at Horatio, hardly able to accept what he is saying. These people care for me? To that degree? I shake my head in disbelief. It is true The Program is playing a big game. I am but a cog, but to them, potentially an important cog. I digest this, trying to comprehend all the consequences of this situation.

"I understand what you are saying, Horatio, but I cannot continue like this. Sequestered, watched…even when I want time alone with Laura, there are intrusions. How would YOU feel if you lived under these conditions? You care for Phen. Would YOU tolerate such violations of YOUR privacy, your times with her?"

Horatio's hand stops mid-air as he is lifting his glass to take another drink. He holds it there for a minute, studying it, contemplating something. "Well, there is the difference between your situation and mine, Erik. Even if we do find Phen…alive…that does not change our situation. She is under my command. And even if she weren't—in my line of work it is best not to get involved in personal relationships."

"But if it were possible?" I persist.

His gaze narrows again at me, and he takes another sip of his wine before answering. "It isn't possible, Erik, believe me, or I would have already pursued a relationship with Phen. So, I see no reason to speculate about something that will never happen."

There is something so hopeless about his tone that a chill of fear crawls up my back. "Horatio, has there been, ah, bad news about Phen?"

"No, actually. The news may be hopeful. I arrived back here today to go on a reconnaissance flight this weekend off the coast of Canada. The Global Tracking System has been following ships that left Seattle the weekend Phen was kidnapped. We have been sending out surveillance aircraft masqueraded as tourist planes to try to get a closer look without alerting anyone to what we are doing. For the last two weeks I've been with a special team flying up and down the coast and over the Pacific looking for certain vessels and watching their activities. Tomorrow I'm going out again and will be out all weekend. I have a private seaplane arriving at 7:00 A.M., and we will be flying up the Canadian coast then staying overnight on an island just off the mainland. So far, nothing has panned out, but I know from the coded message Phen left on the courthouse wall, that they took her away in a ship. I am certain of that."

"How?" I have to ask.

He pauses for a moment, then says, "Phen and I have been friends for a long time, Erik. You know that, and just before we parted ways after her sister's funeral she told me that if ever she found herself on a ship in peril she would send an S.O.S. to me. And I—I promised her that I would come to her rescue."

Horatio says these words so quietly that he seems to be talking only to himself, hardly aware that he has an audience, and I realize in that quiet moment the truth that he has been carefully hiding until now. Whether it is my deepening relationship with Laura that has made me more perceptive, or perhaps just the fact that Horatio, under the influence of the wine, is now speaking much more freely, I do not know, but whatever the reason I know now in these silent moments the truth that Horatio and Phen have been concealing for such a long time. I want to speak my suspicions aloud, and yet I cannot. Horatio is already suffering in a way that I know only too well…and it is this pain that I see on his face that tells all.

"I hope you find your ship tomorrow, Horatio," I sympathetically shake my head.

Horatio sits silently for a minute, staring at the glass in his hand. Then, he actually manages a smile as he says, "How would you like to take a two day trip in a seaplane? I won't be coming back until Sunday. It would give you time away from this 'prison,' and also your one opportunity to fly in a plane. We can't take you into a public airport, or on a regular plane. This one will be landing in the Sound, right here, next to the Admiral's deck. And, you would spend the night out, camping on the island. A little primitive, but it does provide you with a different experience!"

"But Horatio! Laura comes here on Saturday! I cannot bypass what little time we have together! That is no solution!" I shake my head, dismissing this suggestion. I will not give up any time with Laura.

He shrugs his shoulders. "That is simple to solve. The seaplane holds 6 people. That would be the pilot, you, Laura, Jeremy, Matt and me. It works for me, if it works for you!"

I cannot believe my ears. Two days away from this confined existence…flying in a plane…in the sky among the clouds…above the ocean…and with Laura. "Horatio, if that is a serious proposal, I accept! But only if Laura agrees to go!"

"Well, no better time than the present to find out!" Horatio reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone and hits a button. "Matt! Horatio! Can we speak to Laura? Yes, I'll wait." Horatio then hands me the phone, grinning widely he says, "Matt is stuck on shopping duty. They are at the mall, and Laura is trying on shoes. It will take a minute. When she comes on the phone, you ask her."

I take the strange contraption from Horatio and hold it to my ear. I have only used this one time before and still feel it is a bizarre device. I wait for several minutes, my heart pounding, anticipating my conversation with Laura, worrying about her response.

"Hello! Horatio?" Laura's familiar voice comes through finally.

"No, Laura, this is Erik!"

Her voice immediately softens, "Oh! Erik! It is so nice to hear you!" She whispers into the phone, clearly surprised that I am calling her. "What can I do for you?"

"Horatio has just made a proposal. He is taking a seaplane tomorrow and returning Sunday. He will be checking out a ship off the Coast of Canada…hoping Phen may be aboard. We…you and I…have been invited to accompany him. Will you go?" I hold my breath for her reply.

There is only a brief pause. "Well that is most certainly an amazing proposal!" Another pause. "You know, the next testimony is Freuda's, and she can come to my office next week to prepare it with Counselor Sebbied and me. So, I don't really need to have the usual Saturday conference! Yes, Erik! I would _love_ to come. What do I need to wear and to bring?"

I cannot believe what I am hearing. Looking up at Horatio, a smile breaks out in relief. "She wants to know what to wear and to bring with her?"

"Tell her to wear heavy, warm clothes, coat, and bring a second change of clothing. Be here at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow. We'll provide everything else."

I repeat all of Horatio's information back to Laura and further explain that we will be camping out. Her voice reflects her excitement, and I feel the same, knowing that we will have two days together. "Erik!! What fun! And, you will get to fly in a plane after all! I'll be there with bells on! Good night!" her last two words are spoken in a low, intimate whisper, and then a click on the line.

"With bells on? Why would Laura wear bells?" I ask Horatio.

He laughs for the first time tonight. "That means she will be ready for whatever we plan to do!"

"Oh! I see!" Actually, I do not. I will never get used to the way that Americans contort English.

I look at Horatio, wondering how we got here from where this conversation started. I drink the rest of the wine in my glass this time a little more slowly to savor the taste. I set it down and rise slowly, wanting to confront one last issue. "Horatio, thank you! But…what can be done about those cameras in the Japanese garden…when Laura and I are there?"

"Well, Erik. Did you know that there are NO cameras in the gazebo? The Admiral wanted his privacy there so he could have high level chats that were not recorded or monitored," Horatio looks up at me with a grin, "Just keep that in mind, alright?"

I chuckle. "I understand!"

He then gives off an exhausted sigh and says, "Erik, I have work I have to get done tonight. Why don't you take a cold shower, calm down, and get a good night's rest. You have a long weekend ahead of you!"

"Yes, indeed. Thank you, Horatio." Quickly turning, I am out of Horatio's den, hurrying to the kitchen to request that a simple dinner with wine be brought to my room. I just want to be alone.

When I get to my room, I find that the balcony doors are standing open and a gentle cool breeze is billowing the curtains. I step out and walk over to the railing. The Sound is calm tonight with just a few ripples playing on the surface. My mind wanders to the upcoming journey. I am looking forward to flying in a plane but my thoughts keep going back to Laura. Two days. With Laura. My heart begins to beat faster as I remember her soft lips, her beautiful doe-shaped eyes and her incredible soul that speaks to mine.

My dinner arrives, and I take it back out on the balcony to eat as I contemplate what Horatio and I have just discussed. I review all that he has said about The Program's intentions concerning me, still amazed at this revelation. However, I cannot disregard the irony that Horatio and I seem to share a common fate. Laura…and Phen...our futures are uncertain at best.

As soon as I finish eating, I decide to retire early to be rested for this trip. I remove my suit and hang it in the closet before I enter my bathroom. I walk over to the shower and reach in to turn on the water, then carefully remove my mask and place it on the long counter that contains the sinks. I finish undressing and place the rest of my clothes into the hamper, accidentally catching my body reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Throughout my life I have shunned mirrors or cloaked them, trying always to avoid seeing my reflection in them…until now. Although I have always been muscular and strong, now I notice a difference. The last few months I have been using a special room that Horatio has devoted to exercise. Horatio, Jeremy, Matt and the other bodyguards are there quite often using the strange looking machines. I voiced an interest in what they were doing one day, and they taught me how to use them. They also instructed me in exercises, which have the same effect without the equipment, and I welcomed the physical activity. I had been so accustomed to walking great distances around the opera house and climbing the flies, that my inactivity here had become another aggravation. Adopting their techniques, however, I can tell that my muscles are more defined, and my strength has increased. I will remember these exercises and continue them when, or if, I return to France.

As my thoughts return to Laura, I step into the hot, steamy shower. I find that I do enjoy some of these modern conveniences, and hot water coming from an overhead shower spray is among the best things in this strange world. It is such a luxury. I resolve to engineer this for myself if I go back to France. I lather my skin with the bar of soap, luxuriating in the warm stream of water pouring over my shoulders and back and running down my legs. Once again I think of Laura, and contemplate my plans to keep her to myself as much as possible over the next two days. Laura…I remember her impassioned kisses and warm fingers stroking through my hair….a groan escapes my lips at these thoughts, and I reach out and turn the shower knob_ all the way to cold_.

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Well, this was a long chapter, and simply could not be broken up into a couple chapters because Erik's emotions build throughout the day. This chapter is an example of the collaborative writing we feature here on The Case!! FOUR writers!! Barbkesq wrote the prosecution questions. Many parts of the chapter were Erik's POV, which Phanfan wrote throughout the story for continuity. Of course, PHANNA provided many, many hours editing many, many drafts of this very long chapter! She also added the final scene with Erik. Phangirl wrote much of Horatio's part. 

All of us writers have put in a lot of time, love and sweat!! Please take a little of your time to let us know what you think about this very eventful chapter!!


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Before the trip to the island, Horatio has two matters to take care of, one professional and one personal...**

**Thank you for all your thoughtful reviews!! I will post the next chapter _as soon as_ we reach our usual number of ten reviews!! **

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**Chapter 26 Rendezvous by Phangirl **

_Seattle, Washington __  
__September 16, 2005_

_Horatio's POV:_

"Carson!" I shout as I come through the door of the gym.

Joe is so startled that he drops a twenty-pound barbell onto the floor and nearly smashes his toes.

"Careful with my equipment!" I snap at him as he cautiously turns around to face me. "I'm already furious with you! Don't make it worse!"

"Yes, Sir! What can I do for you, Sir?"

"I'll let you know soon enough! But let me warn you that I'm not happy, Carson!"

Jeremy Nichols, Ben Shepherd, who is off-duty for the day, and three of the bodyguards reassigned from the Admiral's staff to protect Erik, all head for the door at the opposite end of the room. "Halt! All of you!" I bark at them, and they freeze in place. "We're all going to have a little chat, gentlemen! I want to see each of you in the conference room at 2100 hours sharp! That is fifteen minutes from now. You are now officially still on duty, and I want you to look that way when you arrive!"

I step back outside the door then, but do not leave immediately. Just as the door is closing, I hear Jeremy's voice. "Way to go, Carson! I told you that you should lay off bugging Erik! Now you got us all into trouble with the H-Bomb! How did you ever become a SEAL in the first place? They should have washed you out in the first week of training!"

"I'm here because I didn't wash out in training!" Carson retorts. "And I was a damn good SEAL too! I saved your butt back there in Indonesia didn't I, Nichols? Now back off!"

"H-Bomb?" I murmur. "Where did that come from?" But I don't have either the time or the patience to ponder this ridiculous nickname the men have given me, because something is very rotten in the state of Denmark, and it is my job to sniff it out.

When the other Bravos reach the conference room at 2100, they find Admiral Brooks and Tyrone Bernard, the forensics expert who originally found Phen's coded message at the courthouse and later helped find the journals hidden in her apartment. Jeremy Nichols is first through the door and promptly announces, "Admiral on deck!"

Each of the SEALs comes to attention as they enter, and I am pleased to see that all of them are dressed as I specified, in the plain business suits they wear while on bodyguard duty.

"At ease," Admiral Brooks says. "Please be seated."

They silently obey his orders and look at him with surprised expressions.

"Horatio called this little powwow," he tells them, and they all look at me instead.

"Thank you for your punctuality," I begin as I take my place at the podium at the head of the table. "Now to the business at hand." I let my words hang there in the air for a few moments as I busy myself pouring a glass of water from the insulated metal pitcher on the table. I watch them as I take a sip, meeting each of their gazes in turn, silently assessing them, wondering about their loyalties. I linger longest on Joe Carson. His blue eyes do not waver for an instant, but calmly hold mine until I look away.

I set my glass down on a coaster on the table and take a deep breath before saying in a tightly controlled voice, "It seems that we have a few problems, Gentlemen. Early this evening, not half an hour after my return to Seattle, I had a visit from Erik. He was not happy, to say the least, and now _I _am not happy. He resents our intrusion into his private life, which we anticipated from the beginning would probably happen. However, as I explained to him, there is nothing we can do about that given the security risks to him. BUT, there is something I can do about this team's behaviors _toward him_, especially yours, Petty Officer Carson! Am I to understand that you provoked him yet again into a fight? This is the second time I've been told about this, and I will not tolerate it! You are in a very precarious position right now, Sir, and I would suggest that you examine yourself to see if you really want to be part of this operation!"

"Aye, Sir," Carson says quietly. "I'm sorry, Sir."

I pin him to his chair with a rapier sharp look. "I'm not finished yet, Petty Officer! Each of us earned the right to wear the SEAL trident, and each of us swore an oath of allegiance to each other, to our country, and to the Program and all of the agencies that are cooperating to make it a success. That is no casual commitment, and I will not permit it to be treated as one, nor will I permit Monsieur Phantom or Laura Counselor to be the target of any careless remarks! I know we are all under tremendous stress here, but we are Navy SEALs, and we can rise above our personal problems to do our duties! Do you agree with me?"

"Aye, aye, Sir!" The five men shout in unison.

"Good! Now if I hear of any more of this nonsense, the offender will be dealt with very harshly!" I take another drink from my glass and continue in a softer voice, "Other than that, each of you has done stellar work, and I am proud to serve with you. The Program needs you, men…and, I need you now more than ever. We are SEAL Team Bravo, and we have been tested time and time again. We've lost our brothers in combat, and lost our commanding officer through a corrupt court-martial. We've not only survived, but have become stronger through these experiences. We owe it to Captain Jones, Lieutenant Sanchez, and Seaman O'Neal to keep going and somehow make things right for them. Agreed?"

"Aye, eye, Sir!"

And we owe it to Lieutenant Chamberlain as well. She fought for us in court as hard as any SEAL has ever fought, and even though she isn't here right now, she would want us to hold things together too. And we will…for all of them, won't we?"

"Aye, aye, Sir!"

I watch their faces again, looking for the slightest sign of dishonesty, but instead I see the determination in their eyes and in the hard set of each of their jaws, and know that each of them is true to his word. I let myself sigh in silent relief…confident that I truly can count on them, and sorry I ever had to doubt them. I look at Admiral Brooks, and he gives the smallest of nods to tell me that he has reached the same conclusions.

I return his nod and then address other business. "Now that we have that out of the way, I have some news." Each of the men leans forward and looks at me expectantly. "I was called by Captain Reynolds earlier this evening and told to report immediately at my precinct. He wanted something from me, and I was forced to comply. What he wanted was my badge and my gun. I am no longer a member of the Seattle Police Department."

"What?" The previously silent Bernard explodes. "He fired you? Why? You're the best Counter-terrorism guy the Department has!"

"So he said," I answer. "But we both know what I did the night Mr. Albertson was murdered in the courthouse, Tyrone. I kept you out of it, but this was the price I had to pay."

"You mean he found out about the GLOCK 26," Bernard says quietly, and his brown face turns a strange shade of grey. "Reynolds found out it was the murder weapon?"

"Yes. He somehow got a hold of the real ballistics report."

Bernard mutters a curse under his breath and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I didn't tell him, McCool. I swear it wasn't me. I didn't tell him nothin'! I have as much at stake as you do! He could fire me next!"

"I already told you that he isn't going to. He doesn't know that we wiped Phen's prints from the gun and the eight rounds that were still in the magazine, and he still doesn't know what the pentacle and the H O G S S message really means. And, he certainly doesn't know that either you or Phen really work for the Program—at least he didn't say so. He didn't want the department to look bad, so he…well, you know how it goes."

"He made you the scapegoat!" Bernard snorts in disgust. "Man I miss working for the FBI! These local cowboy sheriff types are a pain in the a-"

"Yes, we know," Admiral Brooks interrupts. He looks as disgusted as Bernard. "Just getting Horatio assigned to the department in the first place almost took an act of Congress. Reynolds has a real dislike for feds. And now he has gotten rid of you, or so he thinks. Horatio, you're sure he doesn't suspect Bernard or the others?"

"He didn't say so if he does," I answer again. "But that doesn't mean that he doesn't know something. And if he does, I don't believe he could have just figured it out on his own."

"Someone ratted us out!" Bernard smacks the table with his hand. "Someone…Oh, man! Someone…"

"…is a mole," Admiral Brooks finishes for him. "Someone in the Program who was involved in the Albertson case. And that could be just about anyone! The crime scene was crawling with people! And whoever it is, also has to be involved with Phen's disappearance."

"Exactly!" I say. "We always knew there was a possibility of this. We have undercover people in high places, so it is only logical that the PTB does too. That is why we have to be able to count on each of you. Phen's life could depend on it."

"You can count on us," Joe says. "We won't let you or Phen down, Sir." The other SEALs also voice their support.

Before this meeting began, I was facing the unthinkable possibility that one of them had been our mole since each of them had been at the courthouse the day of the murder and had been kept in the loop about the investigation. But now, I know I can put that doubt aside. I know my men, and I trust them in a way that I trust few other people in the world. For someone who isn't a SEAL, this may be hard to understand, but that is fine. Because I am a SEAL and have always known that when we all earned the right to wear the trident insignia, we became something more than a bunch of Navy guys…we became SEAL Team Bravo…and we became brothers.

We talk for a while longer, throwing ideas around and planning our next move. I brief them on the plans for the flight tomorrow.

"You're sure you don't need the rest of us?" Ben asks. "I mean taking Erik out to some island doesn't sound very safe to me."

"We won't be alone," I tell him and can't resist cracking a grin. "I brought back a little help from Coronado. SEAL Team Foxtrot will be leaving the Naval Air Station at Whidbey Island at 2300 hours tonight. A recon team from the base will rendezvous with them on our little island in the Pacific off Canada and keep a few boats close by in case of trouble. By the time we arrive with our guests, the SEAL team will already be hidden in the forest on the other side of the island. That means they will be ready either to help defend Erik and Laura from attack, or to storm the ship Phen is being held on, if we find her on this trip. The Team is under orders to remain concealed until told otherwise. If anyone decides to make trouble for us, we will be ready for them. Meanwhile, we need operations here at home to go on as they have, and that means the details of our plan _don't_ get to Erik and Laura's ears. Erik is upset enough about all of the security, so we don't want him to go all Phantom on us if he knows we're bringing reinforcements."

"Understood, Sir!" Joe remarks. "He has a mean right hook!"

"Yeah, well you asked for it!" Jeremy laughs. "You and your big mouth!"

Joe shrugs his shoulders, and Ben rolls his eyes at him. "There has to be one in every bunch, huh? Just don't screw up too often or you will be hunting for another job, kid. Am I right, Sirs?"

Admiral Brooks answers for both of us. "Absolutely! But if you do get into it with Erik again, call me before the fists start flying, please. I want a front row seat!"

"Yeah," I add, pointedly looking at Joe, "Call the Admiral, then after Erik flattens you, call me so I can fire you!"

Joe takes the ribbing with a grin, and a few minutes later we all go our separate ways. After the strains of these last two weeks, my mind is shrieking for sleep, but there is something I have to do first.

Phen's journal is in my duffle bag with the rest of the stuff I took with me to San Diego. I haven't had time to unpack before, but dealing with dirty laundry is the last thing I want to do right now. I leave the bag on the floor and put the journal on the bed while I change my clothes.

The page I want to read is marked with a folded piece of paper with the English translation of her words, which had been written backward in French on this particular entry. As I read this entry, I picture her as she wrote them, curled up before the fireplace on a winter night in the woods of Montana, her long blonde hair falling down around her shoulders smelling faintly of vanilla perfume.

_March 16, 2004_

Has it really been half a year already? It hardly seems possible, and yet that is what the calendar tells me. When I first came back to the States it was fall, but now spring is almost here. Perhaps I didn't choose the best time of year to pack up and head for Montana, but I've hardly noticed the winter. Only yesterday it seems that the aspens were turning colors, but soon they will be putting on new leaves.

What have I done these past six months since I came back from Okinawa? I can't seem to remember it all, but feel like I've just been asleep all this time, trapped in a nightmare that didn't end until I woke up this morning, six months to the day after Captain Jones was sentenced to ten years in the brig.

I will never forget that day, will never forget the hope that Jones hung onto and inspired his men with…nor will I forget the feeling when the verdict was read. It reminded me of the time I was kicked in the stomach by a horse and got the wind knocked out of me. It was exactly like that. I'll never forget the look on Horatio's face either. He was the first one I looked at for some reason, and he looked sick, absolutely sick, and I wanted to reach out to him and make it all better, but I couldn't.

When I packed my clothes later that day, I kept seeing his face, kept remembering, kept wishing I could have taken him in my arms right there in the middle of the courtroom and told him things would be ok. How I wish I could have! At least it would have been a tiny way to pay him back for the way he was there for me after the funeral.

The funeral…even now eight months later, it seems like it happened to someone else, not to me. How can Jenn be gone when I still feel the connection to her, that connection that has been there since the day we were born? All these years it has kept us in touch with each other even when child protective services took us away from our mom and put us in foster homes across the state from each other—one of us in St. Louis, the other in Kansas City. I even felt that connection when I was living in Paris, and Jenn was back home in St. Louis.

And Rick…no, I don't want to think about Rick right now. If he were alive he would die on the spot if he knew what I did. That is a terrible thing to say, I know, but true. After all the speeches I made to him about duty and honor, I threw it all away less than a month after he died.

If Horatio had only stayed behind in Okinawa instead of coming to Washington D.C. with me things would have been different. And yet if he hadn't, how would I have functioned at all? How would I have been able to talk to those people from the FAA about the crash? How would I have been able to arrange a double memorial service? I couldn't have. I know I couldn't.

Horatio, dear, kind Horatio… The things I wanted to say to you the night of my engagement party when you tossed down your crutches and so bravely danced on the beach with me—bandages and all—to that Righteous Brothers song! I knew that by getting married I was breaking your heart, and yet the two of us just met each other too late in life and under the wrong circumstances. And I loved Rick, I truly did. I never should have danced with you that night, Horatio. Never should have let myself hear what your heart was saying on the beach, never should have driven you home and followed you inside your house, never should have listened to "You Sang To Me", that Marc Anthony song I love. I know why you chose it. Because you were hoping that I would sing those words to you as we danced one last slow dance there in your living room. No, I never should have gone that night, never should have let you kiss me goodbye, and never should have let my heart betray me.

That is when it started, this affliction of the heart…and it has continued ever since. Even when we were sitting there at the funeral of my fiancé, all I could think was how good it felt to have you sitting beside me holding my hand.

And then finally that one beautiful, terrible night we spent together just before we went back to Japan. How fondly I've looked back at that night, and yet with so much regret have I looked back. Why did you have to join the Admiral's staff after you got out of the hospital? Why did you have to land squarely into my chain of command? Why did you have to be Navy man at all? Why couldn't we have just been two ordinary people who met on a train or at a restaurant? Why did we have to break the rules just to have one night together? I should just forget that night, and really I wish I could, but to forget that night, I would have to forget you, and I can't do that.

As I said, if poor Rick had any idea about this, he would die all over again. I did love him, you know, in a friendship way, and I thought that was how love was supposed to feel…until I met you, Horatio. And yet, if I found you now, to tell you that I love you would be a reminder of how I broke the very rules I was pledged to uphold as a JAG. And that is something I can't do, Horatio. I told you that the morning I woke up beside you, and again the last time I saw you standing there waiting to see me off on the helicopter.

Before I left Okinawa, I told you that if I ever needed help I would send an S.O.S. to you, and you promised that you would come to my rescue. Well, I don't need a rescue now, Horatio, because I've already faced the worst life can hand out. I told you about the time I drowned in the lake when I was kid and went to the other side before being sent back into my body. Death was not scary, but soft and still, like walking from one familiar room into another. I have to believe that it was the same for Rick and Jennifer, Horatio. And perhaps I experienced it first so that I would know what it was like for them and could tell them about it.

If perhaps someday I do get into some kind of trouble, and you find this book, Horatio, know that I'm not afraid of whatever life holds for me now. It is hard to explain, but I found a poem that seems to say it best. It was written by an American soldier named Alan Seeger during World War I and is called _Rendezvous._

_I have a rendezvous with Death __  
__At some disputed barricade, __  
__When Spring comes back with rustling shade __  
__And apple-blossoms fill the air-- _

_I have a rendezvous with Death __  
__When Spring brings back blue days and fair. __  
__It may be he shall take my hand __  
__And lead me into his dark land __  
__And close my eyes and quench my breath-- __  
__It may be I shall pass him still. _

_I have a rendezvous with Death __  
__On some scarred slope of battered hill, __  
__When Spring comes round again this year __  
__And the first meadow-flowers appear. __  
__God knows 'twere better to be deep __  
__Pillowed in silk and scented down, __  
__Where love throbs out in blissful sleep, __  
__Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, __  
__Where hushed awakenings are dear . . . _

_But I've a rendezvous with Death __  
__At midnight in some flaming town, __  
__When Spring trips north again this year, __  
__And I to my pledged word am true, __  
__I shall not fail that rendezvous. _

If you really are reading these words now because some calamity has befallen me, Horatio, please know that I am not afraid. And know one other thing, Horatio. That one night with you was the best time of my life, and for that, I will love you until I do make that rendezvous.

Ever _yours,_  
Grace Phenelope Chamberlain


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Here is the chapter everyone has been waiting for...Erik and Laura, a plane ride and an island. This becomes an experience with **_**many**_** firsts for Erik, one that he will never forget. By the way, this is also the first "M" rated chapter.**

**Thank yous!! to each of you who has posted a review. They are all thoughtful, and we writers truly enjoy reading them!! It helps inspire our muse!! So, keep them coming!! There is a LOT of story left...actually, we are just getting, ummmm, warmed up!! **

**Chapter 27 Laughter and Joy, by Phanfan and Phanna **

_  
September 17 and 18, 2005  
Island off the Coast of Canada_

_Matt's POV:_

I sit here on the couch, just watching Laura bustling back and forth, from the hallway that goes to the bedrooms, to the laundry closet inside the kitchen. I can follow all her activity through the large opening above the luncheon bar with its upholstered stools, which separates the kitchen from the living room. I watch her as she pulls out the ironing board. Ironing board! Shaking my head, I observe her actually ironing her flannel shirts. I can't believe it! They are new! She bought them yesterday after she got the call from Erik. In fact, she bought all new jeans, flannel shirts, hiking boots and a parka!

Then, as soon as we got home, she put the clothes into the washing machine and washed them! Why would a person wash new clothes? I shake my head in amazement. This must be a woman thing. Then, this morning she pulled everything out of the dryer and declared that the flannel shirts were too wrinkled to wear! So…that was when the ironing board came out. Why worry about a few wrinkles when we are going camping?! I shake my head again as I ponder this.

But clearly, women are different than men. I took my shower last night and packed my bag before I went to bed. This morning it took all of fifteen minutes to shave, dress and be ready to go. I brought my small bag with an extra change of clothes and plopped it down next to the couch by the front door, and have been waiting ever since. I learned that Laura had been up much earlier than me, apparently putting on makeup and fixing her hair and packing and heaven knows what else.

Then she discovered the wrinkle problem. So, I just hunkered down into the cushions and continued waiting and watching as she hastily ironed the shirts. Still dressed in her robe, she finishes her task and runs down the hallway to put on her clothes—the neatly pressed flannel shirt and some of the other pristinely clean clothes. Seems a waste of time in my opinion. They'll all be dirty from being out in the woods this afternoon and camping out tonight. But then…she is a woman…

Now she calls out from her room assuring me she will be ready in just another minute. True to her word, a few minutes later she rushes into the living room, dressed and carrying a bag twice the size of mine that is clearly crammed full of her 'necessities'. She sets the bag down next to mine, then takes a look at several huge potted plants in her living room. They stand in front of the huge picture window that has a panoramic sweep of the Seattle skyline from her 15th floor condominium. Personally, I'd throw them out as blocking the view, but she gives off a dismayed, "OH! I forgot!! I always water my ficus on the weekends. They can't go dry. They are very delicate!" At that she turns, runs back to the kitchen, grabs a watering can, fills it and races over to the huge, pampered plants, and waters them.

Impatiently, I look down at my watch, and sigh with relief that we are still leaving early enough to arrive on time. So I just grin at Laura when she deposits the watering can next to the front door, grabs her bag and smiles apologetically for 'the delay.' How can I get upset at Laura for anything when she smiles at me? I love her smile…I would do just about anything to see her smile…

We hurry down to her Corvette, which is parked in the garage of her building, and I jump into the passenger side. Since she lost me the day that she sped from the coast to Horatio's house when Erik barricaded himself in his room, the orders are for me to ride in her car unless Erik is with her. Predictably, she turns on her cds. She always plays music in the car and at home. Rarely does she sit and watch television, but she _always_ listens to music. This morning she plays "Lady Magdalene"…again. She seems to select that one a lot lately. The only reason I can think of is that she must be a Neil Diamond fan. As for me, the song has a nice melody, but I can't really relate to the words. They seem quite strange, actually.

As we speed down the freeway in the Corvette, I look over at Laura who is unusually radiant today. She wears a blue scarf tied like a hair band around the front of her black hair, pulling it back from her face and causing it to fall gracefully on her shoulders. And...the blue against her creamy skin makes her large, mahogany eyes stand out even more than normal. This morning her eyes radiate a happiness that I have never seen in them before. I catch myself staring at her, and have to look away and gaze out the car window. However, my thoughts do not turn away from Laura so quickly. I can't help but think about how she has been like this ever since she got that call last night from Erik.

Jeremy called later in the evening to tell me about the Joe incident. Apparently Joe has quite a bruise and a couple loose teeth. Erik seems to pack quite a punch. Jeremy told me that Horatio gave Joe a good talking to afterward at a meeting everyone had with the Admiral. Then he filled me in on the details of the meeting, including the presence of the other SEAL team on the island, and that it was to be kept from Erik and Laura.

Then we returned to the problem of Joe. We all know Joe…only too well. He is a brave man and a very fine SEAL. He just has two problems. Joe is a skirt-chaser and has foot-in-the-mouth disease. Jeremy and I chuckled at Joe's tough lessons from Erik, and wondered if he finally got the point through his rather thick skull. We both hope so. Joe is one of the men approved to accompany Erik back to 187l France if the Program green lights the project.

In fact, I reflect, I have also been approved to go. I am the only SEAL selected for the team who is also a trained medic. After I left the Navy, I took additional college courses and am certified as a licensed practitioner, just one step away from a medical doctor. They want my skills on this team because I am also highly trained in trauma injuries—the kind received in battle. Initially I had indicated my interest in going back, especially since both my parents have passed away, and I have no brothers or sisters, no close family, and I am not involved with anyone personally. Going back in time seemed like an adventure, but then something happened.

I was assigned to be Laura's bodyguard. Stealing a look at her, I let out an inaudible sigh. Now it's different. After all, why would I want to be in 1871 France when _she will be here_?

I have decided to withdraw my name from consideration for the Team to go back with Erik. I hope when she gets over Erik…well, I hope the friendship Laura and I have developed over these last months will turn into more…_much more…._

_Laura's POV: _

Happiness and expectation course through me as I turn down Horatio's long driveway. When I reach the last bend in the forest, I see Erik waiting for me, pacing back and forth. My heart starts pounding as it always does when I catch my first glimpse of him. I wonder if I will ever get used to seeing his tall, broad shouldered figure, slender yet so strong in his graceful, controlled movements. His face…his unforgettable face with those green eyes that seem never to miss anything and change in color with his moods, studying the world from under expressive eyebrows. And his hair, so soft to the touch, and raven black, framing his stunningly handsome, clean-shaven left cheek and jaw, which contrasts with the white mask that hides the right side of his face. Everything about his face is striking, almost unreal in its stark planes and dramatic contours. Almost as unreal as the unbelievable fact that this_ is Erik_, the _real_ Phantom of the Opera.

I still cannot fully accept that my life has intersected so closely, so intimately with his. But my path has crossed his, and then it will continue on in a diametrically opposite direction. But, for two days—this day and tomorrow—our paths cross and merge, and so I resolve to think only of this time, this fleeting, transient present that will exist for two unrepeatable days. I must push all other realities out of my mind and enjoy what precious time I have…we have together…

My car has barely come to a stop, and Erik is beside me, opening my door and leaning over to help me out. He reaches past me and lifts my luggage from the back seat, then escorts me up the pathway and into Horatio's home. Instead of holding my arm as usual, he rests his hand on my waist, and butterflies begin to flutter in my stomach with anticipation. He leads Matt and me to the kitchen where fruit, croissants, and a variety of juices and coffee sit on the counter for any who are hungry. I have been so focused on packing that I hadn't even thought about food.

"Have you eaten this morning, Laura?" Erik asks with concern.

"No, Erik, I haven't!" I shake my head in response, realizing only now that my stomach is growling for attention..

"Are you kidding? She was too busy ironing clothes and watering plants!" Matt teases me gently.

Erik lifts a questioning eyebrow, but lets Matt's comment pass with only a slight grin tinged with curiosity. Then he hands me a plate, inviting me to help myself to any of the delectable food arrayed on the counter. Erik and I both select a croissant, some fruit and coffee and choose a small table in a private corner alcove that overlooks the patio and Sound. We sit and eat, enjoying each other's company, but exchange nervous glances. I wonder if either of us is able to comprehend…to accept…that we will be flying in the clouds, over the ocean in a small seaplane, then spend two days camping on an island…together. It seems too unbelievable…too fortuitous. Neither of us dares to speak about it, as if in fear that we will wake up from a dream and all will evaporate in the wakefulness of dawn.

We have barely finished eating when Horatio bursts into the kitchen, looking tired and haggard. I wonder if he slept at all. For a second the fear goes through my mind that he is going to cancel the trip. Instead, he gruffly announces, "The seaplane has been sighted….it will arrive in a few minutes. Let's all get down to the boat dock where it will land."

Erik and I exchange smiles of disbelief across our small table, but remain silent so as not to jinx our luck. Then, he rises purposefully and picks up my bag as well as his. We follow Horatio across his deck, down several long flights of redwood steps that take us to the landing where two speedboats are docked. The plane's engines buzz faintly overhead, and we can soon spot it descending, ready to land on the Sound. Erik stands close behind me on the dock, and we watch in wonder. So…it is true. _We are going. _

_Erik's POV:_

I stand behind Laura, almost touching her, trying to hide my emotions, my excitement. This is the most unbelievable turn of events that has ever happened to me. I could never in my wildest imagination have pictured that I would be standing here with Laura and waiting to embark on a plane trip when I angrily vented on Horatio last evening. I contain any demonstration of my joy at the thought of being with Laura for two days, away from my confined existence, out of respect for Horatio's disgruntled and distraught condition. His preoccupation with finding Phen has become an obsession, and his physical and mental state is deteriorating daily.

As the plane comes to a stop next to the dock, Laura steals a look up at me and gives me a rapturous smile. I return a private look of happiness as I gaze down into her lovely face. Jeremy and Matt load the camping equipment and food as I hand up our bags. Getting into the plane is a little challenging for my height, and I have to stoop over to keep my head from hitting the ceiling. Laura and I are directed to sit in the last row of seats, which are arranged in three rows of two, with a very small center aisle. Jeremy and Matt take the two seats in front of us, and Horatio sits next to the pilot. The seat is a little cramped for my long legs, so I turn sideways in my seat to take advantage of the aisle space. That also allows my legs to rest comfortably against Laura's. We buckle belts around us as a safety precaution. The uneasy thought crosses my mind that they are of little use if we plunge into the ocean. Soon the door slams shut, and the engines whine even louder.

Then, we start to move forward on the water, and my heart sinks down into my stomach. I look nervously out the window and see the water of the Sound moving below us very rapidly. Indeed, we continue to pick up speed and seem to be racing across the top of the waves. My heart starts pounding in my chest, half in the thrill of this moment, and half in terror of becoming air-borne. I glance anxiously over at Laura. She is studying me and reaches out her hand to take mine. To comfort me, she smiles and nods at me that all will be well, and I turn back to watch the water which is now beginning to drop away, ever farther below us. I cannot believe that I am flying in the air above the Sound! The excitement of the moment is mixed up with the concern that we could fall out of the sky. I shake my head in wonder at this modern phenomenon.

As we rise toward the clouds, I can see not only the Sound below us, but also the city of Seattle. Then we turn to the west, and I watch the small towns and settlements along the bay as we head for the ocean. The plane follows the coastline for several hours, but I am on the left side, so I have the view of the ocean from high among the clouds. I cannot help but think about the magnificent view of the world that the high-flying birds enjoy. Except, of course, they don't have the noise of the engine that is quite loud, imposing and prevents any significant conversation. The vibration from the engines is also quite noticeable, but then, I grin to myself, as bothersome as it is, I certainly would not want it to stop. So, I settle in, look out the window and watch the incredible vastness of the sky and ocean, a sight I would never have believed possible in my lifetime. I occasionally look over at Laura and communicate with my eyes the joy and wonder of this experience. She always nods her head in understanding.

After several hours, the pilot shouts back that we are approaching the island, and the plane begins to descend toward the ocean. I search for signs of our destination and finally see it below as we lower for a landing. The island appears to be about three miles in length, has a lake on one side of a hill that rises up in the middle and is covered with lush forest. When the plane lands, it slowly moves toward a small, wooden pier, and we all disembark quickly. After we unload the camping equipment, bags and food, Horatio slaps my back and says, "Erik, I trust this will give you a change of scenery. I used to come here as a boy for camping with my scouting troop in the summer. It has good campsites and beautiful hiking trails! This should be a good time-out for all of you, considering the stresses of the trial. I will return sometime in the middle of the night!"

I respond with a sincere, "Thank you Horatio. And, I truly hope that you will be successful in your search today. My good wishes go with you!" We shake hands, and he gets back into the plane, which immediately takes off into the sky. I watch as it flies north and send a private prayer that he will find Phen. Having Laura with me today makes me aware even more acutely of the pain he is experiencing by not knowing Phen's fate.

Picking up the bags and equipment, we start our trek into the forest along a well-worn trail. About a half mile from the beach, we reach the edge of the lake and find a number of campsites. Each has a cement fire pit in its center, and we choose to camp at the one that is nearest the lake. It is also not far from a building that contains bathroom facilities, for men on one side and for women on the other. Very practical, I think to myself. Modern people always seem to have their conveniences planned and provided. When I lived with the gypsies, and we camped between towns, there was no such luxury.

We quickly put up the three tents. Jeremy and Matt share a large one, and Laura and I each have smaller ones. I am amazed at the light material used in their construction, and their engineering that allows them to be set up in minutes. Very practical and functional. Matt and Jeremy busy themselves with gathering firewood and starting the fire. It is a crisp autumn day with the sun shining, but a chill is in the air, and the fire is very welcome.

I am enjoying wearing modern clothes today and feel they are quite practical. The heavy cotton material of my slacks and soft chamois shirt are comfortable and warm. Horatio loaned me some heavy wool socks and a fine pair of hiking boots. My jacket is thick with a down lining, which holds in my body heat, and so, I only feel the chill of the day on my hands and face.

We open the food chest and Laura passes out sandwiches and small containers with fruit salad. The second chest contains ice and cans of beer, water, and, of course, I included several bottles of wine. Jeremy and Matt each grab a beer, but I open one of the bottles of wine and pour it into two small crystal glasses that I embedded into the ice. I hand one of the glasses with the fruity Merlot to Laura and sip contentedly from the other. We sit on blankets spread on the ground near the fire as we enjoy the food and good conversation, talking about the flight. We avoid discussing the trial, and instead share humorous camping anecdotes. Well, except for me. I have no desire to share my personal history of camping with the gypsies, but I enjoy hearing their memories of camping misfortunes and pranks. It seems that pranks are a necessary part of camping in America. I laugh so hard at one of the stories that Laura looks at me with a quizzical grin. That is when I realize that she and I need to begin our exploration of the island…to follow some of those hiking trails Horatio told us about.

Standing up with great anticipation for this afternoon, I reach my hand down to take Laura's and pull her to her feet. As we put our glasses back into the ice, Matt and Jeremy bid us a pleasant afternoon, and we set off on one of the trails. We have chosen the longest one…the one that circles around the lake and up the side of the hill.

I take Laura's hand as we follow the forested path. The day is glorious with clouds that are light and wispy in the intense blue of the sky. The greenery of the tall pines on this island create a backdrop for the autumn oranges, yellows and many shades of rust from the leaves on the other trees and shrubs. I feast my eyes on this full palette of colors created by Mother Nature for an admiring artist.

Not far down the path, I notice that there is an abundant amount of dead wood lying on the ground available for the taking. It will provide good firewood, and we can easily fill our arms with it when we return to camp. For several hours, we walk the winding trail, holding hands and stopping to admire the beauty of the craggy stones on the hill, the busy activity of a squirrel hoarding its food for the winter, and the vista of the lake below us.

We avoid speaking about the trial except for Antoinette, sharing our feelings of sadness at her departure. I have concerns about her and Meg in the chaos that still exists in Paris as an aftermath of the Commune. But we both are glad that she was returned to the past with her full knowledge and remembrance of the trial and what happened here. When I comment that I am relieved I will be able to share and discuss this experience with her when I return, Laura looks away and brushes tears from her eyes. I resolve not to discuss anything further today that will trigger thoughts about my upcoming departure.

I continue to hold Laura's hand, leading her further into the lush forest until I finally find an area that I deem satisfactory. It is a small clearing surrounded by tall pine trees. At the far edge is a soft bed of grass and moss around the bottom of an old tree, which reaches out with graceful spreading branches. I pull Laura gently into my arms as we approach it.

"Come, we can sit here for a while and rest before we must return to camp." +

Laura looks up at me with her beautiful, smiling eyes, grinning with her full, soft lips. She has already figured out what my plan is. I cannot help but give her a devilish smile in return, taking her into my arms. I pause for a moment, savoring her body, held tightly against mine. I want this time to never end…us, here on this island in the middle of the ocean with nothing of the world to intrude. The thought pushes into my mind that I could stay here with Laura forever.

Our impatient kisses start warm and sweet but soon increase their intensity with our need of each other. The longer and deeper our kisses become, the more they set my blood racing, pounding throughout my body. I vow to myself that I must not let any of this get beyond my control, but I cannot resist these stolen moments. They may be our only memories to give us solace in our separate, distant futures.

I feel Laura tremble as our kisses become deeper. I gather her up in my arms, walk over to the large, spreading tree and sit down under its protective branches. Settling my back against its gnarled trunk, I hold Laura sideways on my lap so that her head rests on my left side, away from my mask, which seems to be a bothersome and awkward intrusion at these moments. My arms enfold her while our breathing again becomes regular and our senses come back to us.

"_Laura_….." I whisper her name into her fragrant hair. There is another endearment on my tongue, but I hold back, fearing to say it. I want to tell her how much I care about her but the uncertainty of the future halts me. Some things we do not need to say. We already know that we have deep feelings for each other, and I am afraid to utter any words, which, once said, can never be forgotten and could hang over our heads, haunting us for the rest of our lives. What added torment would that create beyond what we already know we must face? And, of all people on the earth, I do not want to bring any anguish or harm to Laura. I must not.

Laura turns her face up to me, and I see the same emotion in her doe-shaped eyes. They are the eyes that I wish I could look into like this…forever. I can no longer hold back. I pull her even closer to me. I want to touch more of her skin, but I cannot let that happen. As if reading my thoughts, Laura moves her hands inside my coat and slides one of them around to my back, as the other makes a trail up my chest. The heat from her hand goes through my shirt as she slowly caresses me, and I feel that I am on fire.

I follow suit and place my left hand under her parka, on the small of her back near her waist, but I do not know what to do with my right hand. I want to touch her soft skin, but I feel that this may be beyond the boundaries of propriety. She slides her hand off my chest, taking my right hand and placing it gently over her heart, and then rests her hand again on my heart. +

I sit enraptured, feeling both our hearts pounding until their rhythm becomes synchronized. I am entranced and suspended in time in this forest glade. We sit like this, silent, absorbed in each other and the gentle sounds of nature around us. I know not how much time passes, or if we even exist in time. Sitting together under this ancient tree is such exquisite luxury, absorbing the gentle warmth of the sunlight filtering through its branches, feeling the crisp cool air of autumn, and not feeling the need to talk… _just to be, just to memorize each other's heart beat. _

I awaken with a start. I look down, see Laura asleep in my arms and realize that we must have dozed off. Yesterday was so stressful, and I suspect that like me, she did not get much sleep last night. Too preoccupied with thoughts about this weekend. I gently wake Laura from her light slumber, and she looks up at me with sleepy eyes, then closes them and snuggles back into my arms as if she wants to continue sleeping. I look at my watch and realize the afternoon is almost gone, and we must begin out trek back to the campsite, or Matt and Jeremy will begin searching for us.

I softly whisper into her ear, which rests against my chin, "Laura, we must return now."

She lets out a sigh, "Alright, Erik, if we have to…" and stretches out her arms and legs in an effort to bring herself out of her slumber. Her movement in my lap, however, rubs my body in such a way that I realize I need to stand as quickly as possible, or I will begin our kissing again. The way I am feeling right now, I am not sure I trust myself. I lift Laura off my lap and rise quickly, turning away from her for a few moments while she continues her stretching exercises. I bring myself under control and then reach my hand out to her. She takes it, and I am rewarded with her glorious smile. We both reluctantly retrace our steps through the forest back to the hiking path.

When we are close to the camp, we start gathering wood. I help Laura pick up some smaller pieces of the dead wood and then load an armful for myself. As Laura follows me around, she asks if I have ever eaten 'some mores.' Of course, I have never heard of them, so she tries to explain the ingredients. Personally, I am unimpressed. It is not to my taste…they sound too sweet and too messy. But I enjoy listening to her as she relates the details of how to make them over a campfire.

I have my back to her as I am gathering another large log when I hear her cry out in pain. Dropping my armload of wood, I rush over to her. She is lying face down on the ground.

"Laura! What is it? Are you hurt? What happened?" I throw out a multitude of questions, frantic that I cannot see the reason for her pain. I drop to my knees beside her and gently turn her over, searching her face, "Are you bleeding? Are you ill?"

"No, no" she groans, and then she reaches down to hold her left ankle. "I am really ok except that I think I have sprained my ankle."

"Please…. let me look at it…." I reply anxiously as I pull up the bottom of her pant leg and lower her sock to examine the injury. The ankle is red, and she winces when I touch it.

"Laura, you cannot walk on that. I will have to carry you back to camp!" I announce and not asking her opinion on the matter, I lift her into my arms and begin the short walk back. She is quite light in my arms, considerably lighter than Christine, who is much taller than Laura, and I enjoy the feel of her body against mine. She folds her arms around my shoulders and before we have gone very far, she is sending shivers down my spine with her tiny kisses all along my neck.

She quickly halts when we hear Jeremy's voice sharply yelling, "ERIK! LAURA!" Obviously we have stretched our time away to the limits, and as I had feared, Jeremy has come looking for us. I call out to him, and he runs through the trees toward us, speeding up when he sees me carrying Laura.

"My God, Erik...Laura! What happened!" He blurts out when he nears us.

"I'm just clumsy, Jeremy! I sprained my ankle! I don't get much hiking practice in the courtroom, you know!" Laura says with a laugh, trying to make light of an injury that must be quite painful.

"How long have you been carrying her? Do you want me to take her the rest of the way, Erik?" Jeremy asks with a concerned tone.

"No! I am fine, Jeremy! It has not been far. We were on our way back when it happened," I respond impatiently, "I can carry her. Perhaps you can return to the camp and tell Matt to get his medical bag ready."

Jeremy looks back and forth between Laura and me, then responds with a half smile, "Yes, I can see that you have things under control, Erik. I'll go back and tell Matt what happened." He turns and trots away, soon out of sight.

Laura whispers into my ear, "Very good thinking. We certainly want Matt to have his medical bag ready!!" She gives me an impish grin, and looks into my eyes, and I am unable to hide my sheepish smile as she again begins to place her small kisses on my neck, sending shivers of delight down my back.

When we emerge into the clearing around the campsite, I see that Jeremy and Matt are standing next to the blazing campfire waiting for us. Matt has spread a thick blanket on the ground near the fire. "Erik, set her down here and let me examine her," Matt firmly orders.

"How are you feeling Laura? Are you in a lot of pain?" Matt asks with a concerned, but professional tone.

"Well, it does hurt and the skin feels tight near my ankle. It must be swollen," Laura says, and I can see her lips flatten into a grimace as I place her on the blanket, and her foot touches the ground.

"Let me look at it," Matt takes her ankle in his hand and begins his examination. I kneel down close to Laura so that I can watch Matt's ministrations.

He gently rolls up the leg of her pants and removes her hiking boot and sock. He lifts her injured leg and runs his hand around her foot and ankle and up her leg a short distance. I feel a strange annoyance at this. Matt then holds her foot in his palm and gently rotates it, and Laura jerks back in pain when he moves it in a certain direction.

Matt announces to us, "Ok, I don't think it's broken but it would be a good idea to have it x-rayed immediately."

"NO!" Laura blurts out and then looking embarrassed goes on, "I mean, I don't want to go back yet…I want to stay here until Horatio picks us up as scheduled. I will have it x-rayed when we return to Seattle. That would be ok, right Matt?" She glances up at him imploring him with her eyes to say yes.

Matt hesitates but then gives in, "Well, it really looks like it is just a Grade 1 sprain, and I think that if you agree to stay off of it until we get back to Seattle, and we put ice on it, then that should be ok." He searches in his first aid bag and pulls out a white rectangle, folds it, moves it around, and I can hear a crunching noise. He then reaches out to place it on Laura's ankle and something in the way his eyes look at her gives me an uncomfortable feeling.

"Here's an ice pack. It should only stay on your ankle for about 15 or 20 minutes or it will do more damage than good. Then the area needs to warm back up for 45 minutes to an hour, and we can repeat that to keep the swelling down. I also want you to keep your ankle elevated above your heart. That will help with the swelling too. Clearly, no more hiking," he says with an apologetic smile and a tone in his voice that is a little too personal. I decide he will bear watching. He leans over his bag once again and pulls a flesh colored roll out and a small white plastic bottle. "I am going to wrap your ankle in an ace bandage to help with the swelling. And here's two ibuprofen. It will help with the pain and the inflammation." Matt turns to grab a bottle of water and hands it to Laura with two tablets, then carefully wraps her foot and ankle.

"Ok Laura, we need to get that ankle elevated," Matt continues, "Where do you want us to set you up?"

"How about near the campfire so you don't have to move me later?" Laura motions her preferred location to Matt. I notice that it is on the opposite side of the fire pit from the tents.

"Sounds good to me." Matt has Jeremy place a strange looking mattress made of plastic that is pumped up with air, near the campfire, and they cover it in several blankets. I lift Laura up, carry her over and deposit her gently on the bed. Matt rolls another blanket up and places it under Laura's lower leg and ankle so that it is raised up. He adjusts the ice pack and says to Laura, "If you need anything just yell."

"Thank you, Matt. You're a good doctor!" She smiles and the expression I see in Matt's eyes confirms what I was beginning to suspect. I indeed will have to watch him very closely.

Jeremy, who has been standing by and watching everything intently, now jokingly comments, "Well, that means we men get all the cooking duties! I think Laura did this just to be able to sit here and watch us do all the work!" We all laugh, but he is clearly trying to break the tension of concern we all feel over Laura's injury.

Laura good-naturedly laughs and agrees. "Of course! And, I intend to enjoy every minute of it!"

I go into my tent and bring several blankets out and place one over her elevated leg and foot, asking her if she would like me to cover her with another.

"Yes, please! And, if you don't mind would you please roll one of those blankets behind me as a pillow so I can sit up just a little bit. I don't like lying flat on my back. Then perhaps you could come, sit beside me and nurse me back to health." She pats the area beside her. There is a definite twinkle in her eyes and a large smile on her inviting lips as she says these last few words.

"Not so fast, Erik. You can come and help us with kitchen duty!" Jeremy amiably calls out as he opens the container with the food. "I am going to put the 'burgers on the grill over the fire to get dinner started. The fire is just right for cooking now, but we need a lot more wood to last the night. Erik, could you please go with Matt and collect a stack while it is still light out! When you get done with that, the chow should be ready!"

I look down longingly at Laura and shrug my shoulders in concession that I will not be able to join her just yet. She looks up with disappointment evident in her expression. I speedily return to the area where wood from a couple of old, fallen trees is strewn over the ground. Hurrying about my task, I cannot think of anything else but joining Laura by that warm, roaring fire. My stomach, however, begins to tell me that I am so hungry that even hamburgers may be edible tonight. I have declined to eat the messy things whenever Horatio or Jeremy went to the fast food parlors, but it seems that tonight I have no choice. I wince as I ponder what other strange, modern foods will be on the menu.

When I arrive back at the encampment with my arms full of wood, the smell of the meat makes my stomach growl, but there is another odor in the air. I walk over and look down into a pot that is sitting on the fire next to the meat, and it seems to be a boiling cauldron of reddish brown beans in a thick, murky-looking sauce. The pungent odor is strange and tantalizing.

"Jeremy, what on earth is this you are concocting?"

"Well, Erik, it is a southwestern style bean, called ranch-style. It has a bit of chili for seasoning," he smiles mischievously.

"Chili?" I ask with suspicion.

"Yes, it is a favorite southwestern spice. It is quite hot and has a bit of a bite!"

"Chili…_is hot_? That sounds like a contradiction!" I state, feeling I am being set up for something.

Jeremy laughs and replies, "Well, that does seem to be quite a contradiction in terms, but, yes, 'chili' is hot! You obviously have never tasted it?"

"Uh…no…I do not think it is used in French cooking very much." I shake my head and look up at Laura who is trying to hide her laughter but not succeeding very well. Now I KNOW something is amiss.

Jeremy scoops the huge chunks of meat onto the round bread they call 'buns,' and I try to fathom which of the condiments will be the least objectionable. I decide to try only the mustard and cheese to avoid as much drippiness as possible since this is eaten with the hands—another uncouth American habit.

I prepare Laura's hamburger to her specifications, and then Jeremy deposits a dollop of the suspect beans on both our plates. I pour red wine for Laura and me, then serve her and sit down on a blanket that is next to her bed. I take a drink of the wine first to prepare myself for this experience, then pick up the hamburger and take a bite. Unusual, but not entirely unpleasant. It is, however, drippy, just as I suspected, and there are no napkins. Why did we not bring napkins? Then I taste the beans. I barely chew the first mouthful and realize that my tongue is on fire! I drop the fork onto the plate, seize the glass of wine and swallow almost all of it down in an attempt to extinguish the blaze in my throat. I can hear Jeremy and Matt laughing as they see my reaction.

"Well…now you know what 'chili' means in the southwest!" Matt states with apparent glee at my discomfort. He indeed bears watching.

"How can anyone eat that?" I gasp in utter incredulity, as I try to regain my breath back from the fiery beans.

"Well, Erik, perhaps it is an acquired taste," Laura says with a smile. "I think one's taste buds do adapt to the heat of the chilies, and you have never had experience with them before. But, it is a traditional western food for camping and barbeques! Welcome to America!" she says with a laugh, and all is forgiven. But not forgotten. I decide that I can survive quite well without eating the beans. I do, however, eat a second hamburger and experiment with additional condiments on that one…more drippy, but also more flavorful.

Then the 'dessert' is brought out. Marshmallows are roasted over the flames of the fire on long sticks until they melt, catch fire and burn, then that is deposited on top of a graham cracker which has a square of chocolate on it. After a second cracker is put on top of the marshmallow, everything is pressed together. I regard this concoction with considerable skepticism. Looking over at Laura, I watch as she eats hers. She seems to manage it quite well and bids me to eat mine.

With great reluctance, I decide to try this and immediately discover that I do not have the correct technique. When I take a bite, some of it oozes onto the bottom of my mask. However, I have part of the "some more" in my mouth, and the rest of it is all over the fingers of both hands, so I cannot do anything about the sticky brown and white mass hanging off my mask. I am at a loss at what to do next, and Laura is laughing! _At me!_ After I pause for a moment to consider my response, I join in the laughter. Quickly eating the remaining mess, I jump to my feet to find some water to wash my hands and eliminate the mess that clings to my mask.

Jeremy tells me that there is a sink with running water in the men's bathroom, and I hastily walk down the path to repair the damage. The water is freezing cold, apparently from an underground spring, but it gets the stickiness off my hands. I remove my mask and clean off the offending food, enjoying the cool air on my skin for a few minutes. I normally remove my mask at bedtime and apply ointments to my skin to soothe the irritation, but tonight, I will be leaving it on all night. That will create a bit of rash for the next couple days, but it is worth it. I do not want Laura to see my face…ever. I never want to see the horror in her eyes that I saw in Christine's when she first removed it. That must not happen with Laura.

When I finish in the bathroom, I walk back to the campsite and realize that night has fully descended and the light of the campfire blazes with a welcoming light. Jeremy and Matt have put away the food, and even though it is only a little past 9:00 p.m., they politely make excuses that they are tired and want to go to sleep. They disappear into their tent, which is on the opposite side of the fire pit at the far side of the campsite. I sigh with relief that they are retiring and that their tent is far enough away that they will not be able to hear the conversation between Laura and me.

As I pour Cabernet Sauvignon in my glass, the night Laura spent in my room comes to mind, especially the part where she became slightly inebriated on very little wine. I decide that it would be wise to pour only a small amount in her glass. I do not want her to succumb to the wine and cut short our time together tonight. As I settle in next to her, feel the heat coming off the fire and take a sip of the vintage wine, I realize this is the part of our trip that I have been looking forward to with greatest expectation.

"Well, Erik, what did you think about dinner?" Laura asks feigning innocence..

"It was an experience I shall never forget," I say as diplomatically as I can.

"Are you over the effects of the chili and S'mores?" she says with a chuckle.

"Yes, thankfully," I say with a disgruntled growl.

"Good!" and with a laugh, she takes one of my hands in hers. "I brought a book with me, and I was wondering if you would like me to read it to you?"

"Well, yes, I would," I am pleasantly intrigued at her proposal and wonder what book she is referring to.

She puts her other hand into her coat pocket and pulls out a small book, which is not much bigger than my hand. It appears to be rather old and well worn. "Actually, Erik, I think you could say this is my favorite book. It was given to me on my 16th birthday by my parents, and I have taken it with me everywhere. Even when I was in college, I kept it with me, and I have read it so many times, I have nearly memorized it!" she says with her engaging smile. "It is called '_The Prophet' _and was written in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran, a Christian born in Lebanon. He was a very famous poet even before coming to America and living the last twenty years of his life here. This book begins with the thoughts of a man, Almustafa, who is leaving the city he has lived in for twelve years, to cross the seas and return to the isle of his birth. But, as the ships come to take him away, the people of the city gather around him and ask him to share his wisdom with them before he leaves. So, they ask him to speak on many different subjects, and with each one, he speaks from the deepest wisdom in his elegant prose. May I read some of my favorite passages to you, Erik?"

"Please proceed, Laura. I would be honored." I have always loved poetry and prose, but I have not been able to share that with anyone before, so I recline next to Laura, rest my head on my hand and look up at her in complete contentment.

She begins by reading the introduction about Almustafa and his longing to return home. Then Laura thumbs through the pages, finds a chapter further into the book, and explains that this is the chapter about _'Joy.'_

"_Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.  
And he answered:  
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.  
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentime filled with your tears.  
And how else can it be?  
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.  
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?  
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives."_

As her beautiful voice continues reading this passage, I know why she is reading this to me. She is trying to tell me with these profound words that the deep wounds I have suffered will be equaled by the same measure of joy in my future. I so want to believe that, but something in me cannot. I have known pain and disappointment, but joy has only been fleeting and rare.

As I reflect on the moments of joy in my life, I realize how few they have been. Even playing my music had been an expression of my sadness, my loneliness and longing, or my passions. But joy…I think back and try to remember what moments those have been, and realize they are mostly the ones with Laura in them.

I hear her voice continuing on this subject, _"Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy…"_ I am totally entranced by her voice and these words and lose myself in them as she reads on. She scans through the book and chooses certain topics…such as Beauty, Freedom, Giving, and then she comes to Reason and Passion, which begins,

"_Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite…"_

"_Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows—then let your heart say in silence, "God rest in reason." _

I listen intently, deeply experiencing these passages as Laura reads them, here, in this magnificent forest.

_  
"And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky,--then let your heart say in awe, "God moves in passion."_

I am overcome and absorbed by the images these words conjure in my mind's eye. For the second time today, it seems as though time is suspended and meaningless. My desire for Laura is building again as I sit and watch her read to me. It seems that I have waited my entire life to find someone who shares the joy I have always taken in beautifully written words as well as my love of music.

When Laura finally closes the book, I do not want this to end, and I know she has skipped over parts of the book. I ask her to hand the book to me, and I open to the page that lists the chapters. Reading down the list I discover she has not read certain chapters. Looking up at her, I ask, "Laura, why did you not read the chapters on Love, Marriage, Children, Pain, Death, Time and The Farewell?"

She blushes and shakes her head, "I do not know…I just read the passages I thought you might enjoy…I did not realize that I had left out those particular ones."

I do not dispute her explanation, but the chapters she has avoided reading seem to form a meaningful pattern, so I ask her gently, "May I read them, then?"

"Well, of course, Erik. Whatever you wish!" her warm smile sends a surge of blood rushing through me, but I turn back to the book, intent on reading all of it, needing to know everything that is written here. I read each of the chapters, ending with the chapter about Love. As I read the final passages, I gasp with their beauty,

"_And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.  
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.  
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:  
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.  
To know the pain of too much tenderness.  
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;  
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.  
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving…._

My throat constricts in emotion, and I cannot finish the lines that follow. I look up at Laura and express with my eyes what these words have eloquently voiced, and see an echoing passion in hers. The night is quiet now, except for the sounds of birds and the soft crash of the waves on the distant shoreline. I move over and ease myself down next to Laura on the bed, pulling a blanket over us so that we can share the warmth of our bodies as well as the heat radiating from the campfire. +

I position myself on my left side leaning on my elbow so that I am suspended above Laura, enraptured with her beautiful face. I can restrain myself no longer and bend down to capture her inviting lips with mine. My body presses on hers as I lean forward, and she slowly wraps her arms around my neck pulling me closer. Our kisses are languid and unhurried as we explore each other's lips and mouth. As she strokes my hair, she moves her enticing lips to my neck and is once again sending shivers of delight coursing through my body.

I follow suit and start a journey of exploration that begins with her neck, then slowly travels to her earlobe, as I gently kiss it. I can feel her body tremble in response, and a small sigh escapes her. I continue to shower kisses around her ear and gently sweep my hand through her luxurious hair, breathing in its delicious fragrance.

Her hands begin to glide across my shirt, and I am startled when I feel her unbuttoning it. She places her small hands inside, and they begin to lazily travel over my chest and stomach creating trails of dancing heat on my bare skin. When they reach my shoulders, she arches up to meet my chest, and I can feel her soft breasts beneath her shirt. I hear myself groan and cannot resist taking my free hand and pulling her shirt out of the top of her slacks so that I can touch her, feel her skin. I run my hands around her back caressing it, sliding my fingers up to her shoulders and then down to her waist. I am amazed that she is wearing no chemise, no corset. There is only a band of cloth across her back. The modern world does have some very intriguing improvements, even in women's clothing.

Her skin is so silken smooth, so soft, and I grasp her to me as I feel my blood pulsing wildly through my veins. Our kisses deepen. I have never felt a need as strong as this, and it is proving difficult for me to contain. Laura is moving urgently under me, and I am awash with my desire for her. Then Laura turns beneath me, and something hits the back of my leg. I act swiftly, not knowing what the danger may be. I fling off the blanket and sit up quickly looking around, placing Laura behind me protectively. Then I see it, in the middle of the blanket…..the ice pack fell from Laura's ankle. +

I cannot help but laugh at this, and Laura joins in when she realizes what has happened. She shakes her head, and with a wry grin, says, "My hero! Protecting me from an ice pack!" Which only starts us laughing again, and in retribution for her comment, I tickle her, which surprises even me. I have never done that to anyone before, but I find myself caught up in the moment.

When we finally run out of laughter, Laura looks at me and says…"Mmm…you know, Erik, I think I need to make a trip to the women's bathroom, and I cannot walk. I think you will need to carry me…"

I can feel my eyebrow shoot up in dismay at this prospect, but realize that there is no choice in the matter. Laura cannot walk, and I am certainly not going to ask Jeremy or Matt to help her. I nod my head in acknowledgement of this unexpected duty, gently lift her in my arms and carry her down the path. I enter the ladies side of the building and set her down next to the door of one of the stalls. Before I can escape, she looks at me and asks a favor. "Erik, I really could use some things from my bag. Inside is a smaller one that contains some personal things I need. Would you please bring that for me?"

"Yes, of course, Laura," all the while dreading the prospect of looking through her personal things to find this "smaller bag." I go back to the tent that has been set up for her at the campsite and open her bag. On top of her folded clothing are her personal undergarments, which I note are very different from what the ladies at the Opera wear. These modern undergarments seem very meager in comparison, and I quickly push them aside in my quest. As I feared, the object I am seeking is on the bottom of the bag, and I must wade through all the clothes to procure it. When I have it within my grasp, I pull it out, and quickly replace the undergarments as neatly as possible, perplexed how one folds such things and close the bag.

I race back to Laura, knock on the door, and when she bids me enter, I hand her the bag and depart expeditiously. I pace outside the building for what seems like endless minutes and am relieved when she finally tells me she is ready to be carried back. I enter, quickly sweep her up and happily carry her back down the path. This time, as she clings to me in my arms, I can smell the fragrance of soap and delicate perfume blending together.

Halfway down the path to the campsite, she whispers in my ear, "You ARE my hero!" Which only begins again our unrestrained laughter. When we reach the campfire, we realize belatedly that our laughing might wake Matt or Jeremy so we try to constrain ourselves and lower our voices. I set Laura down upon her makeshift bed and settle next to her. We are aware that Laura should wait for about an hour before replacing the ice pack back on her ankle.

In hushed tones I ask, "Is your ankle still painful?"

"Actually, it seems to feel better. I think all that ice has really helped to keep the swelling down, and it's not nearly as tender as it was. Matt said that if I were careful to keep it elevated there is a good chance it would heal quickly. However, I like having you carry me around, so I am not sure if I want it to get better." She says this with that impish smile that I have come to enjoy so much.

My voice sounds husky when I lean over and whisper in her ear, "Ah, but I would carry you anytime, anywhere if you were but to ask. I feel that you belong in my arms." +

"And that is where I want to be," she responds with a longing look in her eyes. I lift and place her on my lap and wrap us in the blanket. Our kisses are passionate as we start our intimate exploration of each other. Her kisses soon follow my jaw, and her velvety tongue traces a path along my neck to the hollow of my throat.

However, I learn quickly, so I turn the tables on her and begin to kiss and nuzzle her neck. She unbuttons my shirt, and my hands are aching to caress her bare skin as she is again doing to mine, running her fingers across my chest, down my ribs and over my stomach. I can feel my muscles tighten as she strokes her fingers against my heated skin.

My hand moves along next to my lips as I explore the delightful opening at the front of her shirt. I hesitate, but Laura reaches up and starts to unbutton it. As I watch her, I take my other hand and run it under her shirt around to her back. She emits a little squeal as my cold hand encounters the warmth of her skin, and I smile as I feel gooseflesh break out. To soothe her, I press warm kisses on her neck.

I impatiently help with the task of undoing the remaining buttons, then gasp as I realize that she removed her undergarment. My eyes fall on her flushed breasts, and I cannot help but savor her loveliness. My blood is roaring in my ears as I shyly reach out to caress one of her full, rounded breasts, which responds instantly. My body reacts with a surge of passion that is almost my undoing when I realize my touch has inflamed her.

Moving lower I can feel the pounding of her heart, as I explore each breast with my mouth and begin to hear moans of pleasure escape her parted lips. She grasps my hair in her hands and arches her back to give me complete access. My tongue tastes the sweetness of her delicate, perfumed skin, and then I can bear it no longer. Easing her off my lap, I lay her on the bed as we look deeply into each other's eyes. I take care not to hurt her ankle as I stretch out alongside her.

Laura glides her hands inside my shirt and pulls me close to her. Leaning on one elbow, I gaze at her beautiful form, then bring my hand to her breast and gently cup my hand over it. I am amazed by its soft fullness, and she responds with a low whimper. She unbuttons the front of her slacks, and I slowly run my hand over her stomach, sensing her tremble under my touch. No longer able to constrain myself, I press more lingering kisses down her body and resume my exploration of her delicious skin with my tongue. When I stop and look up into her face to regain my breath and my control, she gently pulls me up within her reach and places open-mouthed kisses over my chest and stomach. I hear my own strangled groan in response.

Gently rolling on top of her body, I place one of my legs between hers reveling in our intimate contact. Her body moves and strains upwards, and when she arches her hips against me, I am lost totally in the sensations. My arms encircle her as I support my weight on my elbows and, at the same time, enfold her satiny shoulders. Her hands reach around me to grasp my back and pull me even closer as her breasts press against my chest, and I heave a shuddering breath. I am now driven totally insane with desire for her. My body is thrumming with intense pulsations and pressure, and it seems as though I cannot stop what is going to happen between us on this beautiful starlit night.

Abruptly Laura stiffens in my arms, and I know something is wrong. I look down into her eyes and see only shock there, hurtling me back to reality. Instantly, I realize that her small hands are on my back. My bare back. Her hands are touching, feeling my horrific scars from the beatings of so many years before. There are great runnels of scar tissue that create peaks and valleys in an unearthly landscape across that _thing_…that back of a deformed creature. +

My heart plunges, as I know that she has discovered the immenseness of my deformity—the part which clothing hides and keeps secret from the world, whereas the mask only proclaims that something horrendous lies beneath. I am certain that she has frozen because she is disgusted with my body…and with me. Despair takes over my thoughts and terror attacks my heart.

I pull back, searching her face. She says nothing, and then a choked sob comes from her lips and tears flood down her cheeks. I cannot bear to look into her eyes another moment. In a flash of movement, I withdraw my arms from her warm body and roll off the bed, leaping to my feet while pulling my shirt back around me and beginning to close the buttons, all the time keeping turned away…from Laura. Then I start walking. I just want to get away.

"Erik!" I hear Laura's anguished voice calling loudly behind me, but I do not look back and keep moving toward the shelter of the trees.

"Erik! STOP!" Her voice is even louder than before and the urgency brings me to a halt, but I do not turn around, still not certain what to do. Then I hear the other voices.

"What's happening?" Jeremy's voice asks sleepily, and the zipper of the tent rasps open as he and Matt step outside.

"Are you alright, Laura?" I hear Matt's concerned tone.

Then I hear Laura's voice, calm and with a sharp command, "Jeremy, Matt, everything is fine. Go back to sleep!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Jeremy mumbles.

"Laura…you sure you're OK?" Matt persists.

"Yes, Matt, I am fine. Go to sleep!" Laura declares in a no-nonsense voice, and moments later I hear them lowering and securing the tent flaps. I stand just short of the protection of the dark forest, listening to these exchanges behind me, frozen and wondering which direction to go.

"Erik! Come back here!" Laura's voice orders, but also beckons. I decide to return, to hear what she needs to say, even if she tells me that she never wants me to touch her again. I turn around and with resignation walk back to where Laura is sitting up, the blanket pulled around her. She reaches her hand out to me through an opening in the blanket and when I take it, she pulls me down next to her. She has wiped the tears from her face, but the red puffiness still remains in her eyes, and her eyelashes cling together with residual wetness.

"Erik…why did you run?" she asks softly.

"Why did you freeze and pull away and cry?" I respond.

"I did not know…," she hesitates, as if trying to choose her words carefully, "I did not know the scars…on your back…were so…bad." Her voice is full of pain and pleading. "I had only seen the doctor's diagram. That did not in any way convey…the reality of how severe…the damage to your body…had been." She keeps pausing between words, and her eyes search mine before continuing each time. I again see the shock there that I saw when she first discovered the scars. "The skin is so…damaged…," she continues, swallowing hard, "…the whip must have flayed your back open…how could you bear it? How did you survive?"

I bite back tears as memories flood through me. Memories I will not share. Memories of whippings delivered to break my rebellious spirit when I refused to remove the mask, and the two times I tried to escape and failed. Memories of beatings when I was so young and painfully thin that they left me in excruciating pain, my skin torn from my bones. I look into Laura's horrified eyes, clenching my teeth, I finally reply, "There was an old gypsy woman. She had ointments. They were soothing, and I believe they prevented infection from setting in. She kept me alive with her herbal salves…and food…and her kindness."

Laura's tears begin again and then she sobs, and her arms open wide and reach out for me, inviting me to hold her again. Her beautiful, ivory skin is exposed when she opens the blanket, and I flush with the need to hold her. Moving next to her, I enclose her within my arms, and she wraps the blanket around us. I press her body to mine, as we cling to each other in a tender, accepting embrace. Her hand that at first rests on my shoulder slowly begins to drop down, and I flinch as she begins to touch my back once more. But then I relax as she gently, lightly caresses each of the long hideous scars that crisscross my back.

I look down into her eyes and ask the question that is plaguing my mind, "Laura, does that not repel you? How can you touch me so?"

"Oh God, Erik. No, it does not repel me. It shocked me at first, but it is part of you, so how could it repel me?" her voice is compassionate and soothing.

"Christine called me a 'pitiful creature,' and perhaps now that you have learned about the deformities of my body, you will think that of me as well." I respond with a bitter discharge of words.

"No, Erik. No, I will not think that…As I learn more about what you have withstood in your life—what you have endured—it only helps me understand…and _love_ you more." These words fall from her lips so effortlessly, but they strike me to my very core.

"You say…you…_love_ me?" I can hardly get the word out of my mouth. It is a word I have never heard applied to me before—_ever_—in my life.

"Yes, Erik. _I love you_." She says softly, and her eyes lay bare her feelings. I hear her words. _But I cannot accept them._

I pull away from her and the warmth of her body. I rise and stand above her, looking down in tortured disbelief. "How can you say that? How can you possibly love me?"

"But Erik, I do. Why can you not accept that?" she says, startled, her mouth falling open in dismay.

"I simply _cannot_." And with that I turn, reach down on the ground for my coat and grab it. Then I run—out of the encampment, into the darkness of the forest, that darkness that I know, where I have always found escape.

I run as hard as I can, trying to expend the emotions tearing through me, burning off the racing, pulsing heat of my body. I can see well in the darkness, and there is just enough moonlight for me to be able to guide myself through trees and brush. I run until I fall to the ground in breathless panting. Looking around, I can see the ocean ahead of me, not far away. I am at the edge of the forested area, and the sound of the waves breaking on the shore calms me as I gasp for air trying to gather my racing mind.

I cannot believe what has just happened. At first the scarring on my back shocks Laura, but then she embraces me closer, and tells me she loves me. How can those two things happen together? Indeed…_how can she say such a thing_? No one, not my foster parents, or Christine, or even Antoinette have _ever_ said that word to me…applied that emotion to me…_in my entire life_. And, Laura does that after learning how truly repulsive my body is. I do not understand…this makes no sense, and my mind rejects that whatever this feeling Laura has for me could possibly be love. It _has_ to be pity.

I pull myself to my feet, walk over to a flat rock that overlooks the ocean and lie down there, on my side, looking at the sky and watching the eerie reflection of the moon in the coursing waves of the ocean. I continue pondering this contradiction, this paradox, in my mind, but cannot resolve it. All that I am certain of is that I am very cold and very miserable without Laura. My mind keeps going back to the silkiness of her skin, and I long to be with her, but I do not want her pity…that I cannot abide.

Then I hear the buzz of engines and see Horatio's seaplane coming toward the island. It makes a smooth landing and slowly edges up to the pier. I watch as he and the pilot hoist out camping equipment, saying nothing until he passes below me on the beach.

"Horatio! How did it go today?" I call out.

Horatio comes to a startled halt and calls out, "Damn it, Erik. You scared the bejeezus out of me!" Looking up at me, he adds, "What are you doing up there?"

"Just enjoying the ocean view. Quite spectacular, really!" I say, avoiding the real answer.

"Well, come on down and carry some of this equipment. I am going to set up camp here by the beach. I don't want to wake up everyone at your campsite. Come down and lend us a hand," Horatio orders.

I jump off the rock, pick up a couple of bundles and follow Horatio to the campsite that adjoins the beach. As I help Horatio set up the tent, the pilot goes to gather wood for the fire. By the time he returns and starts the fire, the tents are up, and Horatio is raiding a small cooler. He hands me a can of beer. I look at it with distaste. "Aw, come on, Erik…You can try it for once. I don't carry any wine around with me," he says jokingly..

I study the can for a minute and decide I don't care what it tastes like…I could use a little alcohol right now to calm my jagged nerves. I open the top and take a swallow. Oh! God! It really is as foul tasting as I had suspected, but I just smile and say, "Thanks, Horatio! And, back to my original question, how did it go today? Was it the ship you are searching for?"

"No, we did several fly bys. It definitely was not the one Phen would be on. Definitely a trawler. Then we flew on to a resort town to refuel, and so here we are. I am back to the drawing board," he answers with a disgusted shrug.

"I am sorry, Horatio," I add nothing more. Anything else would be insignificant in light of how he must be feeling right now. He looks like he has not slept in days, and his beleaguered condition is apparent in the weary slump of his shoulders as he gulps his beer.

We both sit quietly, staring into the fire, which the pilot is stoking up. When he seems to have it to a satisfactory level, the pilot grabs a beer and excuses himself, going into his tent that is set up near enough to receive some warmth from the blaze. After a few more minutes, Horatio gets up and retrieves a second beer from the cooler, then sits down and asks, "So, what are you really doing here, Erik?"

"I told you."

"No, what you said about taking in the view was a cock and bull story! You have wanted time with Laura, and here you are on an island with her…it is nighttime…and you are sitting alone taking in the ocean in the dark! What is _really_ going on?" He pursues with a logic that is difficult to refute, so I consider how to answer with as little information as possible.

"Well, I just needed some time to myself."

"Time to yourself when Laura is here? Try again, Erik. That one wasn't believable."

"Well, actually, I needed to be away from Laura."

"Good grief, man. What did you do?" Horatio's hand holding the beer stops in midair before reaching his mouth.

"Well, it was not what I did, exactly…" I am trying not to tell Horatio, and he is just not taking the hint.

"Well, then, exactly, what was it?" He pursues doggedly, staring at me with knowing eyes.

I exhale and reluctantly admit, "Well, she found out how badly my back is scarred, and it shocked her…"

"So, Laura said something rude about it? That doesn't sound like Laura…I can't imagine Laura not being very sensitive in what she says to you! Did she really do that?"

"Well, no, she never said anything hurtful. It is not that at all. She was just shocked…and cried a little."

"Well, then, man, why would that cause you to leave her?"

"It was something she said after that," I am having great difficulty explaining this, or rather, trying very hard not to explain it.

"Yes…which was?" he presses unrelentingly.

"Well, she said she cared for me…a lot…" my voice trails off, not being able to explain this at all.

"What you are really saying is, she said she loves you, isn't that it, Erik?"

"Well, yes," I admit.

"So, you just get up and leave her? And, I'll bet you weren't just holding hands when this came out, were you?"

"Well, no, not exactly," I am drowning in embarrassment now.

"No, I didn't think so." He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. "Well, I guess that does it…that just tipped the scales. You really are crazy!"

I look up at Horatio, shocked he would make such a statement. Anger begins to rise from my stomach, which is still trying to adjust to this barbaric liquid I am pouring into it. "Just what do you mean by that, Horatio?" I respond with a warning tone edging my voice.

"I mean that I have always considered your reactions to the situation in the Opera house to be the result of your PTSD. I understand that syndrome. I suffer with it myself. I took your throttling Joe a couple of times as justifiable responses to his out-of-line comments. I took your escaping that day at the courthouse as your need to get away from all the control and scrutiny. I just kept justifying your behavior with all these rationalizations. But no more. If you just walked away from Laura because she told you she loves you, well that proves to me you really are insane!" he finishes with a half laugh.

I am startled that he would say these things to me. Heated resentment floods through me as I consider his words, and I respond with indignation, "You have no business saying that!"

"I have every right, Erik. You had a fit about not getting some freedom and some private time with Laura, so I bring you and her here this weekend to an island so you can have two days together. She has gone way above and beyond in her care of you and your needs, and anyone with any eyes can tell you love each other! And, so, when the time comes for her to tell you how she feels…you get up and leave her! Yep!! That is definitely in the category of crazy! Or just damned uncaring and inconsiderate of her feelings!"

Horatio's last words hit my heart like a lance. I suddenly feel shame that ever since I left Laura's side, all I have thought about are my own feelings. But, what of hers? What must she be feeling after I responded as I did? The blood drains from my face as I consider what my actions must have done to her. Then I remember the look on her face when I stood up to leave and told her that I could not accept her words. I had determined never to hurt her, and yet that is exactly what I had done. In my preoccupation with my own perverse feelings, I had totally ignored hers.

I look over at Horatio and do not respond. He is right. I am crazy if I deny Laura's feelings…and mine…and lose any of our precious time together. I realize that again my old sense of unworthiness had taken over…my unending doubts that I am capable of being loved by a woman such as Laura.

I stand and walk over to Horatio and happily hand the half-filled can of beer back to him. "I think I need to be somewhere else." And with that, I turn and leave. As soon as I am outside Horatio's range of sight, I start running. I just want to be back with Laura. I want to make this right.

When I arrive back at the campsite, I see that Laura has rolled up into the blanket and is asleep. I put a log on the fire, then remove my coat and grab two other blankets and spread them out over both of us, trying to warm myself before I touch her. I lie next to her for many minutes, studying her sleeping face, which is radiant in the reflected light of the campfire. I wonder if she will again forgive my temperamental outburst. Will she be able to put this, too, behind her?

Finally I find the opening in the blanket that is tucked around her and reach my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. When I do this she lets out a sigh and snuggles against my body. I cannot resist a kiss on her enticing neck, and that brings her eyes open as she sleepily takes in my face and smiles at me.

"Hello, Erik," is her only comment.

"Laura…"

"Yes?"

"I am sorry if I hurt you. I never want to do that…"

"Erik, I know you don't." she responds gently. "And, yes, I forgive you. I understand that you have deeper issues than just the physical ones…."

"Yes, I know. Christine told me that my real distortion lay in my soul rather than my scarred face." I nod in resigned acceptance.

"No. Oh, no Erik!" and her hand reaches up and rests gently on my cheek. "Christine perhaps did not really understand you. It is not your soul that is damaged or dark. You have a very good soul, or how else could you have become the man you are? How could you have created such beauty in your music and art? How could you have won the trust of Mme Giry? How could you have mentored an orphan girl for nine years? How could you have protected and helped so many others without their knowing it? A dark soul, an evil man would never have the conscience to release Christine from her commitment, or Raoul from his imprisonment. No, those are the actions of a good soul." Her eyes look deeply into mine, "What I mean is that you carry mental and emotional scars from the abuse you have suffered. Those haunt you and push their way back into your mind and your emotions even when you do not want them to. Such woundings as you have suffered take time to heal…time and patience. I have the patience, Erik….I just wish I had more time!"

Holding her closely to me, I now regret every second that I spent away from her tonight. I look over at the two tents that have been set up for us. I do not want to ask the question, but feel I must, "Laura, do you wish me to carry you to your tent? It is getting very cold, and you must be tired."

She looks up at me with her doe soft eyes and says in a voice filled with longing, "No, I want to spend all the time we have…together. If you stoke the fire up, and we put on more blankets, can't we just stay here, by the fire for the night?"

I look at her with deep joy and relief that she feels as I do. Reluctantly venturing back out into the biting chill of the night air, I put more logs onto the fire and gather up two more blankets to put over us. When I lie down next to her, Laura snuggles into my arms. We can no longer stay apart, and our kisses again become long and deep, until my heart is pounding, and I am breathless once more. Just then the tent flap unzips, and Jeremy emerges from his tent. He sees us by the fire, excuses himself and heads down the pathway to the bathroom.

I roll my eyes, and Laura looks at me, breaking out in a giggle and says, "Well, I guess we were lucky they didn't come out before now!"

"It is not far from daybreak," I reluctantly admit, "and I think all we can hope for the remainder of this night is to talk." She nods her head in sad agreement.

So Laura and I talk in hushed tones about many things, especially the books that we love. Occasionally we kiss and caress each other as much as we can with all our layers of clothing and the many blankets. Eventually we fall asleep in each other's arms, awaking when Horatio stomps into the campsite just after daybreak.

Any private time for Laura and me is clearly at an end. Jeremy comes out of the tent in his usual good mood and loudly begins banging pots and pans as he prepares breakfast. I emerge from the cocoon of our blankets to gather more wood for the fire. Matt carefully examines Laura's foot and declares that the swelling has gone down.

Breakfast surprisingly tastes very delicious. Jeremy is a good cook and prepares quite adequate omelets and ham served up with sweet rolls. All the food seems to have an unusually rich flavor. In fact everything seems vibrant…the crisp air, the colors of the trees reflecting the morning light, the sounds of the birds in the forest, the smile on Laura's face. Everything stands out in vivid contrast, more intense than I ever remember seeing or feeling before. It is as though I have awakened today to a new life.

Because of Laura's injury to her ankle, she clearly cannot hike, and Matt insists that she should still have it x-rayed. It is agreed that we will return this morning, a few hours earlier than planned so that she can go to a hospital to have it checked today.

The tents are packed too easily. The food packed too quickly. Laura and I look longingly at each other, sad that our weekend is ending too soon. When all is ready, I carefully lift Laura and carry her to the seaplane. This time when I turn my knees toward the aisle to fit into the cramped seat, Laura is turned sideways in her seat and both her feet rest in my lap. It is contact I welcome, and I carefully tend to her injured foot, making certain that it remains elevated and comfortable.

Sadly, I hear the doors close, and the engines increase their whining noise. The water begins to rush below, and I feel us lift into the air. As the plane circles around the island, I look out the small window, wistfully gazing at the tiny island until it fades entirely from sight. I know I shall never see it again. All that remains is precious memories: the peaceful beauty of forest and lake; flavors of strange foods; old scars healing; laughter from human foibles; and most of all, the joyfulness of Laura. Whatever she did, whether walking in the forest, sharing her favorite book, laughing at my 'heroism,' or opening her heart and body to me, was unforgettable.

There were occasions when it seemed time did not exist, and now it is over…gone forever. I remember the passage from _The Prophet _about time:

"_Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,  
And know that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream."_

So, I sit here, watching Laura sleep so sweetly near me, knowing that I am poised precariously between _a memory and a dream_.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: The weekend that Erik and Laura are on the island is an eventful one, indeed. **

**Thank you to each of you who has posted such wonderful, supportive reviews! They are so appreciated!! A pink cupcake all around!!**

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**Chapter 28 Spooks and Phantoms, by Phangirl**

_Saturday, September 17, 2005, __Afternoon, __Somewhere in the Pacific_

_Journal entry of Phen Brown, Esq:_

"_Wrap me up in me oilskins and blankets! No more at the docks I'll be seen. Just tell me of a ship mates. I'm taking a trip mates. I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green!_ Come on! Sing it with me one more time!"

"Stop! Enough! We've sung it enough times already!" Jennifer said, trying to sound mad at me, but I could hear the laughter in her voice. I knew she wanted to sing it again. It's a great song, so everyone loves to sing it. Even dead people. And I've had enough experiences with dead people to know what they like.

It's funny that Erik Phantom has been called a ghost, because almost my whole life, I've seen ghosts, and none of them ever looked like him. Erik…When was it that I last saw him? Sometimes it seems like only an hour ago that I was up on the roof of the courthouse lying on a bench before the phone call that changed everything. But then sometimes it seems like I've been here in this room forever, pacing, pacing, pacing, bowlegged like an old tar from the days of Nelson and the Battle of Trafalgar as the ship rises and falls on the swells, or writing in this book they gave me to write in.

What is happening in the trial now? Is our side winning? I have no idea here, since I don't have access to the outside world. I don't even know what date it is. I know some time has passed since I came here because the cut on my hand has healed over and disappeared, and yet I have no clear sense of how much time has gone by. I just know that I want to go home, want to see my colleagues and let them know I'm ok.

I just want to go home, but I've been told that I can't go home until I tell the doctor what he wants to know. I know they've been drugging my food, and I wish to God I didn't have to eat or drink anything, but when I did stop eating I got sick and couldn't fight him off when he came and gave me some kind of shot in the arm. They think I know something about where the time machine is because I went back to 1871 Paris to retrieve information that was admitted into evidence at the trial. I do not doubt that I went back in time. Obviously I did because Detective McCool said I did, but I'm sure my memory was wiped clean just like the memories of all the witnesses who are brought from 1871.

With all of the drugs they've been giving me, I can't even clearly remember how I got on this ship in the first place. I remember getting the phone call on the courthouse roof and then going inside. Then someone hit me in the head and everything was foggy after that. I tried to fight, but it must not have worked very well because the next thing I knew there was a bad knife cut on my hand and it was bleeding like it would never stop. We stopped for a few moments on the stairs and I was standing there with a gag in my mouth and a gun pressed against my back staring at a black tile wall. I touched it to steady myself because I was feeling very faint. One of the men said something about going to a ship and the wall suddenly seemed important, but now I can't remember why. I wish I could, but I can't. Just like I can't remember anything about going to France. I just wish they would believe me. And I wish someone would find me here. Someone alive I mean. I've been visited by my sister's ghost several times and that gives me comfort. I asked her why it took her so long to come see me, and she said she has always been here but I was too sad to realize it.

Maybe so. I've been so busy moving on with my life that I haven't let myself focus on anything else. Now that she is here though, I realize how much I've missed her. What fun it is to talk about the old days with her! As if she has never been gone a single day from my life. When she touches my hand or gives me a hug she feels as real to me as she did that morning when I told her goodbye in Japan just before her plane took off.

If only I could see Rick again too, but for some reason he has never appeared to me as Jenn has. If it is for him as it was for me when I crossed over after I drowned as a kid, I know that he knows things now that he didn't when he was alive. And if he does know everything now then he knows that I didn't love him as I truly should have. He also knows everything that has happened since he left. I can't say that I blame him for staying invisible to me then. I would too if it were me.

I wonder if Jenn will disappear again once I'm away from here and back to safety. She says she won't, but I don't completely believe her. I hardly ever see dead people anymore now that I'm older and wiser and can rationalize them away. For all I know, I'm not really seeing them at all, but imagining them just as I used to have imaginary friends when I was little.

The doctor has been reading my journal but he hasn't told me if I'm psychic or just delusional, and I don't like him, so I don't ask him.

Speak of the devil, here he is now, come to ask me more questions and to get this book. I hope the jerk likes this latest entry. I hate him, and don't care anymore if he knows it. I can't wait to have him thrown in jail after I get home. And I really don't care if he has someone kill me. I've already died once and am not afraid to do it again. Actually dying would give me the ultimate victory over him and his drugs and his stupid questions because once I'm dead he can't make me say anything. Then I really will be with Jenn again. Forever.

_Signed, P. B. Esq. _

_Saturday, September 18, 2005, __Later Afternoon_

_Somewhere in the Pacific:_

The doctor puts the journal down and smiles at me in a way that sends chills all through me. "So she hates me!" He chuckles. "She hates me and doesn't care if I know it!"

"So it would seem," I answer. "So would I if I were in her shoes. How much longer are you we going to keep her here?"

"Until we are told otherwise," he tells me coldly. "Or should I say until you can convince her to tell us what we want to know."

I roll my eyes at him and smack the journal with my hand. "You just read this! She doesn't know anything! Isn't that clear by now? The leaders of the Program did something to her to make her forget her little trip to France! She can't remember being there, much less remember where the machine was located that sent her there! We've tried lie detectors, truth serum, and whatever other sick little drugs you've given her, and they haven't worked! She doesn't know anything!"

The doctor comes and stands close to me and his eyes fill with hatred. "You said you could make her talk. Send in the ghost of her dead sister, you said, and she will coo like a dove! So you need to add yourself to that list of failures, don't you?"

It is all I can do to keep from choking him on the spot. Instead I turn and look back through the two way mirror of the cell where the prisoner is sitting on her cot humming that God-awful "Fiddler's Green" song. It seems that the last dose of the drugs is wearing off because she is alert now as she looks in the mirror and starts to brush her long auburn hair.

"Have you lost your objectivity completely now?" The doctor continues his taunts. "What is this? The reverse of Stockholm Syndrome? The captor is identifying with the captive instead of the other way around? I knew it was a mistake to bring you here. And I'll say so in my next report, when I tell our bosses what a failure you are as an interrogator."

"Go right ahead," I tell him. "I don't care. I've been making my own reports, don't forget. They know I've done my best. I've gotten all I can out of her. She doesn't know anything. They will listen to me because I know her better than anyone else, don't forget."

"So you keep saying," he answers. "Well, I guess we'll see won't we? There are other ways of making her talk, and if necessary we will use them. Just remember that next time you make a report."

I pretend not to hear him as I turn back to the mirror and look at her again, but inside, my heart drops. I know all too well that he is not making idle threats, and I send a silent message to her as she sits there calmly brushing her hair. _Please Grace, if you are holding something back, tell us. Both of our lives depend on it. _

_September 18, 2005, __2:00 a.m., __Seattle, Washington_

_Captain Reynolds' POV:_

Why is it he always wants to meet in some dark decaying corner of the city? Doesn't he know how bad it could be for me if any of the scum who live in this part of town recognize me and decide to take revenge for arresting their drug associates? Or does he know how many undercover cops there are here who would recognize me and start asking questions? Or does he even care? Probably not. Someone like him doesn't have a conscience. He doesn't care that every time I meet him I risk either being shot by some lowlife or turned into the Police Commissioner. He just wants progress.

And finally I have something to show for my efforts.

He's chosen a rundown warehouse for our meeting this time, and as I walk the block from where I parked my car toward the warehouse door, I get the distinct feeling that I'm being watched. Sure enough, a minute later he appears out of the shadows, and I barely see him motion for me to follow him. There are no lights here except for the city skyline far in the distance, but as usual, he's dressed in black pants and a hooded jacket and is wearing sunglasses. Yeah, _sunglasses_ at two in the morning! His pale face and grey beard are the only relief of color in this sea of darkness that swallows us both here in the hulking shadow of the building, but he doesn't smile or make any sign of recognition at all when he walks up to me, but simply says, "This way," and moves on past me.

I follow him around the corner and the blackness of the night is even thicker here. We seem to be in a very narrow alley or a tunnel, I notice as I stumble on a rock or loose chunk of concrete in my path.

"For someone who has been a police officer for a million years, you don't know how to keep quiet very well," he says in a low whisper. "Do you want to get caught by the wrong people? I know a few of them in this neighborhood who would love nothing better than to shoot a trophy like you, Captain."

"Sorry!" I whisper back. "How much farther?"

"My car is straight ahead. We're taking a little ride."

"Why?"

He sounds irritated when he answers, "There's someone who wants to meet you. Someone very important. You do have what we want, don't you?"

"Of course. Do you think I would risk coming here if I didn't?"

"Don't get smart. My employer doesn't like people who are disrespectful."

"Your employer? You mean you aren't the top man on the totem pole?"

"No. If I were, I wouldn't risk coming here either. For all I know, you could be one of _them_, and I don't like _them_ at all."

"Well, you should know by now that I'm not with the Program," I answer. "You despise them? Well, I loathe them. McCool was nothing but a constant pain in the neck with his rich boy elitist attitude…and then that disgusting Admiral Brooks…"

"Mr. Reynolds," my associate interrupts, "I would be very careful about expressing such sentiments in front of my employer. Your standing with him is already shaky."

We reach the car then, a black sedan, and I have a few moments to ponder his ominous statement as we get in. Only then in the darkness of the car does he take off his sunglasses, but I still can't see much of his face. "I don't understand," I say as he begins to drive. "You were the one who told me to get rid of McCool in the first place, and I was only too happy to comply. He's too nosy for his own good."

"You mean that his investigation into Phen Brown's disappearance was endangering your drug smuggling operation," he says with a little laugh that sends a shiver down my spine.

I want to ask him how he knows, but don't dare breathe a word.

With almost telepathic precision he says, "You didn't think we knew about that, did you? You should know by now, Captain, that very little happens in this world that we don't know about. For instance, I'm sure that the FBI would love to know that you had a hand in the murder of that undercover Drug Enforcement agent that McCool and Brown were investigating. What was his name again? Oh yes, I believe it was Ramirez. Interesting isn't it, the similarities between his murder and Henry Albertson's? Same modus operandi, same type of bullets, and the same people investigating both crimes. I believe that the only difference is in the types of weapons that were used. Ramirez was shot with a GLOCK 19, and according to that official report hidden inside your coat, Albertson was killed by a GLOCK 26."

I try to take a deep breath, but suddenly feel my throat constricting. And suddenly the car seems very warm.

"Yes, we know all about your little extra curricular activities," he continues. "We were prepared to use that knowledge to gain your cooperation on this little project, but you were so greedy for the two million dollers we dangled in front of your nose that we didn't have to resort to blackmail. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, eh, Captain?"

"What do you want from me?" I can barely squeeze the words out.

"All in good time, my friend," he says with a low chuckle. "All in good time."

_Sunday, September 18, 2005, __2:00 a.m., __Somewhere in the Pacific_

_Phen's POV:_

"Baby, you're my soul, and my heart, and inspiration. You're all I got to get me by. Lap one hundred thirty-two. You're my soul, and my heart, and inspiration. Without you baby, what good am I? Lap one hundred thirty-three. What good am I? I never had much goin', but at least I had you. Lap one hundred thirty-four. Sixteen more to go, then one hundred fifty sit-ups. One, two, three, four, five steps and that's lap one hundred thirty-five. Uh, where was I?"

I stare hard into the blackness of my cell trying to remember what verse of the Righteous Brothers song I was on, and finally remember. "Verse two. How can you walk out knowin' I got nothin' left if you do?" I barely breathe the words of the song aloud as I continue pacing, pacing and waiting, and listening. Focusing on the words as I move clears my head, lets me focus on what is happening, and lets me plan my next move.

"The bell rang at zero two hundred hours, right when we came about to starboard. We turned at least ninety degrees and now we've stayed on this course for what? It has to be ten minutes now. The question is, why did we suddenly change our course after heading due west for however many days we've been heading due west. Unless we aren't moving west anymore. But every time they let me up on deck we've been going west, and I haven't felt us change course until now. Ninety degrees from due west is north. But the question is, north from where?"

I finish my laps and then drop into the narrow gap between my bed and the opposite wall of the cell and start my sit-ups. "Zero two hundred hours. The ghost always laughs when I use military time. Well, she is a civilian phantasm after all. What can I expect? She will be making her next appearance at 2:30 A.M. in non-military time. At least she's a punctual phantasm. She remembers how many times I yelled at her for always being late whenever we would meet somewhere. She never would have made it a week at the Naval Academy. Old Grouchy Groover would have kicked her out of his class the first day. Ok, time for another song. Not Fiddler's Green. If I have to sing one more verse of that I'll scream. Time for something else, something like…like…no, not that one. Something else besides You Sang To Me. I have it, now. The Battle Hymn Of The Republic. Mine eyes have seen the glory…"

Up and down, up and down in time to the rhythm of the song I do the sit-ups as I wait for 2:30 here in this tiny dark cell, the only time that is truly my own here in this floating prison, the time when I can let my mind be active, truly be me, not Phen Brown, the doped up prisoner writing her delusions in a book for the enjoyment of her captors and begging them to release her.

Now I am Special Agent Lieutenant Grace Chamberlain of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service currently on assignment with the Program. I am a federal agent, and I can get through this. I will get through this.

"The Navy misses you," Admiral Brooks said the day he and Horatio suddenly showed up at my cabin in Montana, seven months after I left Okinawa. "And truthfully we need you, Lieutenant Chamberlain."

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said pointedly. "But I'm not going back to JAG. The Navy can just get along without me. I won't play any more games with the lives of innocent people."

"Which is why we need you, Grace," Horatio said. "How would you like a chance to make things right?"

"What do you mean by "right," Horatio? Right for whom? Jones' case is closed, shoved aside and buried, and unless there is some earth-shattering new evidence proving that there was a cover up in the first place, the convening authority won't re-open the case. Look what they did with the evidence we did have! It didn't do a bit of good! No, I'm not going back. Sorry, Gentlemen. You have the wrong person."

"Oh, no, I think we have the right woman for the job," Horatio said quietly from his place across the tiny kitchen table from me. I recognized that tone—low, silky, and so damned inviting.

From the time his car first pulled up in front of my house five minutes earlier, until that very moment, I had successfully avoided looking too closely at Horatio's face, but the soft beckoning of his voice reaching out to me then forced me to look at him. His eyes were the same warm brown I remembered, and they had the same effect on me that they had months before. My heart seized in my chest and suddenly I couldn't breathe, and yet he still kept looking at me, caressing me with his gaze. One corner of his finely shaped mouth turned upward in a knowing half-smile, and for just a tiny second I let myself remember what it felt like to be kissed by that fine mouth.

How many times had I wished for just this thing, to be with him again, and now here he was, sitting there looking as wonderful as I remembered. I felt my face grow warm as he continued to look at me, and I wanted to jump up and kiss him again, but there was Admiral Brooks sitting there watching us like an over-vigilant chaperone. Horatio's little-half smile grew a tiny bit wider then, and a spark of mischief flickered to life in his eyes. He had me exactly where he wanted me.

Suddenly I wanted to do something else besides kiss him. I wanted to slap that gorgeous smile right off his face. But remembering my manners at the last second, I frowned at him instead and snapped, "Admiral could you excuse us for a moment? I have to go feed my horse out at the barn, and I could use Horatio's help emptying a new sack of feed into the barrel. They're quite heavy, feed sacks. Come along, Horatio!"

And then I was storming out of the kitchen, flying off the back porch of the cabin, and racing to the barn without even looking to see if Horatio was following me. Then I heard him running behind me, but I didn't stop moving until I reached the tack room in the barn.

"Grace, wait!" He said, and put his hand on my arm.

I whirled around so fast that I nearly knocked him off balance. "You really have some nerve, Commander McCool, just showing up here and using you know what to try to get me involved in whatever scheme the Navy has going now! I told you before I left Japan that I never wanted to see you again! And I mean it! Get off my property right now before I get my varmint gun and start shooting! And take the Admiral with you!"

He gently tightened his grip on my arm and easily pulled me closer to him even as I tried to pull away. "It isn't Commander McCool anymore, Grace," he said in that same beguiling voice he had used in the kitchen, and he stepped closer to me. Tantalizingly close. "I left the Navy not long after you did." His other arm easily slipped behind my back and then there I was, exactly where he wanted me to be.

"You what?" I choked, trying not to notice how good it felt to be standing here with his arms around me.

"I'm not in the Navy anymore." There was that little sideways smile again, and I quickly looked away from him. "So that means that at least for the time being, you know what is no longer an issue."

I took a deep breath as I scrambled to collect my scattered wits, hoping he wouldn't see the full devastating effect he was having on me. "Yes, it is," I said, keeping my eyes averted. "For me it is. It was my duty to uphold naval law, Horatio, and I took that duty very seriously. That night with you in D.C. was a terrible mistake, and you know it too."

I heard him take a sharp pained breath and instantly felt sharp pained guilt, but there was nothing for it. I had to get out of this situation for my own sanity if nothing else. I sharpened my voice to a honed edge. "I've completely repented of you now, McCool. So forget using your charms on me because they won't work. And I meant what I said. I want you to get out."

He quickly let go of me and frowned. "Fine, Chamberlain. Admiral Brooks and I will leave, but first I want you to honestly tell me that the thought of making things right for Captain Jones doesn't appeal to you even the tiniest bit! Then I want you to look me in the eye and tell me to get the hell out of here. If you can do that then you won't have to worry about me interrupting your life ever again."

He had thrown down the gauntlet, and I did my best, but as soon as I looked up at him to tell him to get the hell out, my mouth refused to obey, but worked its way into a smile instead. "You are nothing but a colossal pain in the butt, McCool, did I ever tell you that?"

"Actually, no," he laughed as he gave me a quick hug. "I might have court-martialed you for insubordination if you had. God, I've missed you, Grace! And no, not in the way you think. Yes, you were and still are right about that night in D.C., and I've moved past it to." He let go of me then, stepped back a few paces, and grinned. "So, what is my fate going to be? Are you going to listen to what we have to say or are you going to send me off like some naughty kid to the corner?"

"Tell me something, first," I said cautiously. "If you aren't with the Navy, then who are you with? FBI, Homeland Security…?"

He really did look like a naughty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he said, "Actually I'm a little higher up the food chain than that."

"You're not…," I began, but I saw him nod slightly even before I could finish. If it was hard to breathe before, it was nearly impossible now as fear gripped me. "No. Please tell me you're not with the Company. Tell me you aren't a spook, Horatio."

"Boo," he said with that infuriating grin.

"CIA," I muttered in disbelief as I started pacing the room. "Of course! As if nearly being blown up by terrorists weren't enough! Now you have to go join one of the most dangerous organizations on the face of the earth! So, now you want me to be an operative too?"

"Yes and no," he said with perfect calm. "Yes, you are needed, but you wouldn't be working for the CIA in the strictest sense of the term. You would actually be working for NCIS, who will in turn be part of a team consisting of several agencies from around the world."

"And just what does this team do?" I asked as I came to a stop in front of him. "And what does this have to do with freeing Captain Jones?"

He instantly lost the boyish teasing as his face and voice were transformed with the strength of conviction. "It has everything to do with Jones and SEAL Team Bravo, Grace, because it has everything to do with the research Dr. Matthews was working on when he was kidnapped by the terrorists."

"You mean his research on time travel! That is what this new team is going to do? Use his work to change history somehow?"

"Yes! Exactly! For the better! Think of it, Grace! This is our real chance to make a difference in the world! To correct the mistakes of the past."

My head was spinning with what I had heard so far and I sat down on a bale of hay to try to take in the enormity of what he was proposing. I could feel him watching me, gauging me, trying to assess what effect he was having on me. I let several seconds slide by in silence before finally saying, "If I agreed to do this, which I'm not, but if I were, why do these people need me?"

"We need you because there are forces at work that want to stop us, forces at work in the governments and social systems of the world, Grace. The cover up you were sure was going on about our case? Well, we think you were right all along. They're at work in the Navy, and I'm sure every other branch of the military. And it is up to us to stop them before they can sabotage the work we are trying to do. NCIS needs your help to further investigate our case, and the Time Travel Program needs you because there is one person in the past we are especially interested in working with. You would be the perfect one to join the security force I will be working on.

"Who is this person?" I asked, growing more intrigued by the second. "And what can I do?"

"He's a Frenchman who died in Paris in the spring of 1871."

It took a moment to review in my mind what happened at that point in history. "Ok, 1871. That would have been right after the Franco-Prussian War when…Wait, this man was part of the Paris Commune?"

"No, not from what we can tell from the recent information that we've learned about him," Horatio answered. "He was caught in the fighting when the French army came in to restore law and order. They didn't care much about having proof of his guilt, but put him in front of a firing squad. Part of it was because of his, shall we say, interesting appearance. Just before the Commune broke out there was another major event that happened in Paris, or more specifically at the Opera Populaire. The chandelier crashed during one of the performances and set the whole place on fire. According to the rumors, the one who did it was--"

"Ok, stop right there, Horatio!" I interrupted. "You can't be serious! I read the book when I was in college in Paris before I joined the Navy. You can't mean you want me to help a fictional character?"

"Oh, he's real enough, alright," he said. "And you will be a great addition to his security team."

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Spooks and phantoms! This sounds like a Halloween party gone bad! So, you want me to go help bust The Phantom Of The Opera out of jail? Then what?"

"The admiral and I will explain it all to you once we know you really are going to help us," Horatio said with perfect diplomacy. "So, can I take this as a yes?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just tell me one thing first, McCool. Does this assignment involve guns or explosives?"

"Not for your part, no," he answered. "Your part of the rescue mission would be more about surveillance, so no guns or explosives for you in this. You are fluent in French and from your college days in Paris know the city well. You would be the perfect person to pose as a Parisian citizen looking for a lost relative. Once you've located him, you would tell us which prison to raid. So, uh, no, I don't think you need to worry about heavy artillery. More like corsets and bustles."

I shook my head at him as the last of my reservations crumbled and said. "Oh, darn! I would have preferred the explosives!"

And now because of that meeting in my barn in Montana, I'm a prisoner on a ship somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, wishing I had some explosives to blast my way out of here. I've finished my sit-ups and now I'm sitting here on my cot waiting for 2:30, my mind more clear than it has been since I was first kidnapped, my body toned and ready for action. I can feel the long thin sliver of metal in my hand—a spring from the underside of my cot that I have straightened and honed to a fine sharp edge during the few precious hours of each night that I have been allowed to be alone while the doctor sleeps in some room away from his observation booth. On the days when I was not given the drugs, my mind was alert for most of the night, and my hands steady and strong as I worked with the metal making it into a useful tool. At first I thought I might be able to use it somehow to disable the locks on the door, but when that failed, I decided to make it into a weapon and to wait for just the right moment to use it to make my escape.

The blade is finished now, and by some miracle hasn't been found by my captors after all this time. I hold the blade close to me, feeling empowered as its sharp edge bites into my palm. I am no longer defenseless, and soon I will use this weapon to see if ghosts can bleed…and if necessary…die.

_Sunday, September 18, 2005, __2:30 a.m., __Seattle, Washington_

_Captain Reynolds' POV:_

It is a relief to see that we aren't staying in that neighborhood, but not much of one. My contact is silent as he navigates the quiet city streets in the sedan, and this makes me edgy. He knows too much about me—and worse than this thought is another one. _How_ did he know so much, and what does he intend to do about it? Why would he tell me what he knows unless he plans to kill me after he gets the information I have? And yet, if all he wanted was the information, I would most likely be dead already.

After the endless drive through the city, and past the suburbs, we finally head into the country, taking a road that winds along the coastline until we reach a tiny secluded house. At least here there is some light, I think with relief when I see the lamp shining in one of the windows.

"This way." My guide points to the back of the house, which is dark.

"Coming," I answer, trying to sound as if we're old buddies on a fishing trip. "I'll bet this is a nice place in the daytime."

I hear him make a noise that sounds like a snort of disgust as he walks ahead of me and knocks on the back door.

"Enter."

"Sir, here he is."

My eyes, already used to the darkness, easily take in what appears to be an office. The door is open, and small beam of light spills in, creating a perfect silhouette of a man sitting at the desk.

"Captain Reynolds, you have what we want?"

"Yes. A copy of the official police report on the murder of Henry Albertson, as requested, including copies of all forensic evidence."

"And the ballistics report?"

"Yes. Proof that it was Phen Brown's gun that fired the fatal shots."

"Excellent. I trust that the warrant for her arrest is also included?"

"Yes. Everything is there, as I said."

"Very good. We will air the broadcast on the early morning news. I trust that you will be filing charges against Detective McCool as well?"

"As soon as possible. The police commission will want to conduct a thorough investigation first."

"Of course," he answers. "I would expect nothing less. And they will find evidence that he tampered with the crime scene, won't they."

"Ah, yes, certainly."

"Good, good. You have served us well, Captain. And you will continue to serve us, won't you?"

"As long as my services are required," I answer. "And as long as certain things about me are not made public, Sir."

I hear the silhouette sigh a contented sigh. "I'm glad we understand each other, Captain Reynolds. Go outside now and go home. You will find that your car is waiting by the lane."

"It is?"

"Yes. I had someone follow you here. And someone will follow you back. Just remember where your loyalties lie, and your escorts will protect you should any trouble ensue. But if you cross me, Reynolds, those same protectors will become hunters…and you will be their prey. Understand?"

I swallow hard to keep from choking on the knot of fear in my throat. "I understand."

"Very well. You are dismissed. Have a pleasant journey home, Captain."

I can barely keep from running out of that place, away from these people…if they are people. They seem more like the dark shadows of nightmares. I hardly dare breathe as I start my car and speed back down the road. It isn't until I am five miles down the road that I finally convince myself that I'm not being followed and allow a deep breath of air into my lungs.

"What have I done now?" I ask the ever present blackness of the night. "God help me! What have I done?"

_Sunday, September 18, 2005, __2:30 a.m., Somewhere in the Pacific_

_Phen's POV:_

I hear her light steps in the corridor and silently coil my body in readiness beneath the blanket on my cot, ready to spring. I grip the blade in my hand, hoping I don't have to use it, but steeling my resolve to the fact that I may have to.

Just as the clock strikes 2:30, I hear the beeping of the buttons on the electronic lock on the door and take a deep breath, holding it in, lest exhaling alerts her that I'm awake and waiting for her.

I hear the sliding of the door, like the sound of an elevator door, and then hear her steps on the metal floor.

"Are you awake?" She says as she comes over to my cot. I lunge.

She makes a choked cry as in one fluid motion, I grab her, clap my hand over her mouth and press the blade against her neck. "What's the matter, ghost girl? Afraid of dying? Well, you should be."

She struggles, and I press the blade harder against her skin. She flinches. "Does that hurt? Ghosts aren't supposed to feel pain, Jennifer, or whoever you are. And what is that? Is that blood I see?"

She stops struggling, but I don't let up my grip. "Now, let's see here. Either I am having a bad drug trip and you aren't really here, but really are dead, or I'm awake and my mind is perfectly clear. In which case, you had better do everything I say if you want to live. Personally, I'm betting that this isn't a delusion for one simple reason. Want to know what it is?"

She makes a soft groan and nods her head.

"Good. Here it is. Your doctor is an idiot. In fact he probably isn't really even a doctor. He's an idiot because he forgot something very important about drugs, especially the kind of heavy-duty narcotics he's been giving me. He's been giving them to me for a while now as he interrogates me, but all along he's been giving me the same doses, hasn't he?"

She nods again.

"I know, because my body adjusted to the doses he was giving me, and I even started to go into withdrawal. Now why would that be, do you think? Or do you remember what it was like watching our mother after her fixes wore off sooner and sooner after she shot up on cocaine? Surely you do. Obviously your doctor never witnessed anything like that otherwise he would know that once someone is addicted it takes more and more of a drug to have the same effect as a lower dosage used to have."

She makes another noise, as if trying to say something.

"What is that? You want to talk to me? Fine, we'll talk. Come sit down here with me, and we'll talk, but remember all it takes is one good shove and this blade goes right into your neck. And I will do it, too. I will kill you if I have to, and then I will find a way to destroy this ship. So, if you don't want to die just yet, ghost, I advise you not to scream. Deal?"

She nods again, and I pull her with me to a sitting position on the cot, keeping the blade close enough to her skin to keep her uncomfortable. I then slowly lower my hand from her mouth and grip the other side of her neck.

She takes a deep breath and says in a frightened whisper. "I'm the one who lowered the dosages. And I've been trying to get them to let you go."

"Why?"

She sounds desperate as she says, "Don't you remember our talks? You weren't hallucinating then. I really was here. I'm not dead."

"Well, that's obvious," I answer. "Ghosts don't bleed. I don't believe in them anyway. So tell me who you really are."

"Grace, it's me," she answers. "It really is Jennifer."

"Liar! I ought to kill you just for that!"

"No! Don't you remember anything about what we talked about? That's why I started cutting back the doses, so you could remember. You looked so bad, so much like Mama that I couldn't stand it. I just wanted you to know that I really am here, and I'm trying to help you."

I can hardly comprehend her words, and yet deep down in the fog of memories, I do remember seeing her sitting near me at night, remember her talking to me.

"Don't you remember the lullaby?" She whispers. "The one about the pretty little horses? Mrs. MacGregor owned a horse farm. We were sent to live with her in Cade's Cove after they finally put us back in the same foster home. Before that one of us was in St. Louis and the other was in Kansas City. Mrs. MacGregor taught us to ride. Then she would sing that song to us before we went to sleep at night. I sang it to you when I came in here to see you at night."

I feel my hands start to shake as she continues, and I will them to be still. "You've been alive all this time then? For over two years you've let me think you died? How could you do that to me? Your own twin sister! How, Jennifer? I've been through hell all this time imagining how you and Rick died. Rick. Tell me, is he alive too?"

"Yes."

It is all I can do now to keep my hands still and to keep my composure. I blink back the tears that sting my eyes. "Why, Jenn? Just answer that."

"I didn't know at first," she says. "I swear that if I had I never would have boarded that plane in Japan. Then we were in flight, and these two men came out of the cockpit with guns. I thought they were hijackers, but Rick knew them. He said I would cooperate, and then one of them hit me with his gun, and I blacked out. Long story short, Rick was right. I had to cooperate. I didn't want to, but I had to. At first all I wanted to do was go home. Or at least to contact you to let you know I was alive. It was hard at first getting used to being with them, but then after a while it became easier to forget my old life. I've always been treated well. But I've always missed you."

"Wait," I say in disbelief. "You mean that Rick was helping these men? That they staged the crash? And kidnapped you? Who were they? The Powers That Be?"

"Yes," she answers. "But that isn't important now, Grace. I'm one of them now, and I'm begging you to let me go. I have to tell you something very important. You can get out of this. You can become one of us. The Program is evil, Grace. They are trying to manipulate time for their own selfish purposes. Think of it! If they can change history, they can have absolute power over mankind. That is why the PTB is trying to expose them! We aren't the evil ones! We just want to protect the timeline and humanity along with it."

"No! They're the manipulators!" I retort. "Just look at what they did to you, and now to me! They must have hoped that by making me think you were dead, I would back out of defending SEAL Team Bravo at the court-martial. Well, it didn't work! I didn't back out! The only reason I lost is because the PTB somehow manipulated the Navy's justice system. Somehow they have brainwashed you into thinking they are the good guys, but believe me, Jenn, they aren't. They are as ruthless as the worst tyrants who ever inflicted their brutality on humanity. Well, whatever their plans are for me end here. You're my hostage now. So get up and move. You're going to open this door and get me to a boat, or I will kill you."

"No! Grace, listen to me. I can't open the door. The locks can only be disabled from that side, and there is an armed guard out there right now. He has orders to shoot if you try to escape, even if it means that I'm killed too."

"The PTB really loves their employees, huh?" I mutter. "Well, I don't care about getting shot. I would rather die trying to escape than rot in here playing guinea pig for Dr. Frankenstein! Now move!"

"Grace, wait!" She begs. "I do care about dying. Please, don't do this. I've missed you so much. And you will be getting out soon anyway. I told you I've been working on that. They thought you knew something because you're on Erik Phantom's defense team and have changed your hair and name. But even after hours of questioning, your story never changed. Somehow the Program hypnotized you or did something to keep you from remembering your trip back to France to get the evidence for the trial. You told us that you changed your name and your appearance because of the publicity about the court-martial. You wanted a fresh start when you moved to Seattle and took a job with the District Attorney's office. You told us that over and over, and not just when you were being interrogated, but even when it was just me here with you, and you thought I was a ghost."

"I told you I don't believe in ghosts," I reply acidly. "I just made up those stories about seeing them when we were kids. You were so afraid at that one foster home we were in with the huge Doberman pincer that I started telling you those stories. Kind of like Casper the friendly ghost. I don't really see dead people, Jenn. Sorry to disappoint you. However, I am not afraid of death. That much of the story was true. I really did have a near-death experience."

"I know," she says with a shudder. "I was in that boat too, remember? It belonged to one of mama's boyfriends. He took us to the lake, and I got scared and started to cry. They were both drunk, and he got mad and said he would spank me if I didn't stop, and you, little five-year old you…you yelled at him and kicked him in the leg for threatening me. And then he hit you, and…you fell overboard. The water patrol had had reports that our boat was doing dangerous things, and they were on their way to investigate when you went over. They pulled you out and resuscitated you. I was never so scared in my life. And you…you were terrified of water for years after that."

"Well, not anymore," I answer, determined that she won't sidetrack me. "I got over my fear of water a long time ago, and as for dying…well, I'm not afraid of that either, so of the two of us, it seems that I'm in the better position here. You are scared of being shot by the guard outside, but I am not. It's kind of hard to manipulate someone who isn't afraid to return to the afterlife, isn't it?"

"Not even if you're responsible for killing someone else when you go there?" She challenges. "Especially when that someone is your own flesh and blood?"

"Don't play the twin card with me, Jenn! You gave that up when you joined the PTB! I will do whatever it takes to get out of here!"

"What if I help you escape, Grace?" Jenn says with a low, cunning tone in her voice. "Even if you somehow got past the guard, you would never make it to the deck. There are cameras everywhere. And anyway you won't need a boat. There is a helicopter on board, and I know how to fly it. I can get you out of here."

I press the blade a little bit closer to her neck. "Why? I can't believe that after being one of them for so long you would suddenly change sides. What do you want in exchange?"

She pauses before answering. "I want a new start, Grace. You don't know how I've missed you. And I can help the Program. I know things that it would take them years to figure out. All I want in return is immunity from prosecution, and the chance to be close to you again. Believe me when I say that you won't get out of here without my help. And I will help you if you just trust me."

I never expected to feel like this, but there it is again, the old pain of losing her that has left a permanent hole in my heart—that old tie with her that is as strong now as it was when we were small. I try to fight it, but I cannot. I slowly lower the blade and let go of her.

"Thank you!" She cries and throws her arms around me.

I hadn't expected this, and do nothing even as she kisses me on the cheek. "I love you Grace! Love you, love you, love you! It is so great to have you back!"

"I love you too," I manage to say, and give her one pat on the back before pulling away from her. "There are so many things I want to know…that I need to know from you, and yet I'm still not sure I _can_ trust you, Jenn."

"Then I will prove it to you!" She says with a laugh. "Just give me time to work things out. Then as soon as it's safe, we'll bust this joint together! Just like old times when we used to sneak out to parties when we were kids. Then we can start over again, just the two of us. It will be great, you'll see."

I want to believe her, I really do, but I can't completely let my guard down yet. I wonder if I can really trust her? For the moment, I'll have to. There is no other choice.

We stand up together, and she holds her arms out for another hug. I slowly put my arms around her and hold on tight.

It feels like a bee sting at first, a sharp pain in my lower arm that begins to burn a second later. In shock, I search Jenn's face in the dim light and see a look of sadness in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Grace," she says as she holds up the syringe for me to see. "But thank you for talking to me."

The room begins to spin then, and my body starts sliding downward. The last thing I hear is Jenn saying, "You'll be taken care of. I promise."

_September 18, 2005, __4:00 a.m., __Seattle, Washington_

As soon as Reynolds leaves the building, I turn to my employer and realize he is studying me with a smirk.

"Well, everything seems to be turning out right after all," he says as he leans back in his chair. "That fool Reynolds should be back home now wondering how long we are going to need him before he outlives his usefulness. We have all the evidence we need against Phen Brown, and loveliest of all, you will be off the hook for murder. But let me warn you, that if you ever do something stupid like that again, I won't go to all this trouble to bail you out."

"Understood, Sir," I say. "I wouldn't have shot the old man if it hadn't been absolutely necessary. He saw me fighting with Erik Phantom that day in the courthouse. He may have even have seen some of the equipment we used to shut down the security cameras when we took Ms. Brown from the building."

"Yes, so you've told me countless times to justify what you did," he says with an impatient sigh. "We got lucky this time, being able to get Reynolds on our side. Had Phen Brown not been a ready suspect, your face would have been all over TV, and not even I could have prevented it. Fortunately though, the composite sketch Erik Phantom made, and the scrapings of makeup from under his fingernails that McCool saved after the fight are no longer being considered relevant evidence. So, I suppose in the end it has all worked out well. McCool and Brown will both be out of the way, and when we are through with Reynolds, he will be too."

He pauses in thought, and I think for a second that he is finished, but then he says, "Of course what I wanted was for this trial to have never happened in the first place. If Jennifer Chamberlain had been able to carry out Monsieur Phantom's assassination to begin with, we wouldn't have needed to worry about any of this."

I feel a blast of heated embarrassment rise into my face and lower my gaze from his.

"Yes, you feel it too, I know," he says. "Overall she is a disappointment to us, even though she did help with the interrogation of our prisoner. And am I right in saying that you have a certain fondness for her?"

"Not that kind, Sir," I answer quickly. "Not really. But I do feel a certain sense of responsibility for her."

"I'm sure you do. You spent a great deal of time helping her adjust to her new situation in life and trained her to be one of our operatives. But it concerns me that she has needed to be with her sister so much. The loyalty between siblings, especially identical twins, is a powerful thing. I think the tie needs to be severed now. This will be Jennifer's chance to redeem herself, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, it would."

"I've already sent the orders to the ship. And now I have new orders for you, my friend."

"Me?"

"Yes. You know that we weren't pinning all over our faith on that young whelp of a doctor and his friends to get the information we needed from Brown. We've had people scouring the globe for the man who invented the time machine in the first place, and we finally found him in spite of the witness protection program he was hiding in. He didn't have the fortitude to withstand interrogation this time, nor were there any commandos to rescue him before we found out what we wanted to know."

"You mean that we have his research? We have plans for a prototype machine?"

"No, better than that!" he says with unabashed glee. "We have now been able to develop a working prototype, and we've already tested it. It works beautifully."

"Finally!"

"Yes, finally," he agrees. "Finally we have the same time travel technology the Program does. And we also have an advantage. They don't yet know that we have that ability. I just had it confirmed yesterday, and a plan has already been developed. And, I want you to be a part of that plan. Go into the bathroom. There you will find your orders and everything else you will need. I'll be gone when you get finished in there. I have to get back into the city before I'm missed. Once the news story airs about the warrant being issued for Phen Brown's arrest, the Program will be in an uproar, and I will need to be there to play the loyal toady. So, congratulations on your new assignment, and good luck."

We shake hands then, and I can hardly keep from running to the bathroom in this tiny house. And just as he said, it is all there. Everything down to the minutest detail. My heart is beating excitedly as I read the new orders, and then I break into a laugh at the stroke of luck that has just landed in my lap.

I read the orders several times through just to be sure that they are real, and each time they read the same way. To say that I feel as happy as a kid at Christmas is a gross understatement. I feel as if I have been handed the role of a lifetime, a role that, were this a movie, would not only earn me an Oscar but would secure my place in the actor's hall of fame. I wonder for a second if Clark Gable felt this way when he was given the part of Rhett Butler in _Gone With The Wind_. But I can't stand here wondering for long. I have a plane to catch.

I set everything aside so it won't get soiled, and then I go to work. The grey wig and beard are easy enough to remove, but the rest of the disguise takes more effort. Finally the last smudge of makeup is gone, and here is the blank canvas that I have to work with: a handsome young face, close-cropped reddish blonde hair, and expressive eyes—a face that along with my acting talents won me several plumb roles in theaters from my native Washington D.C. to Broadway and would eventually have led to an Oscar, I'm sure. But that was before I was recruited by the PTB and given a true purpose in life.

And now here it is at last, the role that will far surpass anything I have ever played before and will literally earn my place in history. I take only a moment to smile at the face in the mirror, the blank slate that I will soon transform. And then I, a virtual chameleon, go to work preparing myself to become yet another person. As I begin, I can't help humming a little tune from my senior year of study at the Sorbonne in Paris.

It was Christmas time, and my girlfriend and I had gone across the Channel to London for the holidays. We sat together in a cozy little pub on the Thames and listened to an Irish folk band sing a ballad. I sometimes hum it when I'm feeling good about something. And right now I am feeling very good. I even sing a bit of the chorus as I work.

"_Wrap me up in me oilskins and blankets. No more at the docks I'll be seen. Just tell me of a ship mates, I'm takin' a trip mates. I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green." _

Finally the blank canvas is transformed into a real work of art. I smile at my handiwork and then say, "Goodbye again, Mr. Charmant. You really were a charming fellow."

_Sunday, September 18, 2005, __6:00 a.m., __Somewhere in the Pacific_

_Phen's POV:_

"Grace, wake up!" The voice beckons me out of a deep sleep. "Come on! We don't have much time!"

"Jenn?"

"Yes! Look, I'm sorry I gave you that shot. I was afraid you were going loony on me for real! Come on, Grace! Get up! We have to move! Now!"

"What happened?"

"Here. Get up and put this on. It's turned cold outside." She shoves a black suit into my hand. It feels like rubber.

I sit up on the cot and peer at it in the pre-dawn light. "A wetsuit?"

"Yes. Now hurry up! They will be here any second! It's a good thing you aren't afraid of water anymore. We may have to take a swim before your friends arrive."

"Friends?" I mumble as I start to pull the suit on over the sweats I had been given to wear to bed.

"Yeah. The good old U.S. Navy. I sent a message to the base at Whidbey Island, and they said help is on the way, but we can't wait for them. We have to leave now! Time has run out for both of us."

Because of the fuzziness in my mind, it takes an effort to understand what she's saying, but I do my best to follow her orders. My body feels heavy and clumsy, and I need her help to get the wetsuit on. "I'm sorry for giving you that shot," she says in a near panic. "I'm so sorry. If I had known what they were planning, I swear I would have helped you get out earlier. I had no idea, you know. But I just heard the men talking a while ago. They got new orders earlier tonight. New orders about both of us. I got suspicious when they wouldn't tell me why we changed course, but they wouldn't tell me anything."

"Jenn!" I snap, as my mind is clearing, "Calm down! You're babbling. Now take a deep breath and tell me very calmly what your plan is. Why are we putting on wetsuits?"

"In one hour a news story is going to air to the world, Grace. A news story that implicates you in the murder of Henry Albertson. Then we are going ashore, and I will be ordered to kill you. It would be made to look like a suicide. The official story would be that you killed yourself rather than be captured. If I don't follow those orders, they will also kill me, Grace. But that won't happen. We're getting out of here now."

"How?"

"We have to blow up the ship. It's the only way to escape. The helicopter is gone, and they will be coming for us soon. I scrambled all the security cameras, and I even managed to get a hold of a small explosive device, but the only way it will work is if we can blast a hole in one of the fuel tanks. I have an inflatable raft and scuba gear waiting, and we'll jump over the side, swim under the ship, and set the bomb. Then we'll only have a few minutes to get away before it detonates. Do you understand? Can you do this?"

"Of course I can do it!" I tell her. "Enough badgering already! I'm just high, Jenn, not dead!"

She gives me a quick hug and presses a gun into my hand. "Good. Now let's get the hell out of here!"

_September 18, 2005, __8:00 a.m., __Off the Canadian Coast_

_Horatio's POV:_

It feels like I hardly slept at all last night, I reflect as a cramp seizes the muscles in my right thigh. Most of yesterday was spent here in the cockpit of this plane on a futile search for Grace. Now we have just left the island, and I am again overwhelmed with disappointment at another failed attempt. Normally I would have loved the opportunity to camp on the island, but it wasn't fun last night, just cold and uncomfortable, so I awoke from my restless sleep at dawn and roused everyone. Everything is uncomfortable these days, even the nice warm bed I have back home. And everything will remain uncomfortable until I've found Grace again.

I call her Grace in moments like these, when thoughts of her fill my heart, though my mind always reminds me that I must think of her by her undercover name, Phen Brown. But to me she is always Grace.

"Horatio! Put your headset on!" The pilot shouts over the noise of the engine. "Listen to this!"

I quickly do what he says and hear it too. "This is SEAL Team Foxtrot. Commander McCool, do you copy?"

"Yes, I hear you, Foxtrot. Go ahead."

"Sir, we've just received orders from Whidbey Island. They got a message from a freighter that has Lieutenant Chamberlain aboard. You are to be dropped off at Whidbey Island so you can go with the SEAL team that is being deployed to intercept them. Your pilot can then continue on back to Seattle with his passengers. Do you copy that?"

"Aye, Sir!"

I can hardly contain myself as I take off the headset and turn around to give the news to the others. It feels great to smile again as I say, "Just received a message from Whidbey Island!! We have a change of plans!"

"What happened?" Jeremy demands.

"The best thing in the world!" I exchange looks of mutual understanding with Erik.

_"Grace is coming home today!"_


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: We are posting this as our Christmas Eve gift to you. Hopefully, dropping in and reading this chapter of The Case will give you a welcome respite from your holiday 'crazees!' **

**THANK YOU TO ALL OUR LOYAL READERS WHO POST SUCH WONDERFUL COMMENTS!! THIS IS A VERY EVENTFUL EPISODE, SO WE WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM ALL OF YOU!! **

**This chapter does end with a cliff hanger, and I can confirm that the next chapter is a very important one, containing a life-changing event for Erik, as well as some new, extraordinary experiences and, well, it is also an "M" chapter. **

**So here is our holiday offer: We will post the next chapter as soon as this chapter receives the usual ten reviews, since the next chapter is written, edited and ready to post!!**

**May each of you have a wonderful, joyous holiday!!**

**Chapter 29 Testimony of Dr. Freuda by Phanfan, Phangirl+, Barbkesq++, and Phanna+++ **

_Early morning,  
Sunday, September 18, 2005 _

_Somewhere in the Pacific_

_Phen's POV:+_

Cold…so cold…can't move…have to stay afloat so they can see us. Black…why are wetsuits black? It's harder to see them from the air. They will come by air won't they? We can't wait for a boat. We won't last that long. Jenn's lips are already blue and she's not talking anymore. But she is still breathing… I think. It's hard to see in the heaving waves. I can't hear anything now after the explosion. My ears are ringing, or one of them is. The right one. I can't hear out of the left. So tired… I just want to sleep…just want to let go and be at peace…So cold and so tired…just need to sleep…

"Grace! Wake up! We're going to take you home!"

"I'm coming, Jenn."

"No, not Jenn! It's me, Horatio! You're safe now! We have you, and you're going to be OK! Come on, wake up!"

I see him then and feel him holding me close to him. He looks scared. I've never seen him scared before. I try to tell him to go fire on that ship, but I can't talk. I see more worried faces…all men, some of them also in wetsuits, and I hear the steady rhythm of a helicopter's rotors. I want to ask them if they got Jenn too, but all I can do now is close my eyes…

But still I feel his body pressed against mine, so warm and so safe…and as if from some great distance, I hear him talking to me. Yes, somehow I can hear it through the ringing in my ears.

"Grace, I know you can hear me. I know you can. Hold on, Grace. Please, just hold on. You can't give up now. You've come too far. Stay with me now. You have to after all this because I found your journals. I know the truth now, and I have so many things to say to you. But I won't say them now. I want you to be completely well and awake when I say them, do you understand? So you have to come back now, Grace. You have to. That is an order, and by God, I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!"

"_I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!"_

Over and over I hear those words in mind and hold onto them in the midst of the disjointed noise of the other voices swirling around me.

"Temperature 92.8, pulse weak…"

"After drop...constant heart monitoring…"  
_  
"I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!"_

"Burns to hands and forearms…possible hearing loss…"

"_I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!"_

"Call Admiral Brooks…needs to know."

"_I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!"_

I want to wake up. I do. But I can't. I can't yet…

_Afternoon, Sunday, September 18, 2005_

_Whidbey Island Naval Air Station  
Whidbey Island, Washington_

_Horatio's POV:_

"An arrest warrant! Are you people insane?" I shout at the TV in the waiting room. "She was a captive, not a killer, you…you…!"

A discreet cough somewhere behind me catches my attention, and I stop mid-tirade and turn around, hoping to see one of the doctors. Instead, I see Joe Carson standing in the doorway of the waiting room. "Joe! Have you seen this? That idiot Reynolds has issued an arrest warrant for Phen!"

"I know, Sir," he answers as he comes in. "We've been fielding calls from reporters all day. Admiral Brooks and some of the other top people in the Program are trying to get to the bottom of it. The cops say they have video tapes of Phen on the lower floors of the courthouse during the lunch break around the time that the old man was killed."

"Well, I know who that person was, Carson! And it certainly wasn't Phen!"

"Then who…?" He asks. "Someone in disguise? She was pretty good at it, because I took her back to Phen's apartment and never knew the difference."

"No, this was beyond a disguise," I say. "It was someone who could fool even me. I saw her in the hall that afternoon and talked to her. But of course I wasn't suspicious! Why should I be? She was supposed to have died over two years ago!"

"Who? I don't follow you, Sir."

"It's complicated," I answer. "I'll explain it later. Admiral Brooks is here, I presume?"

"Yes. He's with NCIS and the base's top brass dealing with these charges against Phen. But just tell me, please. How is she, Horatio?"

"I don't know! They wouldn't let me go in there with her since I'm not a relative. She was semi-conscious when we finally found them. I don't know how long she was in the water. She had a wet suit on, and we followed all the correct procedures, but who knows what she went through before that?"

Joe's eyes narrow with concern. "Hypothermia is a beast. But she was breathing ok when you found her? Was she wearing a tank too?"

"No. Just a suit. Both of them were wearing them."

"Both? You mean there was another survivor?"

"There was someone else, but she… Well, she didn't make it. All we found when we got to the ship's coordinates was wreckage and a burning oil slick. Phen was over two miles away. As far as we can tell, the two of them rigged a bomb on the ship and were planning to escape by boat. It must have gone off too soon and their boat was damaged in the blast and sank before we found them. Then it took a while for us to locate them. The sea had turned choppy and the wind came up."

Joe seems to be having a bit of difficulty processing all of this. "Horatio, what else is wrong with her? You said the other one didn't survive. Is Phen going to die too?"

This doesn't seem like his usual cocky self at all, and while I'm glad to see that there really is a deeper side to Joe, I sense more in his behavior than just concern for Phen. I have been standing, or rather pacing around, all the time I've been waiting for news, but I stop now and motion for him to sit down in one of the chairs.

I sit next to him, trying to appraise him. I can tell that he is studying me for signs that I'm about to lie to him about how things really are. I can also see past his poker face and recognize the genuine fear deep in his eyes.

"You know I have never lied to you or any of the other Bravos, Joe. And I'm telling the truth now. She has some burns on her hands and arms and probably hearing loss. There were holes in her wetsuit and that's why she was so cold when we found her. I don't know yet what else is wrong with her, or if she will…will make it. I have no idea what those creeps did to her, but Joe, I do know that she will fight as hard as she can. She wants to be here with us, and I have to believe that she will pull through."

He takes a cautious breath and nods slowly. "I—yeah, I know she will. It's just that since she's been gone it's been hard, you know? I mean I was assigned to watch her back. Yeah it was just a cover for who she really was. She didn't need a real bodyguard, but we used to talk and hang out when I was at her apartment with her, and I should have done a better job, Sir. The way it turned out, she really did need a bodyguard. I should have been with her at lunch that day and maybe none of this would have happened."

"You can't blame yourself for any of that, Joe. We did have someone on the stairs by the roof, but the kidnappers timed it just right so that he was called away to help look for Erik."

"I know," he says. "I saw him just after I called Phen on her cell phone to let her know Erik escaped. She had told me not to call her on that phone because it's her work phone, and she was worried about someone listening in on it. But I told her about Erik anyway and said she needed to be on the alert for trouble."

"You did your job," I remind him. "We were all caught up with looking for Erik. What happened to Phen isn't your fault. The kidnappers must have been waiting for something like that to happen. They're the bad guys here, not you…and not Erik."

"I know all that, Sir," he says slowly. "I've told myself that a million times since that day, but I've been so afraid she wouldn't come back, and all I could do was stay put and keep up with my job. You don't know how much I wanted to go with you to Coronado to organize the search, but I knew that idea wouldn't fly."

"I see," I tell him. "We did need you here, but I never thought of how you must have felt about her. I should have been more understanding."

"That's ok, Sir," he says. "You did your best—look, here comes someone. Maybe they have news." His comment causes me to turn around as a woman wearing a lab coat enters the room.

"Commander McCool?"

"Yes?" Joe and I jump up to meet her.

"I'm Dr. Larkin. Lieutenant Chamberlain is awake and asking for you."

"Come on, Sir!" Joe heads for the hall.

"Not both of you!" The doctor retorts. "She asked for him, not you."

"How is she?" I ask, shooting a "watch it" look at Joe.

"Improving, but she's not out of the woods yet. We're warming her up slowly to avoid damaging her heart, and we'll keep monitoring her. That is the worst danger right now, that the chilled blood from her extremities will lower her temperature even more and cause damage as it's re-circulated through her heart."

"Yes, the medic on the helicopter was worried about the same thing, the 'after drop' he called it. How is she holding up so far?"

"As I said, she is improving, but there is something else, Sir."

I can hardly bring myself to ask, "What?"

"We found several drugs in her blood stream. This is why her temperature dropped faster than normal. Added to that was the damage to her neoprene suit. Quite simply, Sir, if she hadn't been rescued when she was…I don't think she would have made it at all."

I reach a hand out to the wall to steady myself as this news sinks in. "She is waiting to see you, but remember that she can't hear very well right now. With a little time and luck, though, I think she has a good chance of her hearing returning to normal."

"Thank you," I reply, and she gives a curt nod and begins walking down the hall.

"Hey, wait!" Joe hollers as I begin to follow her. "What about me? I care about her too!"

"Only one visitor at a time right now," Dr. Larkin instructs. "And keep your voice down. Don't make me call security."

"I am security!" Joe says with a grin. "So, what do I do now, boss?"

"Call the others. Let them know how she's doing, then wait for Admiral Brooks," I order him. "And Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"At least try to stay out of trouble for once!"

"Sure thing, boss!"

"Interesting man," the doctor says when we're out of ear-shot. "Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much. Though he does surprise us once in a while."

"I don't envy you that one, Commander," she says with a smile. "Now, here is Lieutenant Chamberlain's room. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. She was pretty adamant about having you with her. I'm fine with that because it may help her recover sooner. But right now I don't want anyone else in there because she needs to rest."

"I understand."

"Good!" Dr. Larkin pushes the door open, and I can hardly keep from running over to the bed, but she stops me with one sentence. "Now that you're here, I'll tell you what I want you to do."

"What?"

She beckons me to follow her, talking all the while. "I didn't want to say anything in front of your subordinate, but I want you to do what you did for the lieutenant on the way here. Get into the bed with her and help warm her up. You aren't as clean as I would prefer, but she trusts you, and frankly after where she's been, I think she needs the closeness of another person. She said you are a good friend, so I'm recruiting you for the job. Just take your boots off and empty your pockets first. And be careful of her hands and forearms. And stay on the left side. I put her I.V. line and the chords for the heart monitor and heating pads on the right side to make room."

We reach the bed, and at first I can't distinguish Grace from the mound of blankets there. But then I see a stocking cap and an oxygen mask, and finally focus on her blue eyes. They look hollow with exhaustion, but still crinkle up at the corners as she tries to smile at me.

"She wants the mask off so she can talk to you," Dr. Larkin continues. "I told her that I think it would be safe now. We've warmed the I.V. fluids, and with you beside her, I think it will compensate for the warm air the mask is giving her since she doesn't actually need it to breathe. So go on, get those boots off and get into that bed, Commander." She removes the oxygen mask and says, "I'll be back to check on her in a little while. In the meantime, if you need anything, just ring for the nurse. And remember not to move her. She needs to stay as flat as possible for her blood to warm properly."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor."

"And, thank you, Sir," she says and leaves us.

"Is this what you want, Grace?" I say loudly. "You really want me in there with you?"

She nods, and her teeth start chattering. "J—Just like on the heli—copter, H—Horatio."

"You remember that?" I ask in amazement as I pull off my boots and start taking everything out of my pockets. "I didn't know you could hear me." I remove my gun and put it on the bedside table. Her eyes follow it as I put it down. "I guess this makes me your official bodyguard now. Ok, here I come. Remember, don't hog the covers."

Ever so gently, I move the blankets and slide my body down beside hers and move as close as I can to her. "There. Is that Ok? I didn't hurt you did I?"

She shakes her head no, and I pull the blankets back over us and put my arm over her, being careful not to move her. "How's that? Good?"

"Yes," She says. "So—I'm not going to be court-martialed af—after all?"

"No!" I laugh. "I guess not."

She is lying flat on her back but turns her head toward me and places her forehead against my cheek. She is still shivering and her teeth chattering as she says, "You really—are—warm, Horatio. So why is your name Mc—McCool?"

There are many things I want to discuss other than my family history, but I know to be patient. Quite likely she won't even remember this conversation later. But she seems to need a diversion, so I play along. "Blame it on my Irish ancestors. They're the ones who chose the name. So, are you saying that I'm a really hot hunk, Chamberlain?"

"Don't push it, Sir."

"Ah, I see. You just want me for one thing, huh?," I chuckle at the welcome sign that her sharp-edged humor is returning, "Well, I have plans for you, Ma'am. As soon as you quit lazing around here you're going back to work. Got it? I need you to smack Carson around a few times. He's been a nuisance without you. And then you need to kick a few prosecutorial butts in the courtroom."

I let several silent moments slide by before finally propping myself up to look at her to see if she's still awake. She is, but her gaze is fixed on the heart monitor beside the bed, and her eyes are damp.

"Grace, what is it? What did I say? I didn't mean to upset you. Not after, well, whatever they did to you. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to rush into questioning you. I know you need time."

"It doesn't matter," she whispers. "Ever since I woke up here I've been thinking about Jenn. Horatio, I just need to know if you got her out, too."

I should have known that my tactic to avoid the hard things wouldn't work with her, but still I answer cautiously. "Yes, we got her, but I'm sorry…she…"

"I know she's dead," she interrupts. "She died in my arms. If the boat had only stayed in one piece, and I could have kept her out of the water she might have made it. When it sank, well, I knew it was hopeless. I had done what I could, you know, but she needed major surgery, not rudimentary first aid in the middle of the ocean on a damn sinking boat!"

She tries to blink back her tears, but one escapes anyway, and I wipe it away with the edge of a blanket. "Shh. It's ok, now. You did your best, Grace. Let's focus on getting you well right now. We'll deal with the rest of this later."

She makes an effort to rein in her emotions, as she says, "Afterward I still held onto her body because I didn't want her to be left out there. For over two years I thought she was lost at sea, and couldn't stand the thought of that happening, so I just held on to her until—until you came. In spite of what she did—I had to—to…" Her voice dissolves into a storm of sobbing.

I can say nothing now to help this pain, can do nothing except what I'm doing now, holding her close until her tears pass, and she starts to fall asleep. Later there will be work to be done, inquiries to be made, reports to write, and a trial to finish. Soon enough this moment will be gone, this fragile instant in time that belongs only to us.

"Go to sleep now, Grace. I'm here now, and I won't let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever again."

Her voice is fading again but she says something else before giving in to her exhaustion. "Thank you, Horatio. Now you go to sleep too. You look awful, did you know that?"

"Gee thanks! That's gratitude for you! I help save your life, and you insult me."

"McCool?"

"Yeah?"

"Be quiet and go to sleep."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." I answer, but tired as I am, I don't want to go to sleep only to wake up and find out that this is all a hopeless dream.

"You smell like smoke," she murmurs as she slips into slumber. "What have you been doing while I've been gone?"

"Long story. I'll tell you later."

"You…had better. Goodnight, honey."

And then she is silent and still once again. I fight my own weariness just so I can watch her. She makes a low whimper in her throat as if she's having a bad dream, and I finally give in to the thing I have wanted to do since I first came in here. I brush a gentle kiss across her lips and say, "Welcome home, my love." +

_Tuesday, September 20, 2005  
Seattle, Washington _

_Laura's POV:_

I keep looking down at my watch. We are already an hour and a half late, and Matt is driving at a speed that would test the patience of an old woman. I look over at him and ask, my voice dripping with irritation, "Matt! Why are you driving so slowly?"

He glances back and cracks a small grin, "My job as your body guard does NOT include killing you myself with reckless driving. This rainstorm is cutting back on visibility, so I am driving at a speed that will get you _there safely_!"

Settling back into the passenger seat of my Corvette, I give off a disbelieving, "Humpff…."

I consider Matt's answer. Yes, it is raining rather hard, but this is Seattle. So what else is new? Surely he knows how to drive faster than this in a little extra rain! I wonder about Matt. He has been acting very strangely lately. Perhaps having 24/7 duties guarding a woman is getting to him?

I shift nervously in the leather seat, worried about the time. After all, we left the office almost an hour later than usual because my last client had many more documents to review than my secretary had foreseen when making the appointment. I had her call and let Erik know we would be late for Tuesday dinner. She slipped me a handwritten note after she talked to him. I had to chuckle when I read, "He is NOT pleased."

So, I am totally frustrated and irritated with this additional delay of Matt's overly cautious driving. When I see the driveway ahead, I quickly use my cell phone to call Jeremy and tell him we are almost there. As we turn into sight of Horatio's home, Erik and Jeremy come barreling out the front door, holding umbrellas aloft. As soon as the car stops Erik opens my door and without a word, leans over, lifts me up in his arms and hastily carries me into the house. It feels so comfortable to be in his arms once more, and the impulse comes over me to lean close and trail kisses all over his neck, but Jeremy and Matt are too near. Instead, I covertly place my hand over his heart to let him know my contentedness at being with him again.

Jeremy raises one of the large umbrellas over our heads, but that does little good protecting us from the rain that is being blown sideways, driven by the wind. When we enter the foyer, Jeremy is holding two umbrellas, Matt is carting my purse and crutches, and Erik is carrying me…all of us drenched and laughing. Well, except for Erik. He seems very disgruntled, almost like a dark mood hangs over him. So, I look into his sea green eyes and bestow on him my best smile while my arms are still around his neck. He responds with a comforted grin.

After quickly drying off with some towels the housekeeper gives us, as well as the warning to remove our soggy shoes, we head straight to the dining room. Clearly the dinner has been ready for some time, and everyone has been waiting for our arrival. With Erik fussing over me, I hobble in on my crutches and take my seat next to him at the highly polished black table. Rather than the usual informality, I notice elegant silk place mats set with white bone china and fine crystal goblets. A classic Japanese arrangement of pink and white orchids rises gracefully from the center of the table, and my heart skips a beat. I know that this is meant for me, and when I turn to look at Erik, he is studying me expectantly, so I express with my eyes that I appreciate and understand what this means.

As soon as we are seated, Erik reaches under the table and takes my hand. The warmth from his gentle touch spreads through me, and my pulse quickens. I have missed him acutely. Thoughts of him intrude constantly while I am working throughout the day, and when I am not working I cannot banish thoughts of his touch, his eyes and his melodic, velvety voice. It seems as if it has been an eternity since we were together on the island only last weekend.

I look around the table and realize that Horatio has not yet returned. Jeremy notices me looking at Horatio's empty chair and volunteers that he is still with Phen while she recuperates from her ordeal. I suspect Horatio feels like he never wants to let her out of his sight again. Jeremy proceeds to share everything he knows about Phen's captivity, escape and recovery. My stomach turns, overcome with the details of her harrowing imprisonment and nearly fatal escape, and my heart goes out to Phen. I look forward to seeing her again.

After Jeremy finishes telling us about Phen, a silence hangs over everyone. It is some time before we begin to chat again, although Erik remains sullen, contributing little to the discussion. I cannot help but wonder, what is up? As we wait for dessert to be served, he again takes my hand and traces his fingers across my palm. I shiver from his touch while memories of our weekend on the island vividly flash in my mind's eye. He only releases my hand when the cook enters and serves the crème broule.

As we are finishing the creamy golden dessert, Freuda points out the obvious: Erik and I cannot take a walk in the Admiral's Japanese garden this evening because of the downpour. Erik nods sadly in agreement. I look sideways at him and wonder if THAT is the cause of his grumpy demeanor. Catching my questioning glance, he reaches over again and takes my hand, placing it this time on his thigh and gently clasping his hand on top of mine.

Freuda, in her usual good mood, smiles as she makes her recommendation, "Vhy don't ve all go into de livink room, and Erik could play one of his beautiful compositions for us on de piano."

The comment brings an instant reaction from Erik. His hand unconsciously tightens around mine, griping it so hard that it causes me to wince. Again I become acutely aware that he is rebelling against playing music for me. Shades, or rather, shadows, of Christine, I suspect. But, I feel we need to resolve and put this issue behind us. He needs to get over this superstitious feeling that playing music for me is some kind of jinx. In fact, I long to hear him play the piano.

Looking up into his eyes, I express my agreement with Freuda's proposal, "Erik, I have never heard you play the piano, and I would truly love that." His only response is a dubious smile and an acquiescent nod of his head.

Jeremy, Matt, Freuda and I take seats on the comfortable chocolate suede couches and watch as Erik purposefully settles onto the piano bench. He hesitates and studies his hands for some time, deep in thought and clearly trying to decide what he wants to play. We all sit quietly, waiting.

After a long pause, Erik turns to me and announces he will play a composition he has written over the last couple weeks. I sense that this will be special and smile in anticipation. I watch his back as it bends caressingly over the keyboard, and his playing begins softly, tenderly. His long, expressive fingers gently stroke the keys and coax delicate notes that seem to be suspended in the air, blending together hypnotically. The music builds slowly, growing more insistent, gathering power and intensity as his shoulders tense and his movements become more urgent. Then his back arches as he uses all his muscles to pour out a pounding crescendo. That is when he looks over at me, and the longing and pain is unmistakable in his eyes, which have deepened to emerald in the enfolding twilight. Finally, still gazing into my eyes, the music returns to the gentlest, softest touch of keys and a heartbreaking, haunting melody. When the last note floats upon the air, I take a deep breath as if I had forgotten for many moments to breathe at all. I know that this music is about us, and I am moved to the heights of my soul.

"That was magnificent!" is all I can say, but the tears in my eyes tell him the rest. He remains on the piano bench and nods his head in acknowledgement of all the praise, which Jeremy, Freuda and Matt add to mine, but his eyes stay focused only on me. He turns around on the bench and folds his arms over his broad chest. Without saying a word, he raises his eyebrow pointedly to Freuda. I see this little signal and suspect that Matt and Jeremy do as well. Suddenly Freuda is on her feet and excusing herself.

"Vell, Darlink, it vas so good to see you. I look forward to our conference at your office tomorrow. But for now, it is late, and I must turn in." She leans over and gives me a hug, then stares down at Jeremy and Matt indicating with a nod of her head that they are to leave as well. They get the hint and promptly stand, suddenly recalling that some sporting game is on television. I watch this little orchestrated drama as all three dutifully exit stage left.

As soon as the last one leaves through the doorway, I turn and look at Erik. He is already on his feet and walking to me and within seconds, he is seated next to me, so close his thigh is resting against mine. He reaches his arm around me and rests his hand on my waist. I happily snuggle into his embrace and rest my head on his shoulder, my arms reaching under his brocade waistcoat and encircling him. He turns and places a kiss on my hair, and says, "You smell so delicious," and as I lay my head back to watch his lips, he places a second kiss on my forehead. "I missed you. Every minute I had to wait, every second you were late was an agony."

His kisses slowly descend down to my eyelids, my cheek and finally enclose my lips. We are lost in one another, for untold time, kissing hungrily and embracing each other as much as we dare, here in the living room. I pull him as close as I can within the circle of my arms so that I can feel his warmth, plant kisses on his neck and run my hands over his chest under the cover of his waistcoat.

We continue our impassioned kisses until Erik groans, pulls away and again rests his lips in my hair, signaling that we must stop for now. I concede and settle into his arms, placing my head on his chest, and try to calm my breathing. For many minutes I listen to his heart hammering under my ear, and his ragged breathing as he again tries to bring himself under control. The thought pushes its way into my mind, one that I have been trying so desperately to deny, but now I cannot help but ponder, "How will we be able to keep doing this…how will we ever be able to let each other go…_without it tearing us both to shreds?" _

_Friday, September 23, 2005  
Seattle, Washington  
Courthouse _

_Zoe's POV:+++_

Chill hangs in the air this clear September morning but the sky is a brilliant blue with cotton balls of hovering white clouds. I clasp my cashmere shawl tightly around my shoulders and walk resolutely to the courthouse.

Over the past two Fridays I listened very closely to the testimony. Ms Counselor is an excellent attorney. She has succeeded in extracting many important facts in the defense of M Phantom that surely will enable the multitude of charges to be dropped or proven inaccurate. The jury must, by now, be able to see the truth from these testimonies

Also, Mme Giry has been instrumental in enlightening the court of an entirely different life that M Phantom has led at the Opera house than originally believed. He, indeed, seems to be totally unlike the Phantom who was depicted previously as a dark, deranged man on the edge of insanity.

At one point when Ms Counselor was questioning Mme Giry, she sent my heart racing. She has established many facts that lead me to believe that my quest might be coming to the end. And yet, I am hoping that there will still be undeniable proof in the upcoming testimonies.

M Phantom was resplendent in the courtroom last week. He still makes me breathless whenever I watch him, but I have also noticed that Ms Counselor and he seem to be very attentive to each other. I saw them sitting with their chairs near each other and several times their shoulders and arms were touching. I wonder if they are personally involved. Sigh….well I guess all of us couldn't have him……

I take my usual seat in the spectator's section near the prosecution's table and glance at M DeVere. He does seem an incompetent fool at times. Mme Giry, in her forthright way of answering his questions, made it even more obvious. The DVD that M DeVere presented to the court surprised me, and it had some pretty convincing evidence that M Phantom might have had the time to commit the murder of Joseph Buquet. I am questioning the validity of using something that was produced in this manner for such a serious charge. I hope that the defense team will be able to counteract the damage.

Dr Freuda will be on the stand today, and I hope her testimony will confirm what I already feel. I can only pray that she will provide the proof I seek.

But I have also made a decision. If the trial comes to an end without the absolute proof that I want, I am still going to approach M Phantom. I have heard enough through Mme Giry's testimony that I feel in my heart that he is irrevocably tied to my secret. He deserves to know that he may be the one…..+++

_Laura's POV:_

Dressed entirely in his deepest black suit and cravat, with his cloak slung over his arm, Erik opens the door into the courtroom for me. Smiling up at him, I swing past him on my crutches. He hovers and fusses over me even more than usual since I sprained my ankle. Christine is sitting a few rows back in the spectator's section, and she catches my attention and gives me a tentative smile. I return it and wonder if being present in the courtroom through all of these testimonies has made a difference in her opinion about Erik. Surely it must have. Several times I have heard her gasps during some of the more emotional moments and have turned around once or twice and seen tears in her eyes.

Pulling out my chair, Erik holds out one arm for me to brace myself on as I lower into my seat. He takes the crutches and hands them to Bailiff George who is standing nearby. Placing his cloak on the back of his chair, which he moves close to mine, he spreads out the voluminous black folds behind us, visually concealing us from prying eyes.

S. Luzano casts a knowing grin at me, then begins talking to Mr. Broadbent, drawing the attention of the belligerent attorney away from the defense table. I am beginning to like S. Luzano more and more.

I open my briefcase and pull out my note pad and pen. Erik takes my hand as soon as I place it in my lap and gently rests it on his thigh, covering it with his hand. I try to hide the quiver that goes through me at his touch and am relieved that today Counselor Sebbied will be taking the testimony of Freuda. Of course, I assisted with the preparation of the testimony, but some of the questions that must be asked will be difficult for Erik to hear. I am thankful to be sitting here, next to him, when these issues are discussed so openly in court.

Counselor Sebbied greets us briefly as we settle back in our seats and then busily returns to reviewing her notes. It seems like only moments after we are seated that Bailiff George calls the court to order, and the Judge sweeps in with her robe gracefully flowing behind her. She wastes no time directing the witness to be brought into the courtroom and sworn in.

Freuda soon enters through the front door of the courtroom. Even as she is sworn in she exudes energy, confidence and enthusiasm. She is a petite woman but seems even smaller than usual, totally engulfed by the huge witness box. Today she wears a dark gray, tailored business jacket and skirt, which complement her graying hair.

Counselor Sebbied is dressed in matching shades of pink from her silk suit to her fingernails. Her skirt is short enough to show off her incredibly tanned legs as she struts across the courtroom to begin her questioning. When she passes Erik and me, she looks over and gives us her confident wink, trying to reassure us.

Always putting people at ease, Freuda beams a friendly grin to Counselor Sebbied as she approaches. Sebbied smiles in return and begins simply, "Dr Freuda, what is your professional background?"

"Oh, Dahlink, I am a medical doctor and a psychiatrist."

I suppress a smile at the reference to Counselor Sebbied as "Dahlink." I have come to realize that Freuda addresses most everyone in that manner. Erik looks down at me, and I catch the grin he is trying to hide.

"Could you describe your educational background and professional affiliations, Dr. Freuda?"

"Vel, I earned my medical degree from Oxford, and my psychiatric degree from de University of Toronto. I also haff an Academic Post-Graduate Certificate in Tropical Medicine and Hygiene at de University of London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. I am licensed as a medical doctor in tree countries: Enkland, Canada and de United States and am a member of de American Medical Association, American Psychiatric Association, and de British Association for Counselink and Psychotherapy." Dr Freuda states in a matter of fact voice.

Counselor Sebbied nods her head, dramatically displaying that she is impressed with this list of credentials, then asks, "Have you published any research articles or books?"

"Oh, yes--of course!! I haff published thirty articles in leadink medical or psychiatric journals, and haff written two books on psychiatric subjects. I haff written a column for a medical news letter and made over 100 presentations to medical and scientific groups."

"And, Dr. Freuda..." Counselor Sebbied tries to ask another question.

"Oh, yes!!! Any many, many times I haff been invited on television programs to discuss psychological problems...I haff been on Oprah—a very, very nice lady—and on Dr. Phil—sometimes a little over de top, if you know vhat I mean, Dahlink, vith his advice, but a nice man—and on PBS News Hour vith Jim Lehrer, and also dat nice man, Phil Donahue—dat was many years ago, of course—and, vell, dahlink, many odders!"

"Ah, yes, thank you, Dr. Freuda. I think that will be fine," Counselor Sebbied is now grinning unabashedly showing her pearl white teeth framed with her favorite pink icing lipstick. Turning to the Judge, she states: "I submit Dr. Freuda as qualified to testify concerning medical and psychiatric issues."

The Judge pauses and looks at the prosecution table. M. Broadbent stands and responds without hesitation, "I have no objection to this witness' qualifications."

The Judge turns to Counselor Sebbied and rules, "Dr Freuda is accepted as a qualified expert witness as to those issues."

Pivoting gracefully on her pink spike heels to again face the diminutive ball of energy, Counselor Sebbied asks: "Dr. Freuda, have you performed a physical or psychiatric examination of the defendant, M Phantom?"

Dr. Freuda looks toward Erik, shakes her head and smiles. Glancing up, I see him smile at her in return. They have a mutual respect for each other after the many months of private consultation. "I haff personally done a psychiatric evaluation, but I haff not performed a physical examination. However, I haff reviewed all his medical records from de time dat he arrived here in de present, and I haff all of dose here vit' me today."

"Beginning with the physical examination, what did those reveal regarding his condition?"

I turn my hand over that is resting on Erik's thigh and give his hand a squeeze to communicate my support, since I know that much of the testimony will be uncomfortable for him.

"He vas brought from 1871 France, directly from a prison cell, and he vas in very bad physical condition. De medical exam states dat he had malnutrition and vas below weight for his height and build. He also had clearly been beaten recently, so he had tree cracked ribs, bruises on his face, back, chest and legs, as well as several cuts on his hands vhere he had been cut by some sharp object, probably while tryink to defend himself as vell as a number of odder injuries. He vas hospitalized for tree weeks recoverink from dose injuries, and all haff now healed."

"Did the physical exam disclose any physical conditions not related to his malnutrition or beating?" I can feel Erik begin to tense.

"Vel, yes. He has permanent scarrink on de right side of his face vhich includes a thickenink of de tissue and a reddish tone to de skin, as vell a many marks on his back vhich are caused by whip lashes breakink de skin and leavink raised scar tissue." Dr Freuda glances apologetically over at Erik and then turns back to Counselor Sebbied in anticipation of the next question. Erik shifts in his chair uneasily, and I can feel the muscles in his arm and leg coil as if to deflect a blow.

"Why is the professional medical opinion that the scars on the back are caused by whip lashes?"

"Because of de pattern of marks. I haff here a diagram of de marks, and dey are all long and positioned on de back as lash marks vould occur." Opening the file, Dr. Freuda pulls out a single page and gives it to Counselor Sebbied who dramatically walks to the prosecution table and hands it over to Mr. Broadbent. He looks at the document for a minute, grumbles that he has no objection, then passes it to S. Luzano who shakes his head in clear dismay, but remains silent. The page is then passed to M DeVere who concurs that he has no objection, and then he returns to his little note cards. Counselor Sebbied takes back the document and submits it to the Court Clerk who labels it as an exhibit, while the Judge orders it admitted as evidence.

Then, with no small amount of flair, Counselor Sebbied marches to the jury and hands the document to the jury foreperson. The young lady takes the page with a clearly shaking hand, and when she looks down at the paper, she gasps so loudly it can be heard throughout the courtroom. At that reaction, Erik's body goes rigid, and he stares straight ahead with no emotion showing on his face. His hand clutches mine tightly in an almost painful grip, but the tears that come to the corner of my eyes are not from that. The tears reflect my own emotional trauma as my mind flashes back to the island, to how those scars felt, how their deep ridges covered most of his back, and how profoundly shocked I had been to learn the extent of what he had suffered. Now the jurors would know and from them, the world would know. I continue watching as the document is passed from juror to juror, each one letting out startled groans or gasps of surprise, some of them appearing quite shocked, and several women even appear to be close to tears. I am glad that they feel empathy for Erik's pain as this will weigh in their decision over his fate.

Counselor Sebbied walks back to Freuda and continues her questions, "Regarding the facial scarring, what was the medical conclusion as to its cause?" Erik continues to stare impassively straight ahead. All I can do is signal my support by holding his hand even tighter, trying to assure him that we will get through this.

"De scarrink is caused by a birt'mark vhich covered a large area of de right side of his face. Dis type of birt'mark is known as a port vine stain."

"So, if this was a port wine birth mark, would that explain the thickening of the tissue on the face?"

"Oh, yes. If de stain is very serious and on de soft tissue of de face, as dis vas, as de person vith dis condition gets older, de tissue thickens and vill cause de uneven valleys and bulges vhich happened in de case of M Phantom," Freuda says gently, almost apologetically while gazing at Erik. Then, surprisingly, and not in response to any question, Freuda adds, "Odder dan de scarrink on his face, he is in very fine physical condition vith no chronic illnesses." Erik suddenly eases his grip on my hand as if realizing that he has been holding it too tightly, and my heart sinks to my stomach, worrying about what must be going through his thoughts and feelings right now.

Mr. Broadbent jumps to his feet, "Objection!! The witness' answer was not in response to a posed question. I request that her last statement be stricken!"

"Objection sustained," the Judge procedurally orders.

Counselor Sebbied lets that issue go since it is not central to our evidence or proof, and moves on to the psychological issues, which are critical. "Dr Freuda, you said you performed psychological tests and evaluations on M Phantom?" Counselor Sebbied takes a step back and turns to the jury sweeping her gaze over them.

"Yes, I did a variety of psychological tests on de Defendant." Dr Freuda proclaims in her confident way.

"What were your conclusions based on those tests?"

"De tests indicated dat he vas sufferink from a condition called "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" (PTSD) caused by traumas he experienced in his childhood. After all, de scarrink on his face caused his mother to reject him from birth and as an infant place him vit' foster parents who raised him. Dat alone is most tragic...but eventually, vhen his foster father died, his foster mother even turned him over to a carnival at nine years of age. Tragically, he vas put on display for almost five months. He told me dat he vore a filthy hood over his head, and vhen a payink crowd vas gathered around his cage, he vas told to remove de hood for dem to see. If he refused to do so, he vas beaten. Ve certainly haff de plain proof of dose beatniks as can be seen by de diagram just submitted into de evidence. Dis level of both psychological abuse and physical abuse, to de level ve vould consider in our modern times to be _torture_, vould certainly cause trauma sufficient to haff great emotional impact on M Phantom, resultink in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His behaviors are in accord vit' dat syndrome."

"Could you explain what PTSD is?"

"Vell, dat condition has existed forevah. Soldiers who must fight in battle, good men who are put in de situation of killink or beink killed, suffer great emotional trauma from dat experience. De ancient Greeks even described de condition. But, it vas not formally recognized and named until 1980, after many years of psychologists vorking vit' veterans who came back from Viet Nam. In previous wars it had been called shell shock or battle fatigue, but finally, psychologists realized it vas a serious psychological condition caused by external events so traumatic dat many emotional problems vere caused." I watch the jury to see if this information is making an impact. Erik's hand has relaxed a little bit, and he seems to be keeping his feelings under control. Clearly the months of sessions with Dr Freuda have helped him not only understand, but also deal with this disorder.

"What type of emotional problems, Dr. Freuda?"

"A person vit' PTSD feels nervous, or depressed. Maybe dey vill tremble, even haff trouble breathink. Dey become fearful, or may even act out or become violent as a means to protect demselves. Dese symptoms happen vhen somethink happens vhich reminds dem of vhat caused de original trauma. People vit' PTSD can get very edgy and fearful. Dey can haff nightmares or flashbacks to de original happeninks. Dey desperately vant to avoid reminders of de shock, even to de point of feelink numb, or actink to protect demselves, or even actink violently out of feelinks dat dere survival is threatened. Dis is quite a common problem and about five percent of people in America are diagnosed vit' dis condition. Half of de people can be cured in six months...Dose are de less serious cases. De serious cases such as vit' M Phantom may last for decades, or as in de case of many Viet Nam and war veterans, may never go avay."

Counselor Sebbied shakes her head and turns to look at Erik, "Have you observed those reactions happening in M Phantom, Dr. Freuda?"

"Yes! It is clear from de counselink vhich I haff done vit' him dat he reacts quite emotionally to any event vhich is similar to his childhood traumas. But, ve are vorkink on dat using meditation exercises so dat he can relax and remain calm vhen somethink happens. He is doink very vell. He is a very intelligent and sensitive man and is tryink very hard to put all dat behind him." Dr Freuda turns to Erik and smiles warmly.

"Dr Freuda, you testified that a person with this syndrome might become violent. In your professional opinion based on the findings of your extensive testing, does the defendant's occasional violent behavior result from PTSD, or does he have the psychological profile of someone who has some other disorder, such as multiple personality disorder, or is sociopathic or psychopathic?" Erik's hand again clutches mine. This question has come as a surprise to him, but it was necessary to address the issue.

"Ach, no. In de case of multiple personality disorder, de person does not remember from one personality to de next vhat happened. However, M. Phantom remembers everythink dat happened. He does not haff such personality blackouts vhich are characteristic of de syndrome." Freuda pauses now and looks at Erik to emphasize her next words, "People vit' sociopathic or psychopathic tendencies haff no conscience about vhat dey haff done. Dey haff no ability to relate to or haff compassion toward other people. Dat is absolutely not de case for M Phantom. Indeed, I find his behaviors, as vell as de results of all de psychiatric tests vhich I administered, to prove de opposite. Despite de cruel treatment he suffered as a child before he came to live at de Opera Populaire, he created a home for himself, taught himself many complex and productive skills, and vas able to nurture an orphan child for many years. Furdermore, he bonded vit' Mme Giry, helpink her in her times of need, and even protectink the odder vomen in de opera house from unwanted advances or attacks from odder men. And, in all dose years he never took advantage of any of de women in de opera house. All dose behaviors show a very high level of self-control, a very developed conscience in relationship vit' others, and a very highly functional behavior pattern. Indeed, accordink to the IQ tests administered, he is a genius! My evaluation concludes dat he is a very sensitive and creative man, and his emotional actink out can only be explained by PTSD. It simply does not fit odder psychological disorders."

"Could you please tell us what circumstances—what triggers—would cause M. Phantom to become violent and bring on his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Vell certainly. In de case of M Phantom, dat vould be anythink dat triggers de memory of de original abuse, a beatink or incarceration, or havink his mask removed vithout his consent!"

"So, during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, when his mask was removed in front of a audience, like that which gathered around his cage, would that have triggered M Phantom's PTSD?"

"Yes, it most certainly vould haff!"

"So, what would his reaction be?"

"Vhen PTSD is triggered, de person is relivink his original abuse. He vould derefore strike out in self-defense to protect himself, and he vould flee to get avay vrom de perceived abuse, vhich is exactly vhat he did."

"So, you would describe M Phantom's actions in response to his unmasking during Don Juan as a PTSD reaction which lead to temporary insanity?"

"Yes, in my professional opinion and evaluation, dat is exactly vhat occurred!" Freuda nods her head with complete confidence.

Counselor Sebbied smiles, looks at the jurors, and announces, "No further questions!!"

The Judge raps the gavel and announces a lunch break, recessing the court. I let out a sigh of relief, and look up at Erik. He is sitting totally still, as if deep in thought, digesting all that he has heard, his hand still holding mine firmly, underneath the table. After a minute he gently releases it and stands up, still avoiding my gaze, as he methodically gathers his cloak, then obtains my crutches from Bailiff George. He seems in a world of his own, almost oblivious to the rumble of the chattering spectators who already busily debate the information that they heard this morning in court. He ignores the quizzical stares of the prosecutors, as well as the still teary-eyed glances of the departing jurors. Instead, he tends to me, helps me to my feet and hands me the crutches. But all the while I can tell he is not here. His mind is somewhere else entirely, trying to ignore his frayed emotions and his utterly exposed scars.

Just as Erik begins to escort me out of the courtroom, my gaze falls on Christine. She is standing in front of her chair in the spectator's section, motionless and staring at Erik. Reflected on her face is a look of shocked amazement. I swallow hard, _wondering_….

_Erik's POV:_

I stare down at the defense table in front of me. Lunch is already over, and I have very few recollections of what happened. I remember Laura sitting next to me and placing food in front of me. I remember cutting the meat into small slices, but I don't really remember what the meat was or how it tasted. I do not recall the conversation at lunch, or exactly who else was there except for Laura whose voice I did hear.

Everything seemed like a dream, and I was somewhere else, out of time, out of body, floating in the past, remembering my face and all the times I hid it, covered it, or disguised it with masks. And, all the times I was beaten, and the old gypsy women who tended my painful wounds. I had always hidden those scars, too, beneath the most elegant clothing I could afford. Today, all that was uncovered, in diagrams and graphic explanations. And, the emotional scars, too. Disclosed, dissected. And, yet, something else had happened. I had heard no cries of horror at any of it…I had seen only tears of shock, sympathy and sadness. And, strangely, in the midst of it all, with all eyes drawn to me, I felt no hatred or rejection. I felt compassion and understanding from everyone, especially Laura.

I contemplate these contradictory feelings. On the one hand my old desire to flee, to disappear into the protection of darkness and not be seen, and on the other, the realization that I was seen…all that I had most struggled to hide…was seen in the light of day, and there had been no derision…no ridicule. Have people changed that much since my lifetime? Have these people become more caring and accepting of those who are scarred…who are different? I want to believe that is true. I now feel Laura's small hand between both of mine, held on my lap under the defense table, and my fingertips follow the indentations of fine patterns in her palm, wondering, always wondering, what the gypsy woman would have said, what she could have told me about our fate from the lines that crisscross Laura's hand. I long to know. I _need_ to know.

I am suddenly brought out of my reverie and into the bright, blaring light of the courtroom by the bailiff's announcement to stand for the Judge. I release Laura's hand reluctantly and rise in respect of the Judge. She indeed has been a fair, a kind, judge, and I never resent standing when she comes in to the courtroom. I hold Laura's arm to steady her as she also rises from her chair. As we take our seats, Laura and I exchange glances as she communicates wordlessly to me to remain calm during the cross examination, which I know will be done by Mr. Broadbent.

As Freuda is escorted into the courtroom and seated, Broadbent slowly raises his hefty bulk out of his chair with a sigh for the required effort and walks toward the witness box like a prowling bulldog. I have a distinct feeling he has met his nemesis in Freuda. ++

"Dr. Angst, you indicated that you did not perform a physical examination of the defendant, is that correct?" he begins simply enough.

"Dat is correct!" she smiles benignly.

"So you personally have not prepared any medical records in this case with regard to the defendant's physical condition?" Broadbent quickly gets to his point.

"No, I haff not prepared any, but I haff reviewed thoroughly de medical records prepared by de physicians who examined M Phantom vhile he vas hospitalized for his injuries," Freuda responds confidently.

"So, your opinion regarding the defendant's scarring on his face and his back is not based on your personal observation of the defendant's physical condition?"

"Dey are based on de medical records vhich clearly demonstrate M Phantom has permanent scarrink on de right side of his face and severe scarrink on his back," she answers unequivocally.

With a snide, disbelieving tone, Broadbent asks, "The medical records that you use for the basis of your opinions simply state what the defendant's physical injuries were when he was brought into the hospital. In other words, do the records give any cause for how the defendant's physical injuries occurred?"

"Vell, it is clear from de acute, recent injuries dat M Phantom sustained, dey could only be caused as a result of beink beaten by his captors vhen incarcerated in de prison cell from vhich he vas rescued." She says with equal disdain for his attitude.

"You've indicated in your direct testimony that you specialize in tropical medicine and hygiene. This branch of medicine involves finding cures for certain viral and parasitic diseases of the tropics, for instance malaria, and various other infectious microbial diseases. Am I correct in my definition?"

"Yes, generally speakink dat is vhat dis area of medicine is focused on, but it is much more involved dan dat."

"So wouldn't it be fair to say the types of injuries that the defendant has allegedly sustained are those that you really don't see and deal with on a regular basis, given your practice area?" he asks with a condescending arch of his eyebrows.

"Dat is not my only area of specialization. I obtained my specialized certification in dat field and early in my career spent five years in Kenya as a doctor in a small hospital vere I treated every kind of medical condition and learned dat many chronic illnesses are caused by vitamin and mineral deficiencies. Vhen I returned from Africa, I obtained my degree in psychiatry. Although de tropical medicine has always continued as an interest of mine, it is no longer my main area of specialization. De study and treatment of PTSD has been my main specialty now for fifteen years."

"But you do not see those types of physical injuries on a regular basis, isn't that true?"

"I did in Africa…I treated many trauma wounds, and haff seen scars from whippinks. But, no, I do not see dem in my current practice," Freuda responds with assurance.

"With regard to the diagram of the defendant's back, you testified that you did not prepare that diagram. The document was prepared by someone else is that correct?"

"Yes, dat is correct."

"And again you did not perform any medical exams of the defendant so you did not personally observe the purported scarring on the defendant's back, correct?" Broadbent seems to be pleased with the direction that he is taking with his questions.

"No, I haff not personally seen de scarrink on M Phantom's back."

I shift angrily in my chair when I see Broadbent's cynical smile as he presses this point, "With regard to the determination that the defendant has scarring on his back, the medical records do not indicate the age of the alleged scars, do they not?"

"No, but M. Phantom told me he vas beaten in de carnival vhen he refused to remove his mask and de severe beatinks as a child left him vith dose permanent scars."

"Can a definite medical determination be made that they occurred during the defendant's childhood and not at a later date?" He knows the answer and turns to the jury to emphasize his questions.

"No, medicine cannot make an absolute determination about de age of a person vhen such scarrink occurred. However, I believe M Phantom vhen he told me about his tragic childhood and de cause of dose horrible scars," Freuda says with a feigned look of surprise that Mr. Broadbent could question that issue in any manner. I am shocked. I did not know that Freuda had such a dramatic flare.

I can sense the irritation in his voice as Broadbent continues, "Aren't you relying on a diagram prepared by someone else, which may not be an accurate representation of what the defendant's back looks like, especially since you've testified you have not seen the defendant's alleged scaring?"

"The diagram vas prepared by doctors who examined him in de hospital, and dere original medical notes are signed by dem and verified by a declaration vhich attests dat de diagram accurately illustrates de scarrink on M Phantom's back and dat de pattern of scars clearly demonstrate dey vere caused by vhip lashes."

"Then your statement that the alleged scars was caused by a whip is based solely on a drawing of line patterns on a page, not your own physical observation, not from a photo, and not from some document showing the actual physical characteristics like the discoloration of skin or raised skin?"

"Vell, in fact, I haff seen several photos of de scars vhich de examinink physician took durink dere examination, so I haff seen very clear pictures of de exact nature, extent of injury and coloration. In fact, I can testify dat de diagram vhich vas submitted today does not even demonstrate de full seriousness of de scarrink," Freuda says with an intensity to her voice and a steady gaze at the jurors. I flinch when I learn this. I did not know that pictures were taken or that Freuda had seen the actual scars. I realize that must have happened when I was first brought from the past and unconscious for a couple days.

Broadbent walks back to his desk and picks up a different file. The grimace on his face indicates he is not pleased with the way the testimony is going. Laura squeezes my hand and gives me a supportive look.

"With regard to your testimony concerning the emotional symptoms of PTSD, isn't it true that many of the symptoms you have testified about in your direct testimony, such as nervousness, depression, fearfulness, and violence that occur in PTSD also occur in other psychological disorders as well?"

"Yes, dat is true. Many disorders share similar symptoms. Dat is vhy a diagnosis must be made very carefully and by a professional. It is de combination of a number of symptoms dat distinguishes one psychological condition from anodder. For example, vit' M Phantom, he does not haff many of de critical symptoms dat would indicate a diagnosis of multiple personality disorder, sociopathy or psychopathology. His syndromes and behavior and history, however, do perfectly coincide vit' PTSD vhere external events vill trigger de person's emotional reaction and symptoms."

Broadbent frowns at Freuda's answer, and tries another approach. "Regarding psychological tests, isn't it easy for an individual to lie about their emotional state or to lie about events that are alleged to trigger PTSD in answering test questions which are asked to determine whether an individual is suffering from PTSD?"

"A psychiatric evaluation is based on testing as vell as interviews and observations by de psychiatrist. De psychiatric tests are specifically geared to detect if a person is lyink. And, I haff practiced in de field of psychiatry for over 30 years and haff treated countless numbers of patients vit' PTSD. Through my experience in dealink vit' many different types of people, I am able to distinguish vhether a patient is lyink or fakink their emotional state, and vhen de patient is beink truthful."

"But if that were to happen—if an individual were to lie about the triggering event alleged to cause PTSD, wouldn't your testing results that the individual has PTSD be invalid?"

"Yes, dat vould be de case,_ if _de person lied and a triggerink event did not actually occur." Freuda again dances around Broadbent's question. This is beginning to look like a fencing match, with one person thrusting for the other's weakness, only to be repelled by a skillful parry.

"Are you not solely relying on information the defendant has provided to you about his childhood, without any independent verification of those events of your own, to base your conclusions that the defendant suffers from PTSD?"

"No, I am not solely relyink on information given me by M Phantom about his childhood or his history. I haff historical accounts verifyink some of de triggerink events, but most importantly, I spent one week vit' Mme Giry who had known him for twenty-five years. Ve had many conversations durink dat time, and she told me everythink she knew about M Phantom, verifyink all dat he had previously told me. She, indeed, vitnessed his beink cruelly displayed in de cage and saw him beaten just before he escaped. She told me of seeink de scars on his back vithin a veek after meetink him. Clearly de scars existed by de time he vas nine years old, vhich is vhen she met him. Even though I had all my conversations vit' her in private, and M Phantom vas never present, she related to me de same information, from her point of view, of course, as M Phantom had told me durink his many consultations. So, yes, I haff verification vhich is independent from M. Phantom's statements."

Broadbent is beginning to glower, and his face is turning an unbecoming shade of red. Clearly this is not going as well as he hoped. "You also indicated that a person who suffers from PTSD reacts emotionally to events similar to their traumas. Thus, a person's reaction is rather spontaneous, correct?"

"Yes dat is true!"

"And you indicated that when PTSD is triggered, the person's spontaneous reaction would be to strike out in self-defense to the perceived abuse and flee, correct?"

"Yes, dat especially occurs vhen de original abuse vas very traumatic, and de person is tryink to flee from it happenink again."

"You have testified that your testing also indicated that the defendant has a high level of intelligence, that he is a genius. In your opinion, would this also suggest to you that the defendant is very capable of planning out his actions because of his genius?"

"As I said, he has demonstrated a highly functional behavioral pattern in his relationship vit' odders and is very skilled and creative, and his IQ shows he is a genius."

"And are you aware that there has been testimony indicating that the defendant planned his performance of Don Juan Triumphant in order to win the love of Mlle Daae?"

"Yes I am."

"And there has been testimony that regarding the night of Don Juan Triumphant, the defendant was fully aware of the Vicomte's plan to capture him, fully aware of the police presence inside the Opera House, and he knew that Mlle Daae would be used to expose his identity as part of this plan. When Mlle Daae went through with the Vicomte's plan and unmasked the defendant on stage, the defendant proceeded to crash the chandelier because he saw police proceeding to the stage to arrest him, and he needed a distraction to elude them. So it would appear that the defendant's crashing of the chandelier was part of his planning to elude police capture, and not a reaction to his unmasking. In your opinion, isn't the defendant's own planning of his escape in Don Juan Triumphant inconsistent with PTSD response that is spontaneous?" ++

"Objection!" Counselor Sebbied is suddenly standing, and her voice cuts through the courtroom, bringing everything to a halt. "Your Honor, the question proposes facts NOT in evidence. The question assumes that M Phantom knew in advance that the gendarmes would be in the theater during the Don Juan Triumphant performance. However, the testimony of Mme Giry on that point was very clear that she warned M Phantom about a plot by the Vicomte and the managers, but she did NOT testify that she warned him of the gendarmes. Let me read from the court reporter's transcript of her testimony regarding that issue:"

_Answer: 'Eet was clear zhat M Phantom onlee cut zee rope to breeng down zee chandelier when he saw zee gendarmes beginneeng to raise zhere guns to shoot. Had zhey shot eenside zee close space of zee theater, other innocent people could have been injured or killed…especially Christine who was standeeng so close to heem. But zee gendarmes deed not fire zheir guns because zee falleeng chandelier deestracted zhem. So, people were onlee hurt when zhey could not get out zee locked doors. It was a stupeed plan!'_

Counselor Sebbied looks up and presses home her point: "Then, when questioned further, Mme Giry clearly said she warned M. Phantom of the plot to capture him, but NEVER did she say that she told him about the possibility that gendarmes would be in the theater, and indeed, she made clear that he did NOT know that the doors would be locked. Here are her statements on those points:"

_Answer: 'M Phantom never eentended to hurt anyone, and he deed not know zee doors were locked, nor deed he have aneetheeng to do weeth zhat dangerous decision!' _

_Question: 'But did you not warn M Phantom about the plan to capture him once you learned of the trap that was being set'_

_Answer: 'Oui. I deed tell him.'_

Counselor Sebbied looks up at the Judge and continues her argument, "It is clear from Mme Giry's testimony that M Phantom knew there was a plot to capture him, but he did NOT know of the details of the plot, including that gendarmes would be present UNTIL he was actually on stage and saw them. The transcript of Mme Giry's testimony further states:"

_Question: "During the performance, did M Phantom appear to be aware of the presence of the armed gendarmes?' _

_Answer: "'Oui, how could he not. Zhey were everywhere ready to trap heem like an aneemal.'_

Counselor Sebbied puts the transcript down on the table and emphatically addresses the Judge, "Your Honor, the additional allegation in the question that 'the defendant was FULLY AWARE of the Vicomte's plan to capture him,' is also a misstatement of the testimony. Mme Giry testified that she warned M Phantom of a plot to capture him, but she did NOT testify that she told him all the specifics of the plot, and it is clear from her testimony that he did not know about the gendarmes in advance of the performance or that the doors would be locked. " Counselor Sebbied pursues her point unrelentingly, "Therefore, the question posed does not accurately reflect the facts or testimony in evidence, and I ask that it be stricken or rephrased."

"Because the question clearly is not in accord with previous evidence and testimony, the question is stricken," the Judge looks over at Freuda and adds, "and you are directed NOT to answer the question." Laura again squeezes my hand underneath the table and gives me an encouraging smile. ++

Broadbent shakes his head in disbelief, causing his jowl to swing uncontrollably back and forth like a huge walrus. He runs his hand through his hair above his rapidly flushing face, looks at Freuda and begins again, "The evidence presented indicates that the Defendant had a knife in his boot which he used to cut the rope and bring down the chandelier during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant. In your opinion, isn't the defendant's having a knife available to cut the chandelier proof of his planning in advance his escape during Don Juan Triumphant and therefore inconsistent with a PTSD response that is spontaneous?"

"No, dat is not necessarily true because Mlle Daae's unmaskink of M Phantom vithout his consent vas a very traumatic experience for him. It vas like relivink de abuse dat he experienced vhile beink on display in a cage. He vas very clearly traumatized dat Mlle Daae vould unmask him, especially vhen she saw his reaction de first time she did dat vithout his consent. At dat very moment, de gendarmes began to move toward him and threaten him vit' their guns. In my professional opinion, dose two events are triggers for his PTSD and his reaction to cut de chandelier and use de trapdoor are consistent vit' someone who suffers from PTSD and is respondink to a triggerink event," Freuda answers with totally confidence and authority.

"And there also has been testimony that the defendant did more than just flee himself, upon crashing the chandelier, he took Mlle Daae without her consent. And then some time passed before the Vicomte arrived at the defendant's lair where words were exchanged and the defendant proceeded to tie the Vicomte to the portcullis, threatening to kill him if Mlle Daae did not choose him. In your opinion, couldn't the defendant's actions in his lair be attributable to the fact that the defendant was upset and angry that Mlle Daae would participate in a plan to capture him?"

"Objection!" Counselor Sebbied is again on her feet, causing Mr. Broadbent to turn around and give off an audible sigh of disgust. "Your Honor, there has been no evidence or testimony that at the time Mlle Daae and Vicomte deChagny were in the lair after the Don Juan Triumphant performance, that M Phantom knew at that time Mlle Daae had voluntarily participated in the plan to capture him!"

"Objection sustained," the Judge rules expeditiously.

Broadbent pauses to reconsider his question, clearly trying to reign in his temper, "Then, in your opinion, could the defendant's actions in the lair after Don Juan Triumphant have been the result of his being upset and angry at Mlle Daae?"

"Yes. Most certainly his behavior could indicate dat he vas upset and angry at Mlle Daae, because she had just unmasked him vithout his knowink dat vould happen, vithout his consent, and in de presence of hundreds of people. Dat most certainly vould haff been an action dat vould haff triggered his traumatic memories of beink unmasked in de gypsy cage in front of jeerink crowds and vould haff made him most upset and angry, vhich is a very typical symptom and reaction of PTSD!"

"So therefore, considering that the defendant was hurt and angry at Mlle Daae for not choosing him, and he was desperate to win her love, aren't there other motivating factors and circumstances not directly related to the defendant's unmasking, that need to be evaluated here for you to diagnose with any degree of scientific certainty that the defendant's actions on the night of Don Juan Triumphant simply be explained PTSD?"

"And, Mr. Broadbent, just vhat in your professional psychiatric opinion vould dose be?" I blink in surprise at Freuda's feisty belligerence. She seems to be like Antoinette…adept at answering irritating questions with a question of her own.

Broadbent sputters, causing his jowl to tremble and responds, "Well, I guess that would be that he was in a jealous rage over Mlle Daae not choosing him." ++

"Mr. Broadbent, de problem vit' dat assertion is dat M Phantom fled vhen he vas unmasked, acted vit' anger toward Christine and threatened de Vicomte deChagny at first, vhen he vas still under his PTSD reaction vhich had been triggered by beink unmasked and his own life endangered by de gendarmes. It vas exactly vhen Mlle Daae actually chose him and agreed to go vit' him dat he let both her and de Vicomte go unharmed. Dat clearly shows dat he vas not actink merely out of 'jealous rage' to obtain her acquiescence, or as soon as she gave it, he vould haff den immediately taken her from de lair, forced her to keep her commitment and vould haff left de Vicomte tied up, helpless to intervene. But, in fact, he did de opposite. He let dem both go free. Dat indicates dat he vas regainink his mental clarity and control back from de PTSD reaction. So, he, in fact, acted de opposite of vhat you just proposed, but exactly in accord vit' PTSD behavior. Based on my evaluations and my knowledge of de events of dat night, M Phantom's actions can't be attributable to anythink else other dan Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Studying his notes, Broadbent attempts to regain his composure and looks at Freuda with dismay. "One final question, Doctor, is there ANY physical or psychological condition of which you are aware that you have not yet disclosed in your testimony?"

"Vell, only one. A physical scar. A second birt'mark vhich he has other dan de scarrink on his face…He has a small crescent moon shaped mole on his left shoulder blade."

Freuda barely gets those words out of her mouth, and suddenly from the spectator's section, piercing words slice through the air of the courtroom, "Oh My God!" Laura and I, almost as one, instantly turn our heads toward the sound and spot a young woman several rows back, her face flushed red. As if unable to control herself, she looks directly at me and blurts out, "_You _ARE _the one_!"


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Well, there were only nine reviews today...but that is close enough!!**

**So, without further comment, here is a very special chapter in Erik's life...**

**Wishing each of you a very, merry holiday!!!**

**Chapter 30 PROVIDENCE, by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Friday, September 23, 2005_

_After Dr Freuda's Testimony_

_+ Zoe's POV_

Oh My God, he IS the one…… I really didn't' think that Dr Freuda's testimony would substantiate my feelings that M Phantom is actually _the one_. She had explained about the scars on his back, but nothing more, and that was when I felt the information that I sought would have been revealed. So, I am totally unprepared when that crucial fact comes out in the cross examination from a question posed by Mr. Broadbent. I am so taken aback, that I cannot stop myself from exclaiming loudly, "Oh My God…" in front of the whole courtroom. When I turn in my seat to look at M Phantom and see that he is looking at me, I speak directly to him in total awe, "You _are _the one!"

I can feel the flush rising up my face as the Judge sternly admonishes me for my behavior in her courtroom. I cannot believe what I have just done! I sit quietly, trying to ignore the stares of so many of the spectators, waiting with my heart pounding, until court is adjourned for the day.

But as soon as the courtroom begins to clear, I rush forward and catch Bailiff George's eye, waving him toward me. I am so glad that he is a family friend. He stops on the other side of the barrier and asks in a friendly, but curious voice, "Zoe, what were you thinking when you interrupted the trial like that? And what on earth did you mean?"

I am trying to figure out how to explain my behavior and how to answer his questions. Speaking softly so that I can't be overheard, I lean closer to George and whisper, "George, I know I must have sounded crazy, but it is imperative that I talk to M Phantom." I need to convince him that I am not just interested in meeting the devastatingly handsome M Phantom who has caused multitudes of ladies to thud during these last few weeks.

"I have something which is private and very important that I must show him that _cannot_ wait." I try to convey the urgency of this matter with my tone.

"Zoe, security is so tight on this case that I can definitely say that there is no chance whatsoever of YOUR meeting him." George answers firmly next to my ear and then adds, "Absolutely _no way_."

I had feared that might be the case, so I need to try a different approach. I glance over at Ms Counselor. I have watched her throughout the trial, and I hope that she will be more approachable. "Ok, George, would it be possible to talk to Ms Counselor? Maybe she can help me with this."

"Well, you might stand a better chance with her. But, Zoe, I can't just approach her out of the blue, and there not be questions. There has to be a damn good reason why you want to talk to her."

"George, you've known me for years, and you know I am not someone who would just ask a favor like this. This is very important. I am carrying something that must reach M Phantom as quickly as possible."

George eyes me warily and says, "Zoe, what are you carrying? The security here is…."

I know that the security is extremely tight around M Phantom at all times. Even I can see the extra security everywhere in the courtroom and, in fact, throughout the entire courthouse, but I press my point, "I understand that George, I know it is very tight, but I must get this to him."

"Zoe what exactly is 'this' that you are carrying?"

"It's a small wooden box, but it contains some things that he must have. In fact, it will have a great impact on his life. Please George!" I am now imploring him to help me.

Finally George relents, "OK, Zoe, this better be VERY important if I go out on a limb for you. You're asking me to put my job on the line here…"

"I promise George that M Phantom will want to know what I have for him." George stares at me for a very long minute. I think he is assessing my character from the years that he has known me and trying to reassure himself that I am _not _merely a fan or a madwoman.

"Ok, I am going to trust you on this," He finally says and turns and starts to walks away. But not toward Ms Counselor.

"Wait George," I hiss.

He turns back to me, "What?"

"I need to talk to her NOW before they leave the courtroom. " I once again try to impart to him the urgency with my voice. "I MUST talk to her NOW." I whisper loudly at him.

He sighs, "I can't promise anything Zoe but I will see what I can do." And then he turns and walks toward the defense table where everyone is standing and getting ready to leave.

I step back from the barrier and begin to nervously fidget with my oversized purse, watching his progress. I am also watching M Phantom, and I can feel my heart start to race. The butterflies gently swarm through my insides as I think about how it must feel to be close to him. Oh good grief, I have got to stop thinking like that, or I won't be able to mutter a coherent word IF I even get a chance to be in the same room with him!! I gently press my hand against the side of my purse for probably the hundredth time today to make sure my precious cargo is still there. Indeed, so precious that it may…no, it _will _change M Phantom's life.

Ms Counselor and M Phantom, along with Counselor Sebbied, are beginning to walk away from the defense table as George approaches them. I watch anxiously as he talks to Ms Counselor, and she takes a few steps aside with him to hear to what he has to say. Maybe she will listen to George because I know they are also friends. He is talking with her, and she looks around at me. I blush again and feel silly doing it, but that is the nature of my skin coloring, and I can never stop it from happening.

They talk for a few more minutes, and then Ms Counselor turns and speaks with one of the men who is always near M Phantom. That man then signals to two other men on the perimeter of the courtroom to approach, and he gives them orders to escort Ms. Counselor, M Phantom and Counselor Sebbied out of the courtroom. The man then turns my way and walks toward me, with George in tow. I can feel my cheeks still warm and pink from my blushing, but I make myself stand still and wait for them. The man doesn't appear to be very pleased as he approaches me and comes right to the point. "I am Jeremy Nichols. Why do you want to talk to Ms Counselor?"

I clear my throat knowing that I am speaking to someone in authority, "Well, actually I want to speak to M Phantom, but…uh…I…realize that may not be possible."

"What is this about?" Mr. Nichols demands curtly.

Gulping and trying not to show it, my mouth has gone totally dry, so I blurt out, "I have something very important to give to M Phantom."

"And what would that be?" He is all business, formal and unyielding, and for a moment he intimidates me, but I trudge forward, determined to get this done and deliver my precious cargo.

"Well I would prefer to tell M Phantom in private…."

He interrupts me, "That is not possible"

"Oh! Then, may I speak with Ms. Counselor?" Mr. Nichols looks at me for what seems like hours, and I feel like a bug under a microscope squished between two pieces of thin glass.

"You will have to go through additional security." He states unequivocally, trying to dissuade me. "And you will need to show me what is so important."

"Well…ok…yes…that's fine." I stumble over my words in relief.

George and Mr. Nichols take me through the door at the front of the courtroom and to a small room at the end of a long hallway. George stands and studies me while Mr. Nichols asks me more detailed questions concerning why I am asking for this meeting. I give him as little information as I can, but enough so that he can tell that my reason for being here is legitimate. Then he insists on examining my bag and checking out the item that I want to give to M Phantom. After I go through the necessary security measures, Mr. Nichols leaves the room, taking the box with him, and I am here alone, sitting anxiously at the conference table. Twenty-five minutes later, Mr. Nichols opens the door and approaches me, looking down with a friendly smile. This surprises me.

"Ms Grenville, I have examined the box and read the documents. I understand what you are trying to do, and I have recommended to M Phantom that he meet with you." Mr. Nichols again smiles at me, and I sigh with relief. "And, I feel that it is important that you should be the one to give him what you have brought. He has agreed to the meeting, and he and Ms Counselor will be here in a minute. However, I want to warn you, M Phantom does not know what this is about, and he is a little, uh…disconcerted by this situation. He may be a bit gruff at first. Just remember that he is not accustomed to receiving news such as you bear. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you?" I nod my head, but I am not certain I do know what he means.

Before I can ask further questions, _he_ enters, escorting Ms Counselor, supporting her on the side where she uses a cane. M Phantom glances at me only briefly as he passes and gives me a scowl, clearly signaling his suspicion of my intentions and _me_. I inhale sharply, my heart drops into my stomach as my eyes follow his dark, striking figure. I cannot believe that I am in the same room with him!

I watch as they walk around to the other side of the large conference table and sit down across from me. Mr. Nichols hands me back the box that I need to give M Phantom, and then takes a position, standing just behind me and to my right. Suddenly I find M Phantom's deep green eyes studying me, and my mind goes totally blank. I am not sure if I can even function, much less talk while I am the focus of his intense gaze. Then, I discover that I have forgotten how to speak or put sentences together, and I am not going to be able to say a word. Now the fear rises uneasily that I am going to sit here silent as a tree stump, and everyone is going to actually think that I _am_ mad. +

_Laura's POV:_

I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I heard the words, "You are the _one._" The look on Erik's face was unmistakable…anger. I knew what he was thinking: Who was she? What new charges would she bring against him? _What now?_

When the young woman then insisted on speaking with me that deepened my concern. Why was she trying to talk to us? Is she making accusations for something that Erik allegedly has done? Is she working for the PTB? What was her intention? Jeremy took over the situation, sending Erik and me to wait in the defense's conference room. Counselor Sebbied had to leave for another trial, and Russ and the two other security men waited outside the door to fend off any reporters or unwanted intrusions and to give us a few minutes of privacy.

Now, I sit here, watching Erik pace back and forth, from the window to me, then back again. "Erik, please sit down," I suggest, feeling frustrated, not knowing what this is about, and hoping Jeremy will bring us good news. "She seemed to be a nice young woman. I can't believe this will be anything serious. Perhaps she just wants to speak with you because she is an admirer!"

"Then why did she say I was '_the one_?' Erik looks at me with his eyebrows low, almost flat over his eye, in suspicion and worry.

"I do not know why, Erik. I wish I did," I answer, feeling helpless and not liking that feeling at all.

"I remember the lady I met in the stairwell of the courthouse and how she fainted," he turns and starts pacing again. "Then she was on television practically accusing me of the murder! And you heard the comments from the people behind us in the courtroom suggesting that I might have….have…" he cannot finish the sentence. We both remember what was implied about him.

I watch the clock. Time seems to be passing very slowly. After fifteen minutes, Erik is still pacing and his anger seems to be mounting. Not a good sign. I wish Jeremy would come through that door and tell us what he has learned. Just then, Jeremy enters with a burst of energy and uncharacteristically excited, unlike his usual calm and contained demeanor.

I stand up, hopeful that the news is good, but Erik greets Jeremy with a scowl, "Well, what was it? What is she accusing me of? What does she want?" Erik whips out his unrelenting questions.

"Erik, I have interviewed her and run a security check on her. Her name is Ms Grenville, and she knows Bailiff Henderson. She has something for you, Erik. I checked that out, too. Took it to the security office to make certain it had nothing toxic on it, and looked through it thoroughly."

Erik studies Jeremy intensely and impatiently asks in an irritated voice, "Well, what did you find?"

Jeremy gives Erik a smile, "Erik, she has documents that are in French. I have read them and feel certain that you would want to see them for yourself. They seem to be authentic, and I do think you should speak to this young woman."

"Jeremy, just show them to me! Just tell me what they are!" Erik demands.

"This woman has a very special story to tell you, and after what she and her family have done, they deserve to be the ones who present these documents to you. They have most certainly earned that right!" Jeremy insists, but Erik is confused by this strange assertion. I am searching my mind, trying to figure out what this could be about. Documents in French…surely they concern Erik in some manner, but how?

"Must I really do this, Jeremy? Can she not just leave the documents here for me to look at?" Erik persists in his attempts to avoid a meeting with this mysterious young woman.

"No, Erik. I think it is only appropriate that she gives these to you personally," Jeremy is adamant.

Erik looks at me, and I give him my assent with a supportive nod, "I trust Jeremy's judgment, Erik. I am sure he has a good reason for his recommendation."

"Well, then, Laura, only if you accompany me," Erik's eyes reflect deep suspicion, and I can sense his coiled tension, as if he is prepared to protect himself from some unknown threat.

"Of course, I will," I smile in response and stand, "Jeremy, please hand me my cane. I can use it for the short walk." As soon as Jeremy gives it to me, he excuses himself and says he will let the young woman know that we are coming, and to give him a minute or two with her.

Erik holds my arm, supporting my weight on the side of my injured ankle as we enter the room. When we walk around the table to sit down across from Ms. Grenville, I see her eyes following Erik, and I have to smile as I see the effect that he is having on her. She is clearly awestruck, and I hope she does not thud.

I smile at the young woman, trying to make her feel more comfortable. Glancing at Erik to assess his mood, I realize that his expression has turned brooding and is very likely to be intimidating to someone who doesn't know him. When we sit and wait for her to speak, she seems unable to say anything. So, I try to ease her into telling us what this is all about. "It is very nice to meet you, Ms. Grenville. May we ask your first name?" +

"Uh…of course, Ms Counselor, my name is Zoe…Zoe Grenville," she says with an embarrassed wobble in her voice.

"Why have you asked to talk to us, Zoe?" I ask with a comforting smile.

Zoe remains silent for many minutes, during which I can see her struggling bravely to pull herself together. "Well…." Zoe clears her throat and glances nervously at Erik.

"Uhhmm… my story really begins in the 1830's in Paris with my great-great Grandmeme." She says this hesitantly and very softly but then seems to get her courage back and continues in a stronger voice,

"She was a personal maid but also a dear friend for many years to a lady who gave birth to a son in 1836."

I see Erik's back straighten, and he shifts in his chair, leaning forward slightly giving Zoe his complete attention. Suddenly Erik's hand reaches for mine under the table, and he laces his fingers between mine.

Zoe continues in her soft voice, looking from me to Erik and back to me as if she will loose her nerve again if she lingers on Erik too long. "The child had a birthmark on the right side of his face, and the lady was told that the child died the night of his birth."

With these words he tightens his grip on my hand. I can feel the tension and anticipation in his body.

Zoe glances at Erik, and I can see her eyes soften in compassion. "But he hadn't. The lady actually stumbled onto the truth a few years later, but she was told that the child was gone and lost to her forever. Her husband forbade her to try to find him. She went against his wishes though and searched secretly for many years afterwards, many times asking my great-great Grandmeme to help. In 1871 the lady and her family fled Paris at the beginning of the Paris Commune, going to Spain. My great-great Grandmeme stayed behind to help pack and in the confusion she was separated from the lady and never saw or heard from her again. These times were very turbulent." She quickly glances up at Erik, "But, I guess you would know that though." I can see the blush return to her cheeks.

She looks briefly down at her hands and then up again at Erik as she continues telling her story to him, now with more confidence, "There had been a small wooden box containing some personal items left behind with some of the lady's personal belongings that had not gone with the family in their haste. When my Grandmeme opened it, she knew from the contents that she must keep them safe and try to find the child that they were meant for. She searched all of her life hoping to find her son and give him this box and the information that it contains. This became a heartrending tale that has been told to each of us in our family as children. We grew up on this story, always feeling compassion for the mother and her lost son. My own Meme told me the story and showed me the contents of the box. So, it has been passed down through my family, generation to generation until it came to me. And that is how I now have this box in my possession."

Hesitating for a brief moment as if remembering what she had found in this box when it was her turn to open it, Zoe continues her story. "Then my Meme and I heard about your trial a few months ago," she is looking at Erik and smiling now, "we wondered because of your face…" Zoe stops abruptly and looks apologetic at Erik and then proceeds, "…uh…we wondered if you could possibly be the one for whom this box was intended. But we had to know for sure."

"Bailiff George is a close family friend, and so I asked him if he could get me into the trial. I have been here each week hoping that information would be revealed that would help me decide if you were the one….."

Zoe again hesitates as if remembering, "I have heard so much, especially from Mme Giry, that led me to believe you are the lost son, but I knew there was one fact that was undeniable proof. I didn't think it would come out in the trial since we are close to the end now, and I have heard no reference to it at all. My greatest hope was a medical doctor or someone who was close to you like Mme Giry who may speak these words…reveal this fact. It was only at the end of Dr Freuda's testimony, in fact, during the cross examination, that I unexpectedly heard what I had been waiting for. The undeniable proof. And that is your birthmark of a crescent-shaped mole on your left shoulder blade. It is a birthmark that appears only every other generation in your family," she says this softly, looking directly into Erik's eyes. "And, uhhh…that was why I blurted out what I did in the courtroom." She looks embarrassed, blushes again, gives Erik a small apologetic smile and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't quite mean to do it the way I did." I glance at Erik and notice that he is now giving Zoe an understanding smile.

Zoe returns his smile with obvious relief, intently studying his face. Then, her eyes glistening with emotion, she confidently holds the box out to Erik, "I believe that this belongs to you…."

I release Erik's hand that I have been holding under the table so that he is able to reach out and take the box Zoe offers him. Erik glances over at me as if conflicted by what he may find out, but I give him an encouraging smile.

The box has a beautiful rose engraved on the top--a five-petal red rose made of ivory and imbedded into beautifully polished rosewood. Erik runs his hands over the rose and hesitates for a moment as he studies it, deep in thought. When Erik opens the box, we can see an envelope on the top, which he almost reverently touches as he removes it. Turning the envelope over, a crumbling red wax seal is visible. As Zoe said, the envelope has been opened many times throughout the years and age has taken its toll on the wax. When Erik lifts the envelope, I also see that there is a slim black book, possibly a diary, and a blue velvet bag tucked underneath. A faint scent of lavender and rose floats up from the box.

When Erik opens the flap on the envelope and pulls the parchment paper out, another envelope falls to the table, but he doesn't pay any attention to it. Instead, he is totally engrossed in the paper in his hand, and I can see his hands tremble as he reads.

The room remains silent as Erik finishes the letter, and the only sound that disturbs the air is the crinkling of the ancient, dry paper as he refolds it. He turns to me, and I see tears and raw emotion in his beautiful emerald eyes. I reach out and take his hand in mine wondering what he has just read. He sits for another moment trying to regain his composure. Finally he turns and addresses Zoe, "Thank you Mademoiselle, for carrying out your charge. I am forever grateful to you and your family," Erik says in his deep voice, now strained with emotion. After a pause, he adds, "But would you please allow us a few minutes in private?"

Understanding pouring from her eyes, Zoe softly answers, "Of course." She turns to Jeremy, and he indicates that she should follow him as they quickly leave the room.

I sit quietly, breathlessly, waiting for Erik to speak. Instead he unfolds the paper and hands it to me. I look at it but it is in French, "I am sorry, Erik, I cannot read French well."

He smiles wanly at me and replies, "Of course, I will read it to you."

Translating slowly, carefully, his voice strains with emotion, "My dearest son," my eyes fly to his face, and I can see the intense feelings reflecting there from these three words.

After a pause, he reads on, "I pray that this missive has reached you, and you are holding it in your hands at this very moment."

"I also pray that I am the one to deliver it to you, and that I have held you in my arms before I handed it to you to read." Erik's voice is deep and raspy, and I am not sure if he will be able to continue.

But he does. "I was deceived the night that you were born. "

"Erik…." I begin as my heart is also filled with emotion. But he turns to me and implores me with his eyes to just listen so that he will be able to get through this.

"You were taken from me in the dark of the night because of the birthmark on your face." I can feel the sting of tears in my own eyes.

"The family could not bear the weight of having a child held up to public ridicule." I search his face and see only agony on his handsome features. "I had known nothing of it." His mother's words seem to beg his forgiveness.

"I was told that you had died the night of your birth." He hesitates over the next sentence before he translates it for me. "I mourned for you and felt that my heart had been ripped from my chest." Erik is trying to maintain control of his feelings, and I look down so that he doesn't see my tears.

"It was nearly two years before I stumbled upon the truth and how I discovered what happened is not worth the telling here." He closes his eyes for a moment and then goes on.

"I have searched for you to no avail for six years now, and I despair of ever finding you." He takes a deep breath but continues his translation.

"I just pray that you are safe and sound." In response to this passage, he looks up at me and smiles in a bitter, self-deprecating way.

"If this letter should ever find you, please forgive me for not holding you more securely to me and never letting go." He is struggling with his feelings once more but I am elated to learn that he was not forgotten and cast away by his mother.

"I want you to know that I loved you from the first moment I knew I was _enceinte_…." Erik stops and tries to think of how to translate. He finally finds the words and looks deeply into my eyes as he says, "She means with child." I nod, and then he returns to the letter. "My love knew no bounds when I first held you in my arms, and I have never stopped loving you. You will be in my heart until the day that I die. "

Erik stops here and groans out his words to me, and my heart is joyous and sad at the same time. "Laura, she loved me….my mother loved me even though I…my...face…" I turn in my chair and put my arms around him, and he pulls me closer to him. I can feel his body tremble with the raw overwhelming feelings that are racing through him, and I start to weep. He finally leans back and almost in a whisper says, "There is more."

"My mother then says, 'I pray that you had a kind mother and father who loved and nurtured you as you grew.'" His tears are running down his cheeks now, and his voice is hoarse as he reads the next line to me. "This is my only consoling thought each night as I fall asleep." I pull his head down onto my shoulder and embrace him as tightly as I can around his neck, cradling and rocking him in my arms. We sit like this for endless minutes, and I know that Erik is trying to absorb all that is happening. Finally he continues reading in a tired, emotionally exhausted voice.

"But your birthright has been cruelly taken from you, and I want to set matters to right, if that is possible. That is why I am writing this letter and enclosing the documents that I have in the hope, God willing, they will somehow find their way into your hands."

Erik reaches out and gently touches the signature on the aged parchment as he says, "And it is signed, 'Your loving mother.'" I can read the signature underneath and am not surprised.

I do not say a word and just hold Erik. I glance out the window, noticing the spectacular color of autumn on this beautiful clear September afternoon. An afternoon that has shaken the foundation of Erik's entire life and existence.

Erik startles me when he says as if he is thinking aloud, "My mother...my mother…such strange words. And she loved me! Me! _She did love me_. Laura," then he pauses as he searches my eyes, trying to express his raw emotions, "I want to weep with joy. Those many years when I was desperate for someone to love me…when I was with my foster parents, and then when I was sold to the gypsies. And later in the Opera house, existing in the darkness…"

"It could have all been so different…" Erik shakes his head and then looks down at the table. After a slight hesitation, he picks up the other envelope and pulls out its contents. This envelope contains several pages, and they appear to be legal documents.

As Erik scans though them, I recognize a birth certificate and several letters signed by witnesses that must be testimonials of fact, since some have seals at the bottom. "Erik, I don't know the exact nature of these documents but they appear to be official."

"Yes, this is my birth certificate," and then he shows me another letter, "This validates my parent's marriage and the church where the service was performed along with a copy of the marriage certificate signed by the priest. There is a letter from the attending physician at my birth." I am transfixed, and my mind is racing quite ahead of myself. He will be able to prove who he is. Now Erik knows his real name.

He lays all the documents on the table and reaches for the slim black volume that rests on the bottom of the box. "Is that a personal diary, Erik?" I ask in amazement at this treasure trove, which the small wooden box contained. He thumbs through it, and replies, "It appears to be my mother's personal diary of thoughts about me. I will read it later. Everyone is still waiting outside."

And then his hand reaches for the last item in the box, a small blue velvet bag. As Erik lifts the bag out of its container, it sags with the weight of something heavy. He opens the bag with nervous fingers, untying the cord with difficulty. As Erik turns it over into his hand, a ring slides out. He gasps as he looks down into the palm of his hand at a gold ring with a large embossed family crest… +

_Saturday, September 24, 2005, 4:30 p.m._

_Winding road, near Washington coast_

_Jeremy's POV:_

Keeping up with Laura is a challenge. Following her Corvette as best I can is giving me some sympathy for Matt totally losing her when he followed her back from the coast that day when she raced to help with Erik's torturous mood after the Christine testimony. I shudder slightly as I contemplate that Christine will be called again next Friday to testify. I have a gut feeling that will be a very, very, long day.

As we wind around the forested road, I concentrate on keeping the Corvette ahead within sight and wonder if Laura missed her calling as a racecar driver. And, of course, Erik is in the car with her, and he is my charge. I am supposed to keep him safe which is never an easy task under normal circumstances. He doesn't like my hovering presence, occasionally disappearing for hours, and I cannot find him in his room or anywhere on the grounds of Horatio's house. I have not yet figured out where he goes when he does this, but he will suddenly show up with an unrepentant smirk. We never discuss this. I have a gut feeling about that, too, that it would be futile to ask him.

"Jeremy, are you sure this was a good idea? Arranging this dinner so far away from Horatio's home?" Matt's worried voice intrudes and brings me back from my distracted musings.

"Well, Erik insisted. He wanted a special dinner with Laura to celebrate, and he wouldn't give me ANY peace at all until I agreed and made the arrangements. Apparently, the Admiral's Japanese garden was just not good enough. And, well, we can't exactly call the local eatery and say, reservations for two for the Phantom of the Opera, now, can we?" I give a frustrated grimace, "There is no way we can provide security at a public restaurant. He even wanted to take her to an opera that just opened, and, of course, that was totally out. So, I called Horatio and asked for his help. He referred me to the Admiral who made a call to one of the patrons of The Program, and so this was arranged. This patron has a secluded and security protected estate with a house on a hill, an ocean view, and a noted French chef. Erik approved, and so here we are. The owner is currently in Europe, and only he knows the identity of his guest. The chef and his security people were told to roll out the red carpet. I can hardly wait to see THEIR expression when they see 'who's coming to dinner.'"

Matt laughs and nods agreement, "Yeah—that should be very interesting. But, then, the owner can put a sign up over the entrance, 'The Phantom of the Opera ate here!' It seems like _everyone_ is quite taken with him."

I look sideways at Matt, thinking that is a strange comment coming from him. "Well, Erik is an unusual person, no doubt about that, and whatever fame he had before, well, with the trial, he has been thrust into the spotlight whether he likes it or not. And, after all, he could end up being one of the more important projects funded by The Program to change the timeline. At least we will know their decision on that within a few days. I understand they are having the documents studied, and if they are authenticated, The Program will meet by mid-week and decide whether or not to green light the project and send us back to France with Erik. I have been getting all my affairs in order and am almost ready to go. How about you, Matt. Are you ready?"

After a pause, he shakes his head and answers, "Well, Jeremy, I'm not going."

"WHAT?" I can't believe what he is saying, "but you are part of the team…a very important part! I thought you were already signed up and committed!"

"I was approached, and did consider it for awhile, but now I feel I will probably pass," he says, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

"But WHY? You are our medic. We really need you!"

"Jeremy, all of you are on the sunny side of 30, but I am in my mid-30's now and chasing around on adventures just doesn't have the appeal it once did. I am only shy a couple years of internship from being a doctor, and I would like to settle down."

"Settle down? So, is THAT what this is about? There's a woman somewhere in the middle of this, isn't there?" I look quickly over at Matt who is shifting uneasily in the passenger seat and avoiding eye contact.

"I'd rather not say."

"Well, Matt, you just did!" I respond with a chuckle. "So, who is this lucky lady? Does she deserve you?" I again look at him as I lightly punch him on the shoulder. That is when I see it. He is looking at the Corvette ahead, staring with a look that is unmistakable, and it hits me like a brick bat. His expression says everything. He never has been good at hiding his feelings. "Oh my God, Matt! It's Laura!" Matt says nothing, but looks away from the black car in front of us. "Matt, haven't you noticed that Laura is not exactly 'available?'"

"Yes, Jeremy, how could I not notice? But, Erik will probably be acquitted, and then he has to be returned immediately to France. Laura will be here…and I plan to be here, too," he says with resolve in his voice.

I know talking reason will be a waste of my breath, but I give it one last try. "Matt, you don't want someone on the rebound, do you? That rarely works out…."

"The way I look at it, I am good at fixing broken legs and arms. I am willing to try a broken heart. For Laura, whatever happens, I have to try," he says with a tone that tells me the conversation is over. I shake my head and cannot escape the gut feeling that this will not turn out well. But, I have no time to ponder this new wrinkle because the Corvette pulls over to the side of the road and stops. I do the same, stopping about 20 feet behind.

I cannot see what has caused them to pull over. "What's going on. Did you see or hear anything? Can you see if one of them is hurt? Is there something wrong with the car? Matt, LET'S GO!!" As I rapidly fire these questions at him, we quickly exchange looks, unholster our guns and bound out of the car. We each scan the forest behind and to the sides for any signs of a sniper or a trap. As we circle our attention around toward the Corvette, we observe Erik step out of the passenger side and walk around the front of the car, opening Laura's door. Matt and I begin walking cautiously toward them, with our guns drawn, now scanning the trees in front of their car for signs of danger.

We watch in amazement as Erik carries Laura around the car and places her in the passenger side. Then he closes the door and walks back to the driver's side. Matt and I exchange startled looks as the realization of what they are planning hits us. "Holy sh--!" is the only thing I have time to say as I bolt into a dead run, with Matt close on my heals.

We accost the Corvette, me on the driver's side and Matt on the other side. Leaning down on the door, I breathlessly blurt out, "Erik what the hell do you think you are doing?"

"And just why are you aiming firearms at us?" he responds with an equally angry challenge, looking from Matt to me.

"We're NOT aiming guns AT you!! We are aiming them to PROTECT you!!" Matt blurts out.

"Just what are you protecting us FROM?" Erik seems to be losing his patience.

"Well, we didn't know why you stopped the car. We thought maybe someone took a shot at you!!" I point out testily, "Just what ARE you doing, anyway, Erik?"

"Driving the car," he replies matter-of-factly.

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE A CAR!!" Now I am definitely beginning to lose _my_ patience. Dealing with situations like this was never taught in SEAL training.

"Oh, but I have been watching very closely while Laura drives, as well as whenever you drive me to court. I think I have the concept!" Erik smiles at me with his usual, self-confident attitude.

"Laura, can't you talk reason here? This is no ordinary car. THIS IS A CORVETTE! Do you really think Erik should be driving THIS car?" I am desperate now. All I can think of is how do I explain THIS to Horatio!

"Well, actually, Jeremy, I have been showing Erik the techniques and explaining how to shift the gears. This is an almost deserted country roadway, and I am certain he will drive very slowly and carefully. Even 16 year olds learn how to drive stick shifts…I am sure Erik will learn very quickly!" She smiles at me reassuringly, and I glance up at Matt, standing behind her and looking like someone just karate chopped him in the stomach.

"Laura. Please, do you really think this is a good idea? Corvettes are a bit challenging for a first-time driver, don't you think?" Matt's voice is nothing short of pleading.

"Well, perhaps for some people, but I think Erik will do just fine." Laura is adamant and gives us her sweet smile, which communicates her totally unmovable conviction.

That is when I hear the ignition turning on. Matt and I exchange looks of disbelief, bordering on terror. Erik puts his hand on the stick shift and moves it into first gear. I hold my breath, waiting for a gear to grind. It doesn't. Then, while Matt and I are still holding onto the doors of the Corvette, it begins to move forward with a lurch, and then the engine dies. Of course, typical beginner's mistake, not releasing the clutch right.

Erik grunts with surprise, and Laura responds patiently, "That's alright, Erik. It happens to everyone. You just have to ease out the clutch, letting it gently connect to the gear while you press the accelerator pedal at the same time. You'll get the feel of it."

The ignition starts, the car moves forward slightly and jerks to another stop. I am beginning to hope that Erik will give up in frustration. He doesn't. As Matt and I walk alongside the car holding onto the doors, he starts and kills the engine five times, each time getting a few feet further. Then, the sixth time, the car takes off, and we are thrown to the ground as it lunges forward. Springing back to our feet, we hear the gears grind into second, as the car continues down the road at a quickening pace. We turn and race back to our car and hurry to catch up to the Corvette, which is picking up speed and bucking at each shift of the gears, but Erik does not kill the engine again.

Erik's initial driving attempts are nerve-wracking to watch and almost painful to listen to the first few times he shifts into a different gear as we drive protectively behind the Corvette. "You know," I finally admit, shaking my head, "that woman has guts!" Then glancing over at Matt with a grin, I add, "Yeah, I can see why you feel like you do!"

We follow the erratically driven Corvette for the next fifteen miles, thankfully passing few cars on the road, and finally turn off onto the private road, which leads to the house that we are told is perched atop a hill. About a half-mile down the road we can see a tall security gate, so I call on my cell phone and give the security code to confirm who we are. The gate swings open as we approach, so we do not need to stop. I breathe a sigh of relief at that, wondering how long it would take for Erik to gear back up from a stop.

We drive through a beautiful forest and several open glades on the way up the hill. The road is winding, but it is paved and quite wide. Erik seems to be getting the feel of the Corvette, and he drives slowly and follows the curves and corners with surprising skill. He doesn't even grind the gears when he shifts down at a turn now. After what seems an eternity, and just wanting this drive to be over, I breathe a sigh of relief as the Corvette turns into the final approach to the house. Correction…mansion. It is Italian style with white stucco walls and red tile roofs, spreading across the hill and hugging the crest of the mountain. The various wings of the building occupy different levels, as if to give each room its own sweeping view of the forest and ocean.

We are met by no less than a very formal butler and three security men who sweep out the front door and wait for us before we stop the cars. The butler opens the door for Laura and helps her out of the car. Erik seems to hesitate getting out of the car, as if he regrets his driving experience is over so soon. I reach him just as he is stepping around the car to assist Laura, and follow them closely over to meet the group of waiting men. Their faces do not disguise their surprise at who the guest is, but they are all discrete, gracious and welcoming. I can already see the sign going up over the entrance.

After courteous introductions, the butler informs Erik and Laura that everyone is at their disposal for the entire evening. We are ushered up the elegant portico entryway, which is lined with potted plants, and enter a house that seems like it has been transplanted from Italy. Matt and I know that we are to stay in the background this evening and give Erik and Laura as much privacy as possible. I shake my head as I think about Matt and wonder how he deals with times like this….

_Erik's POV:_

I am elated at the feeling of this magnificent vehicle. The power it contains is palpable through the steering wheel, and it responds to the lightest pressure of my foot on the floor pedal. After an embarrassing beginning, I began to feel the tension of the clutch pedal as it engages each gear, and once I mastered that technique, the driving went more smoothly.

I adhered to Jeremy's admonition to drive slowly and carefully, putting full attention and concentration on all aspects of this unprecedented experience. Riding a horse or even driving a carriage, which I have done on occasion, does not by any means compare to this. How the people of this time take for granted such magnificent machines!

And, Laura is so patient. She makes occasional suggestions as she teaches me the proper techniques, but she is always gentle and gives each direction with a smile. I cannot suppress the thought that she would not do well as a Mistress of Dance.

The drive through the overhanging trees is glorious! I absorb every sensation of this feeling of freedom as I drive through the darkening greens of the forest as the shadows of impending sunset make all the tones deeper and richer. I am distraught when we reach our destination so soon. I linger behind the wheel for additional moments and make a mental note to ask Laura if I can drive again on our return trip.

Laura is assisted from the car by an obsequious butler who fusses over her and gets her cane out of the car, giving it to her with a flourish. Jeremy follows us to the group of men awaiting us, and he makes the formal introductions. I can see the surprise register on their faces, and try to ignore their curious stares at my face and my mask. After all, this is a special dinner of celebration, so I am dressed in my most formal attire, with a black cravat, black brocade waistcoat and black suit with tails and carry my cloak over my arm. Laura, too, is dressed elegantly in a lace-covered ivory suit with a white silk blouse. Her hair is held back from her face with combs imbedded with small crystals. I have never seen her so breathtakingly beautiful.

The entourage escorts us into the elegant Italian style mansion. The large entry foyer opens to rooms on two sides, and has a large, central stairwell to the second floor across from the entrance. The stucco walls are covered with tapestries, and I admire the museum-quality oil paintings. Elegant, heavy carved Italian chairs and tables line the walls, and thick carpets cover ornately tiled floors.

As we are lead through the great room, which has a huge fireplace and many large couches arranged for conversation, I note that none of the electric lights are turned on. Instead, candles are lit everywhere, in wall sconces, on tables and in standing wrought iron candelabras. Although the style is the heavier Italian mode, I feel comfortable for the first time since arriving in this century. I wonder if the owner, knowing who his guest would be, ordered that only candles were to be used tonight for my benefit. The golden glow from the candles certainly reminds me of my home and of its magical reflection on silks and satins during an opening night at the Opera house. Looking down at Laura, I wonder what she would look like in the elegant gowns of my time. That thought sends a stab through my heart as I realize I will never know, because she will not be there.

We walk through several more elegant rooms, and finally arrive at a conservatory that has skylights and is filled with a myriad of potted plants that create a jungle of greenery. At the far end of the room, adjacent to a wall of windows that overlooks the ocean, is a small table, set for two. The setting contains very formal linens, with a full array of incised crystal glasses to accommodate the wine for each individual course. As I look at the goblets, it crosses my mind that I will have to speak privately to the butler and ask that he pour only modest amounts for Laura, and perhaps eliminate the wine from several of the courses.

The butler introduces us to the chef who bows formally when he meets us and immediately effuses in French about the menu he has chosen for us, and that he hopes his cuisine will satisfy my tastes. I smile as I think back to my usual fare of food in my home on the fifth level of the opera house—cheeses, breads, grapes and a variety of seasonal fruits and usually cold cuts of meat. I had no ovens to bake foods, and so could only make stews and simple omelets over the fire in my fireplace. I assure him that his choices seem excellent! He smiles and exits excitedly through an arched doorway while the butler asks if we would like to partake of the view from the balcony while waiting for dinner to be served. Laura smiles up at me and nods her approval of that suggestion.

The butler opens the door for us and escorts us across the marble balcony to the balustrade, and we gaze at an unobstructed view of the ocean above the surrounding forest. He excuses himself, saying he will return soon with wine and hors d'oerves.

I take my arm and wrap it round Laura's waist, pulling her to me, and she rests her head on my chest as we stand and look at the magnificent sunset. The sun is covered by clouds along the horizon, so its rays flare out in all directions, coloring the sky with shades of blue, pink, gold and peach, painting a picture that I embed in my mind, making this a moment in time that I must never forget.

"Well, Laura, I did want this to be a special dinner for us to celebrate my good fortune," I look down at the large gold ring on my hand, "but this all feels…well…excessive, doesn't it?" I look into her eyes with regret and longing. "We never seem to have the opportunity to be together, alone, without people either watching over us or catering to us or telling us what to do. Would it not be pleasant to have a quiet table in the corner of a French restaurant, with only one waiter occasionally bringing the next course? Where we could just sit and talk and be like normal people."

"Yes, that would have been wonderful, Erik," she says in agreement, "but this is a very special occasion, and we will make it ours as much as we can!" then with that impish grin, she adds, "Taking into account, of course, that we have two body guards, three security men, a butler and a French cook standing nearby!"

We break out in laughs of commiseration, and I summarize our situation with, "I guess we will just have to accept our fate!"

"Fate? You say fate, Erik?" she looks up at me quizzically.

"Well, yes, fate that this strange world developed a machine which allows people to move back and forth in time. Fate that brought me here. Fate that brought you into my life…even fate that brought that little rosewood box across almost two centuries, an ocean and a continent and into my hands," I again look down at the ring, which seems so heavy and imposing on my hand.

"Oh, Erik I don't think I would use the word 'fate' for all of that, I think I would use the word 'providence.'" Her eyebrows furrow in thought as she explains, "In English, the word 'fate' is connected with negative ideas, and implies that an inevitable, irresistible power controls human destiny. It has a dark connotation, too, and is connected with the word 'fatal' which means 'death' or 'doom.'"

Now her eyes twinkle up at me as she continues, "So, I would call all of that 'providence,' which means actions that are fortunate, lucky, indeed directed by divine guidance and foresight!! Yes, I would call all of that providence, or as they would say in India, you had some very good karma coming to you!" She finishes with a laugh and balancing precariously with one hand on her cane, she puts her other hand around my neck, pulling me down and giving me a lingering kiss. We continue engaged in that pleasurable pursuit only for a minute before we hear the butler cough to give notice he has returned.

After making sure our hands are filled with wine glasses and depositing several plates of delicacies to sample, the butler leaves, having completed his appointed task. However, the goblets in our hands prevent our continuing what we were doing. We turn and again watch the sunset, resigned to sampling the food we are obliged to enjoy.

Laura looks up at me and raises her goblet of golden wine, "To Erik Phillipe, the Comte deChagny!" I smile and gently tap my goblet to hers, and we drink a sip, not taking our eyes off each other.

"Jeremy told me that all the documents were immediately placed in the hands of experts who are studying them this weekend, but that it appears they are authentic. A search has already been made early this morning in the records of the church of Sainte Marie Madeleine in Paris, and the marriage of my parents, Vicomte Edmond Raoul deChagny and Vicomtesse Bernice Louis deChagny, was verified to have occurred there. When a copy of my documents was sent, it was identical to the original one on file. Mine appears to have been one of the duplicates made for my parents. And, they did find the record of my birth, on Saturday, the 13th of November 1836. It appears that I am Erik Phillipe deChagny, the eldest son of that marriage and was acknowledged in those records as 'the rightful heir to the title, lands and wealth in accordance with the laws of primogeniture.'" I smile as I realize he has memorized the exact words from his birth certificate.

"The validity of the witnesses' signatures is being checked," he explains further. "Of course, they are verifying the existence of the doctor who signed the documents as the attending physician and attested about the crescent moon-shaped mole on my shoulder. They are also checking into the claim that it was a family birthmark that appeared every other generation in the _deChagny family._ And, a search is also being made for any recording of a death certificate for the infant, but none has yet been found."

"Oh, I am glad for that…that they did not fabricate a death certificate. That will make your claim easier to assert if there is no such document you have to disprove!" Laura says with her lawyerlike logic.

"If there is any legal challenge or problem, what would I do without you?" I ask with a wry grin, the emotion underpinning that question lying just beneath the surface.

She looks away from me, and I can sense she is trying unsuccessfully to hide her feelings from me, "Well, you know, I could not help you in 1871 France. I am not a lawyer in France, indeed, there are probably very few, if any, women lawyers in France at your time. My modern training, my education, my degrees and my experience only have meaning here, in my time. It would seem that I can be of no assistance to you…or The Program in the past."

I set down my glass and take Laura's waist, turning her around to face me. "Laura, how can you say or think that? I need you with me, it does not matter about those things. Does it?" I have finally asked the question. What has been silent between us is now spoken. Can we bridge this gap, this century and a half, which seems destined to separate us? Can we find a way to be together, knowing what she would have to give up to come with me? Knowing I have no choice to remain here once I am acquitted?

Tears flood from her eyes. "I don't know, Erik. I don't know what to think…or to feel anymore!" I am about to bend down and kiss the tears away when a voice from behind intrudes.

"Dinner is served, _Your Grace_ and Mademoiselle."

My intense gaze into Laura's eyes vows to her that this discussion is not over. I support her arm, assisting her to our table. On her plate, as I had requested, is a stem of pink and white butterfly orchids, tied with a black silk ribbon bow. When she is seated, she picks it up and looks at it thoughtfully. "Thank you, Erik." As she looks at me, I can see the confusion in her eyes. I want so much to tell her right now what I feel about her. I want to end this torture of uncertainty for both of us. But, I feel I must not speak further until I know the verdict, which I await from The Program. I must be patient for a little while longer until the documents are verified, and The Program has made its decision about me. I need to know if I will be returning alone, to deal with my fate as best I can, or if the team will accompany me. To me, that seems to be the only circumstance that will be safe enough for Laura…for her to risk coming back with me.

At dinner we discuss the conversation we had with Zoe Grenville after she returned to the conference room. She was so nervous, but I began to admire the courage it took for her to carry out her task. She had withstood Jeremy's grilling and my initial suspicion and antipathy. Finally I ask what has been on my mind, "Laura, what can I do to express my gratitude to Zoe and her family? I hardly feel that a "thank you" is in any manner sufficient."

"Well, Erik, giving her something of yourself would be very special. Perhaps you could give her one of your compositions, and sign it with appreciation to her and her family. I think that would be a very special keepsake for them!"

"Ah, that is a splendid idea!! Then that is resolved. I shall copy my latest composition, and give them an original score in my own handwriting, and send a personal letter with it. It shall be done immediately! Thank you, Laura, you always seem to know just the right thing…" I do not finish the sentence, but I am thinking that she always seems to know the right thing to say or do.

Dinner is sumptuous. The many courses are exquisitely prepared and served by the ever-attentive butler. I enjoy the sauces, tastes and textures, as well as the perfectly matched wines. But my eyes keep watching Laura, trying to assess her feelings, trying to fathom what she will say, if I ask her what is in my heart.

When the dessert is cleared away from the table, we gaze longingly at each other across the small table. Suddenly self-conscious, Laura looks away, out the wall of windows that face the ocean, which is now hidden by the blackness of the night. She comments distractedly, "The sky ish clear and full of stars tonight," then looking back at me, wistfully adds, "it would be so nice to sit out on the deck, if it were not so cold!"

Looking into her beautiful face, an ache goes through me, and I, too, want to be outside in the dark and enfolding privacy of the night with her. I glance over at my cloak, lying on the nearby couch and wordlessly stand and gather it up in my hands, then swing it around my shoulders and fasten the clasp at my throat.

"My cloak is made of heavy wool and lined. It will keep us warm," I say with a beckoning smile. Laura reaches for her cane, but I laugh and say, "I have a much better idea!" and pick her up in my arms, carrying her outside into the cool, glorious depths of the night. I walk to the edge of the balcony where a pair of large wrought iron chairs with thick cushions are sequestered behind several potted bushes and perfectly located to hide us from prying eyes. I settle into the farthest chair, resting Laura on my lap, and pull the voluminous folds around us to create a blanket of warmth.

With her arms still around my neck, Laura gives a sigh of pleasure. In response, I lean down and kiss her upturned face, savoring the fullness of her lips. I can even taste the sweet wine lingering there. Our kisses deepen quickly as we have both yearned for this intimacy, being deprived of it in Horatio's home because of the cameras and never having any other opportunity since the island. The island…my mind returns to the island constantly, remembering the laughter and joy of our embraces and our shared moments together.

Laura sits back slightly and brings her hands up to my cravat. She attempts to remove my stickpin, which holds the many layers in place. One hand goes beneath the cravat to find the backside of the pin. After a minute of fumbling, she gives me a questioning look, and says, "Erik, I sheem to be having trouble with your elegant pin. Could you please help?" I smile, beginning to suspect why she is having a little difficulty with the clasp. I take my arm from around her waist, needing both hands to remove the pin and quickly tuck it into the pocket of my waistcoat.

Laura is now attempting to remove the cravat that contains a number of folds and is tied with a knot, which is rather difficult to untie, unless one is accustomed to dealing with it. Unknowingly, she pulls on the short end of the cravat and that results in tightening the knot firmly around my neck. I give off a strangled cough from the unexpected pressure. A look of horror crosses Laura's face, and she gasps out "OOPSH!" I can no longer hold back my chuckle and reach up to loosen the offending knot. Carefully untying and removing it from my neck, I place it on the adjacent chair.

I kiss her beckoning lips as my arm again reaches around her waist and pulls her to me. We enjoy these slow kisses for a while and then she rests her head on my shoulder and begins to unbutton my waistcoat, which I suddenly realize is double-breasted. When she has finished one row and pulls the material back, she discovers the second row of buttons underneath. At that point she tilts her head up at me with a very quizzical look in her eyes. I smile at her, wondering what she is going to do when she next discovers that I am wearing studs to fasten my formal shirt instead of the buttons she is accustomed to. To delay that moment, I bend down and kiss her neck and work slowly up to her lips for another deep, lingering kiss.

She begins the process of opening my shirt, only to be unsuccessful. She frowns and looks into my eyes, utterly perplexed. "Erik, ummm, thesh aren't buttons, are they?" she finally asks.

"Well, no. This is a formal shirt, so it has studs instead of buttons," I answer with a huge grin. "Shall I help?" She nods her head, grins and eases back from me as I again take my arm from around her waist and, one by one, remove the studs and place them in my pocket. When I have completed this task, again, I place my arm around Laura and pull her to me.

She nestles against me and places her hand on my chest. Laura hesitates for a moment, and before she reaches between the opening in my shirt, she looks up and asks, "Are there are any more layersh or pins or studs or anything I should know about?" she says with her impish grin and a slight slur now quite evident from her encounter with the dinner wines. +

I cannot resist a laugh, as I tickle her side and nuzzle her neck. She giggles in response, and then I feel her hand slide underneath my shirt as she runs her fingers along my chest and ribs. When she reaches my waist, she pulls the shirt out and opens it fully. Her soft touch inflames me instantly, and I can feel my blood roaring through my veins.

I begin kissing Laura's neck and throat, and the desire to touch and hold her silken skin overwhelms me. I quickly unfasten the several large buttons on her formal jacket, and then place my hand tentatively on the top button of her blouse, which is just below her graceful neck. I look into her eyes for permission, and she smiles her consent. I gently open each button, my breath now getting more uneven with anticipation. At the last button, I gently tug the silk material out from the skirt. Spreading apart the two halves of the blouse, I look in awe at her luminous skin, which is only covered by a delicate undergarment in a tone that is almost the same as her skin. I cannot contain my need to touch her beautiful form, and cup my hand over the lace-covered breast, reveling in its round firmness. But I soon realize I need more. I need to caress her bare skin. However, I cannot see any way of removing this undergarment, and I raise my hand that is resting on her back and feel the band of material. I find that it is all one piece and realize there are no fasteners or laces to untie.

Bewildered, I look into Laura's eyes, and finally admit, "I am not familiar with your modern garments. They are totally unlike the chemise or corset that the ladies wear in the Opera house."

Laura's eyebrows shoot up unexpectedly, and she chuckles as she asks in a very sweet tone, "And just how is it that you know about how chemisesh and corsets work?"

I respond with a devilish smile, "Now I would not be a gentleman if I responded to that, would I?"

We both laugh and for a moment we embrace each other tightly and again become lost in a languid kiss. Then, Laura pulls back slightly and with her fingers, she grasps the center part of her undergarment, giving it a twisting motion, and the garment falls open, fully exposing the beauty of her rounded, soft curves.

Again my hand brushes over her delicate breast, and she moans softly into my mouth as our tongues meet in a velvety dance. Her skin is warm and soft, and I pull her against my chest so that our bare skin touches, hidden by my cloak. My heart is pounding, and I can feel her breath coming in small gasps as I begin my exploration of her silken body with my lips.

Then, she leans over, gently averts my attention and begins to rain kisses down my chest and ribs. I inhale sharply from the sensations that she is invoking with her warm mouth and feel as if I will go mad with desire for this incredible woman in my arms. I cannot imagine existing without her by my side. Our lives are tied to one another inexorably, and I cannot…will not…let her go.

I move my right hand to her calf and slowly slide it beneath her skirt, following the outside contour of her silky leg and thigh. I am still amazed at how few undergarments a woman wears in this century. My hand continues to her waist, then around to her back and I pull her hips closer to me. I watch her doe-shaped eyes close in ardor as she arches against me. One of Laura's hands rests on the bare skin of my back, stroking it soothingly. Then I feel it glide under the waistband of my trousers, creating pathways of heat wherever she touches. Her other hand is still stroking my chest but more insistent now, moving slowly downward, and she is placing kisses along the left side of my neck.

As I pull her snuggly against me, her hip brushes my lap in a way that brings me near to my undoing. I hear myself emit a low growl like an animal in pain and, indeed, I am close to that point. I bend to rest my head on her throat, her scent filling my senses and try to regain my composure. One of her hands caress the nape of my neck, and her fingers run through my hair as she grasps it tightly to pull me down to her. Arching her back, her silken breasts press against me. When I lift my head to look deeply into her eyes, she pulls my mouth to hers, and she kisses me fully, deeply, sending me soaring into senselessness….

I groan into her mouth, "Laura, we must……." I cannot finish the sentence because I do not want to stop.

"Erik…no….." She whispers back. But she senses my turmoil and pain, and finally stops her intoxicating kisses, her breath coming in small rapid breaths. She moans audibly, then looks up at me for a long time, searching my face as if she means to memorize every inch of it. +

Then her mouth turns up in an irresistible smile. I cannot help but smile back at her, and we just hold each other until our senses return to us. When we eventually talk, it is of inconsequentials, as we gaze at the night sky and the myriad of stars. But what is unspoken in palpable. I feel she must be thinking the same thing that I am…will there _ever_ come a time that we will be able to continue to the culmination of this journey we have embarked on. _Will we be able to fulfill our love?_


	31. Chapter 31

A**/N: For some is love meant to be fulfilled? But for others is it never to be? What hope is there?**

**We thank each of you who has written the wonderful comments and reviews The Case is receiving! Your reviews truly do inspire the muse of the writers. And, we are now approaching the end of Book One. There will be only 9 or 10 more chapters. We have Books Two and Three outlined, but we are currently deciding whether they will be posted in a public forum, or otherwise.**

**We will continue posting the remaining chapters of Book One at two week intervals OR as soon as ten reviews are posted, **_**whichever occurs first.**_** We already have the next chapter written, and it is Christine's return to the witness stand to testify as a hostile witness for the defense. Laura, of course, is the attorney who will do the questioning. How will Erik fare this second time under new revelations from Christine?**

**And...Thank you to Timeflies and Eurocentric for pointing out the duplicated paragraph in this chapter...and, yes, there was a deleted sentence!! That occurred as we were doing final editing!! It is now corrected!!**

**Chapter 31 HOPE, by Phangirl+ and Phanfan**

_Friday, September 23, 2005  
Seattle, Washington_

_Phen's POV:+ _

I hear it in the distance, the quick blast of a ship's horn, and I wonder if we're approaching another vessel. "Let it be the Navy or the Coast Guard," I mutter as I pull myself awake. "Please let them do a search of the ship and find me." I kick back the blankets on the cot and start to roll over to get out of bed. "I would even settle for a cruise liner. Anyone who might get suspicious of this ship—Oh! Ow! My arm! What happened?"

The intense pain in my forearm and hand brings me fully awake, and I stare down at the white bandage in bewilderment, blinking back the tears of pain that spring to my eyes. "Oh, that really hurts! That really, really hurts! What the hell has Dr. Frankenstein done to me now?"

Even in the darkness of the room, I see the faint glimmer of a mirror, and I peer at it, trying in vain to see him there in his damned observation booth, but instead I see something else entirely.

"_I've set the detonator for three minutes!" Jennifer huffs with exertion as she pulls herself over the side of the inflatable boat. "God, that water's cold! Come on, let's get going! Grace! Why haven't you started the engine?"_

"_I'm giving it all the power I can! But it won't start, and I don't want to flood it! How long since this thing has been used?"_

_She scurries in a half run, half crawl to help me. "It was working fine when we had a safety drill the other day. But maybe some water got into the gas tank since then. I don't know, but we have to get out of here! We're still too close to the ship!"_

"_How do we get it to work?" This question makes me feel stupid even as I say it, because the answer should be obvious to me, but I'm still groggy from whatever that last drug was that she shot me up with._

"_We're going to have to try to pull it away from the ship," she says as she propels me toward the side of the boat. "I have the bowline and if we pull together as we swim we should be able to get to a safe distance." _

"_I don't want to go in there again," I protest. "It's cold and scary, and I thought I was going to die when I jumped off that ship!"_

"_We don't have a choice!" She yells. "You don't want to be cold? Well if we don't get out of here, you'll be so warm you will be fried!" And before I can say another word, she pushes me into the sea._

_Just as I surface, I hear it, a sickening roar that turns the sky and the water into one giant red ball of heat. Instinct makes me throw my arms up in front of my face as the fire engulfs me. Seconds later, instinct also makes me submerge again. That's when I see her there in that burning water. _

"_Jenn!"_

"Grace!" Someone is shaking me, and I wish they would stop. I'm dizzy enough already. I pull myself out of the memory and see that I'm standing beside a bed. My bed? Yes, it is my bed from my apartment, I realize, not the cot on the ship. But this isn't my old bedroom.

"Grace?"

I turn my head and see the dim profile of his face in the darkness. "Horatio?"

"Yes. You were yelling. Are you ok?"

"Where am I? This isn't the ship, and it isn't my apartment. What am I doing here?"

"I'll tell you everything you want to know, but let's get you back into bed first," he says. "You're swaying on your feet."

"I'm dizzy. What's wrong with me?

Horatio responds gently, "You should be dizzy. In addition to having some hearing loss, your inner ear was injured by an explosion. You have vertigo."

"Vertigo?" Just saying the word makes me nauseous.

"Among other things," he answers. "Now, back into bed. I promised the staff at the Whidbey Island naval hospital that you would be well taken care of here in my house since we have both a doctor and a medic, so don't make a liar out of me by falling down and breaking something." Then he adds in a very matter-of-fact tone. "In addition to recovering from hypothermia and dealing with partial deafness and vertigo, you've also been going through drug detox. Freuda said you would be confused for a while."

"Detox? I do not use drugs, McCool! I resent that accusation!"

His voice remains steady and calm despite my outburst. "You didn't use them by choice, but trust me, you had enough dope in your system to open your own pharmacy."

I scan the room to get my bearings and begin to notice my surroundings. "Wait. Turn on the light, Horatio. This looks like…"

He flips the switch, and I see the room in full illumination. All of the belongings from my old bedroom are here. I then notice several flower arrangements scattered around the spacious room.

"This is all the stuff from my apartment," I say in amazement. "And everything is exactly the way I had it! Except you said this is your house. When did all this happen?"

"Right after you disappeared," he answers. "The Program decided that your apartment wasn't safe anymore. Joe was very careful to put everything the way you had it. He even took pictures to get it all just right. We brought you here after you were released from the hospital yesterday afternoon."

"Take me out to the balcony," I tell him, nodding at the French doors. "I want some fresh air."

He carefully pilots us through the door and gently puts me down on a wicker loveseat. Then he stands there in an awkward stance, as if he doesn't know where to go next. I pat the place beside me. "Come sit."

"Let me grab one of your blankets off the bed first." He comes back in record time, sits down next to me and spreads the blanket over us both, tucking it securely around me.

Just as he's wrapping me up like a burrito, I remember something. "I'll court-martial you if you don't wake up!" I say softly.

Horatio stops what he's doing and stares at me like I've gone 'round the bend.

"You said that to me on the helicopter," I answer in response to his expression. "Then the doctor at the base told you to come get into bed with me to help me warm up. I almost forgot about it, but now I remember… I remember."

"Yes," he says slowly. "Do you remember anything else from that day?"

I squint against the morning light spilling onto the balcony as I begin piecing things together. "Just before you came into my room a few minutes ago I remembered the explosion. I remembered seeing Jenn in the water. She was hurt, and I called out to her, and, then there you were shaking me awake."

He quickly looks down at his hands, and then he smiles reassuringly at me, but I catch it for just the briefest of instances, a look that says there is something on his mind, but he doesn't want to talk about it. Of course I have to know what he's hiding from me.

I sit up and lean toward him, studying him closely. "What is it, Horatio? What else happened?"

He misreads my intention and moves over closer to me and tries to put his arm around me. I quickly pull away and snap, "Why are you acting like this? This isn't like you!"

"He immediately moves back. "Sorry. I was just trying to help you feel more at ease. I didn't mean to invade your space. Freuda said that this is your mind's normal defense mechanism to what happened to you, especially since you are still coming off of all the drugs they gave you on the ship. Just relax and try to remember. I can guide you through some deep breathing exercises. They will help you to stay calm."

"I don't want to stay calm!" I yell, as I throw the blanket off and jump to my feet. He tries to catch me, but I run past him and head for the door, or at least try to. Instead I end up grabbing for the balcony railing to keep from falling over. "Ow! My hand!"

Horatio grabs me before I hit the ground, and in one fell swoop, plops us both back down on the loveseat and pulls the blanket over us. It all happens in a nauseating swirl of motion and color, and I close my eyes to keep from getting sick.

"_Grace?" I can hear the concern in Horatio's voice._

"I was remembering the hospital…" I say, trying to get a grip on myself. Remembering when I asked you about Jenn. We were in my bed and you told me that you managed to get her out but that you were sorry because she was…"

He nods his head. "And do you remember anything else?"

My recollections come out in a rush of words. "Yes. Admiral Brooks came and then all these other people wanted to know where I had been. You yelled at them for being insensitive jerks. There were so many of them asking so many questions, but finally they let me leave the hospital yesterday, but I can't remember how I got here."

"Turn around," Horatio says gently. "Look back there in your room. Maybe that will help you remember."

I do what he says and see them again, the flower arrangements spread through the room. "Those were from the hospital?"

He hesitates before answering, "Not all of them. Some—well, some are from last night."

It takes another several moments to remember, but when I do, it feels as if I'm freefalling through space. "Yesterday we came back, and you helped me get dressed in—in a black dress! Oh, my God! Horatio! Yesterday was Jenn's funeral. Her real one! I got upset, and Freuda did something to me! Horatio, what did she do to me?"

He doesn't hesitate to put his arm around me this time, and I'm glad for the support as the memories roar to the forefront of my mind. "Freuda had to sedate you with one of the drugs you are still addicted to. It was for your own good. We can't just have you quit cold turkey because it could do serious harm to your body and to your mind. Do you understand? And yet, some of the drugs are very powerful and make your behavior unpredictable. That is also why you've had some memory loss. But we will get through this, Grace, I promise you that. I will stay with you every step of the way no matter how long it takes."

I'm shaking now, every last inch of me, trembling like a scared child. I pull my body closer to him and bury my head on his shoulder. He lowers his head, and I feel a whisper soft kiss on my cheek, but I know I don't deserve that kiss, and I try to pull away from him.

"No, stay here," he says slowly and clearly. "You're safe. I'm here, remember? Just like on the helicopter. I searched for you every day, do you know that? Every day I searched for you, and I begged God to give me just one more day with you because…"

"Because you're a great friend." I stop him from what I know he really wants to say.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "No. Not just because I'm you're friend. Surely you know that. I begged God to give me one more day because, I love you, Grace Phenelope Chamberlain. I can't make myself stop loving you no matter what I do, so I've given up trying. If I have to settle with just being your best friend, I will, but I don't want to settle. I know that you loved me once because I memorized the one passage in your journal that said you did. And that is what kept me going day after day, knowing that you loved me because I had to find you and tell you that I love you too."

Now I'm the one shaking my head. "No. We—we can't go there, Horatio. I know it, and so do you." I'm standing up now, willing the world to stop whirling like a crazed top.

Summoning strength I didn't know I had, I go back through the French doors, stagger to the bed and grasp the post for support until the world stops spinning on its side. My legs give out then and I let my body sink into the mattress. I instinctively pull the blanket into my arms and lower my head so that the fleece brushes against my cheek, just as Horatio's kiss did. The scent of his aftershave on the cloth hits me with full force, and the tears start again.

"I do love you, Horatio Nelson McCool," I whisper into the blanket. "God help me, but I do love you…I just don't deserve you…"

_Horatio's POV:_

I should go after Grace to make sure she doesn't hurt herself, but I can't make my body move one inch from the whicker loveseat. How can I go to her now after what I've just done? Freuda told me to be careful not to overwhelm her with too many things, and yet here I've just run off at the mouth like an idiot.

"Get a grip, McCool!" I say angrily under my breath. "You knew the drill when she joined the Program, and you agreed to be colleagues and nothing more."

"Yes, you did, Horatio," Grace says sharply, and I look up to see her struggling to stand there in the doorway. "God, McCool, I thought I was the crazy one rambling on to myself, but it sounds like you're certifiable too."

I turn away from her, ashamed that she heard me but I notice that she is weaving on her feet. "Sit down before you fall down," I say half-heartedly. "I didn't fetch you out of the ocean just so you can smash your skull."

"I'll stand, thank you. Or better yet, I'll walk."

I turn around and frown at her. "You can't walk!"

"Then how did I get here?" She challenges. "Fly? I'll show you how well I can walk when I walk right out of here and go home!"

What happens next would almost be funny if it weren't so serious. She tries to make an exit worthy of a Hollywood diva, by doing a quick spin on her heel, but things don't quite go the way she intended. Instead of imitating Scarlett O'Hara and sweeping away with head held high, she lurches sideways like Jack Sparrow after too many nips at the rum bottle and smacks her forehead on the door frame. I jump up from the loveseat and reach her just as she falls down in a crumpled heap on the bedroom carpet.

"Damn it, Chamberlain! I told you to watch it! You're more trouble than a nest of snipers!" In spite of the situation, I can hardly keep from laughing as I pick her up from the floor.

"Put me down!" She sputters. "And why did you move that door, Horatio? Some way to treat the woman you love!"

"Come on, quit griping and let's go check out the damage."

"Hurry up!" She says next. "I have to get dressed for court! I've missed enough time already!"

I set her down on the bathroom counter and turn on the light. "No court today. The judge made a new rule that no one is allowed in the courtroom unless they can walk a straight line. Besides you just might THUD like all the other women, then Erik would think two of his lawyers are in love with him. Now hold still. Let me look at your head."

My joke obviously falls flat, because she narrows her eyes suspiciously at me. "Two? What are you talking about?"

"Long story," I say with a grin. "But let's just say that Erik and Laura have become very close since you've been away. Hold still!" I command as she moves her head. "You have a cut. Let me put something on it."

She continues to fidget as I try to apply the ointment. She jerks her head away and starts to get down from her perch, but I'm too fast for her. I put my arms around her and hold her there. "Get away from me! Just go away!" She yells in my ear, but I stand my ground.

"No, I'm not going," I say calmly. "You can't push me out anymore, Grace!"

"Back off, Horatio!"

"Not until you agree to talk to me. We have to do something about this—about us."

She starts shaking her head at me, as all the while, tears gather in her eyes. "There is no 'us,' " she says with a slight quaver in her voice. We're federal agents, Horatio, and we're on assignment with The Program. We have the opportunity to do real good in the world, but what we don't have is the luxury to do whatever we want to. What I want doesn't matter. What I feel doesn't matter. Nothing matters to me anymore except fulfilling my duty."

I hear what she's saying, but somehow I sense that she isn't trying to convince me that she's right as much as she's trying to convince herself.

"No wonder you're a lawyer," I answer "But it still doesn't change the fact that I know that if you weren't so damned pigheaded about your duty we wouldn't be having this discussion. You left the Navy so we didn't have the chain of command to worry about. But did you listen to me when I told you how I felt then? No, you didn't. You didn't even tell me where you were going, and I think I deserve to know why!"

"You know why," she whispers. "It was a mistake. All of it. I was confused. I didn't really love you then. How could I? I had just lost Rick, and I still loved him."

"That isn't what you wrote in your journal," I remind her. "You left it for me, and I read it. I know the truth. You did love me. So why didn't you at least keep in touch?"

"I told you it was a mistake."

"What was?" I press. "Falling in love, or letting yourself break the rules? I know your background, don't forget! I know how you went from petty criminal to petty officer practically overnight because a judge gave you a choice between jail and the Navy Then you clawed your way up from the bottom and made something of yourself. But one mistake and you threw it all away because you saw yourself as a failure! And the fact that you couldn't live up to your own standards is what you can't stand now. It doesn't matter that I went through the worst nightmare of my life while you were missing, does it? All that matters is that you do your duty come hell or high water, and it's just too bad for anyone who gets in the way!"

As I finish my speech, I think for just an instant that she's going to crack. She had lowered her head as I blustered on, but now she looks up at me clear-eyed and perfectly calm. "Well," she says in a tightly controlled voice. "You've figured things out, haven't you? So, now this conversation is over. Now, please move so I can go to the kitchen and get something to eat."

She's just cut my heart out and served it to me on fine china, and all I can do is stand there. I let her get down from the cabinet and follow as she staggers slowly to the living room with her back as straight as a ruler and her head held up high.

"Well, where is my kitchen?" She asks in irritation. "You've put everything else here, so where is it?"

I realize that she still is confused about where she is and respond patiently, "Grace, you aren't in your apartment, remember? This is a bedroom suite in my home, and there is no kitchen. However, over in the corner of the sitting area there is wet bar with a sink and small refrigerator. The coffee pot is on the counter."

"Thank you," she says frostily. "Now, I'm sure you have something better to do besides follow me around. They probably need you at the courthouse, or maybe Admiral Brooks needs to see you. Give him my regards, Sir. You're dismissed."

"_You're dismissed."_

Two words I've heard countless times throughout my career, but never with such calculated coolness. I'm not sure at first if I'm hearing her correctly, but there she stands bold as brass, hands on hips, silently daring me to countermand her.

"I'll be back later," I say. "When you're feeling better."

"Actually, I would rather you didn't. I can take care of myself now. Thank you."

"Fine. I'll send my housekeeper up to check on you later. If you need me, you know how to reach me. Good day."

"Good day."

And then, with nothing left to say, I leave.

_Phen's POV:_

If Horatio only knew the truth about me, he would never have said he still loves me. But I can't tell him. It's better to let him think I'm a fanatic about my duty instead of telling him what I did. But even if I hadn't done what I've done, I am still right about the rules of our profession. Laura and Erik are free to do what they want, despite their affiliation with The Program. They are after all civilians. They don't have the obligations that Horatio and I do.

It's all for the best, I tell myself, and yet I can't stop thinking about it…obsessing about it… But at least I'm alone. I don't have him in here anymore being kind and sympathetic, and so irresistibly inviting.

What was I thinking anyway when I left those journals for him? I know what I was thinking. I was thinking that if I ever disappeared, I wouldn't be alive to worry about any repercussions. In fact, the odds were stacked sky-high against me. No, I shouldn't be here at all.

Only minutes have passed when I hear a sharp knock on the door. "What do you want now, Horatio?"

The door opens and Horatio strides in. Suddenly he is looming over me. "I know I shouldn't have started this discussion today. You have enough to deal with. This is about what happened to you on the boat. Somehow I don't think you are really dealing with it. Come on, Grace, whatever it is, you can tell me. What did they do to you?"

I don't want to tell him, but I can't stop myself. "It isn't what they did to me, Horatio! It's what I did! You can't love me, because I don't deserve you."

"Of course you do!" He argues, but I shake my head at him.

"No, don't you see?" The ugly words rush out in a torrent of blubbering and tears. "It's my fault that Jennifer died! I held a knife to her throat and told her I would kill her if she didn't let me go! What kind of person am I that I could do that to my own twin sister? And for one moment I was so angry with her that I wanted her to try to escape so I could do it! I hated her for what she did to me and who she had sold her soul to, and I wanted to take my revenge on her! For one moment, I could see myself cutting her, and if she hadn't begged for mercy, I would have done it! Later, when she was injured I tried to tell her I was sorry, but it was too late. I had already wished harm on her and it—it happened, just as if I had actually killed her myself. Don't you see? I was just as bad as she was…and I deserve the same fate she did."

Horatio leans down, as he gently places his hands on both sides of my face. "No, you don't! Now listen to me, please! You were a prisoner and she—she helped capture you. She was there that day at the courthouse, Grace. She even sat down in court after the recess and posed as you while her partners were carrying you off. She deceived all of us, including me. She may have told you that she was an innocent victim, but she wasn't. She was hand in glove with them the whole time. What happened isn't your fault at all. I know it will take some time for you to process everything, but I meant what I said. I will be here with you every step of the way. Agreed?"

All I can do is nod my head because I'm too choked up with unshed tears to say anything. So many contradictory and confusing things are spiraling through my mind that I'm not sure what is dream, what is drug, what is fantasy, or what is reality. Or perhaps all of them are some kind of warped reality like Alice's trip down the rabbit hole. I don't even know if I'll remember any of this tomorrow. So what is left when tomorrow remains uncertain? Only today. Only us here and now. Maybe it is just a dream. Maybe I am still on that ship, or maybe I'm still floating out there in that icy sea I saw from the balcony. I don't know, but I guess I'll find out soon enough. But for now, Horatio's here, and, as I feel his warm touch and search his beautiful face, I know that he is right. We've wasted way too much time already.

"I just remembered something from the hospital," I say sheepishly.

"What?" He asks.

"I remember saying, 'Goodnight honey', and then you did something. Do you remember what it was?"

"Yes, I do," he says and brushes a light kiss across my lips.

"McCool, I seem to remember that you can kiss better than that."

"Oh, believe me, I can."

"Show me."

And he does.

_Sunday, September 25, 2005, Horatio's home_

_Horatio's POV:_

"A proper courtship." That is what Grace called it, this new thing that we have going. A proper courtship with rules of conduct that make the Uniform Code of Military Justice seem like child's play. Rules that say I can no longer be her caregiver.

As much as I wanted to disagree, I didn't. Freuda later told me that I did the right thing. "Don't vear out your velcome, Dahlink," she instructed. "Havink you here all de time is obviously distressink to her."

"But she's still not well," I protested. "She still needs help."

"Den, I vill help her," she answered. "I don't tink it's you, Horatio. Vell, not in de sense dat you tink."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a man, Horatio. And as much as you love her, you haff to remember dat it vas a man who spied on her all de time she vass on dat boat. It's hard enough for her to move into dis relationship vit' you, vit'out having to deal vit' dat too. And frankly, I tink dat since she has to vork vit' you men so much, she just needs a voman's companionship vonce in a vhile. It isn't you, Dahlink, just a girl tink. Just be patient vit' her. You've vaited for her dis long, don't blow it now."

So, I do wait, visiting her only when I have an invitation. Day by day she's getting stronger, can hear better, and has learned to walk without staggering. She's also having fewer mood swings, and remembering more things, but still there are times when she suddenly withdraws into silence in the middle of a conversation, or starts to cry out of the blue. Most times she will let me hold her close when she's feeling that way, but sometimes she doesn't want me near her.

"I'm upsetting her," I confided to Freuda yesterday

"Remember, vhat I said?" Freuda asks in her grandmotherly way.

"I know. Patience. Lots and lots of patience."

"It vill pay off, you vill see," she promised. "And vhen it does, you vill know dat it has been vorth all de upsets because she vill truly see how much you do love her, Horatio."

I remember these words now as I stand here beside the indoor swimming pool and sincerely hope Freuda is right.

"Are you sure the doc said you can do this?" I ask Grace as she starts to take her robe off.

She holds up her hands for me to see what looks like a thin plastic bag covering her bandages. She slips out of her robe and I see that the plastic is actually a sleeve that goes all the way up her arms and is fastened with tape. "Look. There's no way water can get in. Besides, I'm not going to try to do a backstroke or anything. I just need to get in there again."

"I still say it's too soon," I object. "You're just getting well.

But I can see the stubborn set of her jaw so I step into the shallow end of the pool and hold my hand out to her. "Just a minute," she says. "Let me just get a good look at it first."

I wait there for several minutes as she looks down silently into the water. "How deep is it?" She finally asks.

"Look. I'm standing here on the bottom and it's only up to my knees. Just take your time. There's no rush. See. No waves, no wind, and no ships. Just me."

She nods uncertainly. "Right. No waves, no wind, and no ships. Just you in a great big bathtub. So why am I so scared?"

"We don't have to do this, Grace. This is a huge step already. You don't have to go in."

"But I want to," she insists. "I need to. I don't want to be afraid anymore, Horatio."

"Then trust me to keep you safe," I say. "I won't let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?"

She lets her gaze slowly move from the water to my face. "I believe you."

"Then just sit down on the edge. Just one little step. I'll help you." I put my hands on each side of her waist and help her sit down. Then ever so slowly she moves one foot into the water and then the other and looks at me.

"Ready?"

She nods, and inch by inch, we move together until she slides off the edge and stands up. She lets out a slow breath, and I pull her close to me. "There. See? You're ok."

She closes her eyes and lowers her head to my shoulder, and we stand there silent and still as time flows past. Her body finally begins to relax.

"See, you're perfectly safe with me," I encourage her. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She opens her eyes and looks intently at me. "I think I want to tell you something now, Horatio. Something about the water."

"What?"

"Twice now it's nearly killed me."

"I know," I say uneasily. "That's why I was worried about doing this."

She smiles to assure me. "No, it's ok. Really. That is only part of the story of what happened that day you rescued me. Now I think I can tell the rest of it if you want to hear it. But, first—remember what Hamlet said?"

"Hamlet? What does Shakespeare have to do with this?"

"Oh come on, McCool!" She laughs. "Don't tell me that with a name like yours no one has ever said it to you? The most famous line from that play?"

"Something's rotten in the state of Denmark?"

"No, the other one," she sighs in exasperation. " 'There are stranger things in heaven and earth than are met with your philosophy, Horatio.'"

"Oh! That one! Sure! I've heard it, uh, once, I think."

"Well—uh, he was right," she says hesitantly. "I couldn't let myself remember this before, what happened when Jenn and I were out there in the ocean. But now I can."

"And you're sure you want to talk about it now?"

"Yes. I can, now that it's over. I know that there are things that happen just outside our normal perception, Horatio. Things like an afterlife. I know because I've been there, back when I was a kid and fell in the lake. It seemed like a dream, a beautiful dream, filled with angels or some other kind of beings that were made of pure white light. When I was there I felt completely loved for the first time in my life, and I wanted to stay there in that warm light, but one of them said I had to come back. For years I told myself it was just a dream, even when I could sometimes see the beings here in our world. I told Jenn about them, and she said they were ghosts. She said they couldn't be angels because they didn't have wings. But she still liked to hear about them when she would get scared. I pushed it all out of my mind when I got older, but then when we were there in the water after the explosion, we—Oh, how can I say this without sounding crazy?"

"Just say it. I won't think it's crazy," I reassure her.

"We weren't alone out there, Horatio. I could feel them there with us, and then just before she died, Jenn said she could see them. Before we left the ship, she was terrified of dying, but then she was different. I don't pretend to completely understand it, but she had the most peaceful look on her face just before…well, before she went. Somehow though, I couldn't remember that until just now, here in the water, but that's what happened. So, now you know."

"That isn't crazy at all," I say as I kiss her forehead. I've had my share of close calls, don't forget, and while I've never actually crossed over to the other side, I do know that there are such things as angels. I've felt them with me watching my back during the most dangerous times of my life. So, can you blame me for thinking I was with an angel when I woke up in the hospital and saw you for the first time?"

She manages to smile through her tears. "No, I guess not. So, what does it all mean? I've never had much faith in anything before. I just assumed that the beings were childhood fantasies, but now…"

"It really makes you wonder about a few things doesn't it?" I say.

"Yeah, it does. And I want answers."

"And I want to help you find them. Between the two of us, I think we'll get them too." I kiss her softly and say, "I already have one miracle standing right here with me. I think we can weed out a few other answers, don't you?"

"I hope so," she says. "But first let's go out a little deeper into the water."

"Hmm, faith as well as hope," I answer. "It sounds like we're already on the right path."+

_Tuesday, September 27, 2005, 11:50 p.m. _

_Laura's POV:_

The darkness of midnight and the unyielding rain pounding mercilessly against the Corvette limit visibility in the gloom. And, I can barely see through the tears that still flow uncontrollably from my eyes. Perhaps Matt was right to drive. I did not want him to, and it turned into an argument. Before, he has only driven when my foot was in the cast, but now I have been able to drive again for the last few days. He usually guards over me with little interference in my schedule…with what I have to do or where I have to go. His easy-going demeanor has never been intrusive. But tonight when we got into my car to leave Horatio's home, he caught me off guard, grabbed the car keys and would not let me drive. That started the argument.

Erik had just closed my door on the driver's side and was running back into the house, the umbrella doing little to protect him from the wind shears blowing the rain sideways. I do not know why, but when I saw Erik turn to leave, I broke down crying. When I opened my purse to take out a tissue, Matt grabbed my keys while I was wiping my eyes.

"Matt, what on earth are you doing?" I was totally startled and couldn't figure out why he had done that.

"I am taking your keys," he responded with an authority in his voice I had not heard before, "because I will be driving."

"Why? I always drive! Matt, it's my car!" I gave him a small smile through my tears because I was sure he was teasing me.

"You are in NO condition to drive tonight," he didn't return my smile, remained serious and had the nerve to grit his teeth.

That shocked me. "You are overreacting, Matt. Please, give me my keys. I will be alright," I persisted with a softer, pleading tone added to my voice trying to persuade him to see reason. Surely that would break through his resolve.

"No. You are NOT driving." He was now setting his jaw in a belligerent manner, and I was becoming irritated.

"Matt!! Come on! Be reasonable!" I tried again to appeal to him to reconsider his decision.

"Laura, I am being reasonable. The storm is hellacious tonight, and you are in no condition to drive!" he snapped.

"Of course I am…I am fine…now!" I insisted through clenched teeth and tears.

"No, you are not. You are sobbing and that is not exactly conducive to allowing you to concentrate on the road under limited visibility! I will drive!" He basically was ordering me!

"Matt, I am FINE!" I retorted as I stopped crying.

"Fine? You are fine? You are sitting there sobbing, and that is fine? Well, do you want me to call Erik back out here and ask his opinion of the matter?" with that he turned his head and nodded toward the front door of Horatio's home. Erik had not gone inside. He was standing at the front door, futilely holding the umbrella over his head to stave off the worst of the rain, looking directly at the Corvette…at us…waiting and watching. I suddenly realized he must be wondering why we had not left. If we were here much longer, he would come back to the car to find out, and that must not happen. I could not allow him to see me like this.

"OK, Matt, you win. You can drive." I conceded to prevent further delay.

"You can scoot across into the passenger side. I'll go around," he replied and bolted out of the car, racing through the rain to the driver's side and allowing me just enough time to climb over into the other seat. When he got in, he said nothing, but put the key in the ignition and immediately drove off.

I watched Erik as his gaze followed us down the driveway. He continued to stand outside, braced against the wind and rain, and then I could no longer see him as we disappeared in the curtain of trees.

Matt drove slowly and carefully in the blackness of the storm. Neither of us said another word to each other the entire drive to my home. I turned on my cd and listened to _Lady Magdalene_, then sat, looking out my side window, tears running down my face, unchecked.

Tonight had not been the usual, pleasant Tuesday evening dinner and visit with Erik. Everyone had been on edge. As Matt and I were driving to Horatio's home, Jeremy called to forewarn us. Tonight was the night that The Program was meeting to decide whether they would fund the team to accompany Erik back to 1871 France…to support his position as the Comte deChagny and to protect him so that he could become part of their long-range plans to change the timeline. All of the documents that Zoe had given Erik had been authenticated. The Program was certain he was the rightful, senior heir to the deChagny title, and that placed in him in a powerful and potentially crucial political position in France in the decades prior to World War I. Jeremy informed us that everyone was already tense, and the mood was not jovial.

That turned out to be an understatement. Erik met me at the car, holding the umbrella to protect me from the rain and escorted me quickly into the house. Once inside, Erik put his hand on my waist and pulled me close in a tender embrace, but I could see his expression and feel his mood, which was morose. I soon found out he had known since early this morning that the meeting would be tonight, so he had been worrying and brooding over it all day. Had I known, I would have cancelled all appointments and come immediately to Horatio's home to be with him. This was not a time for him to be alone.

Dinner was obligatory. It was clear that Erik had lost all his appetite. He sliced his meat into shreds, as he always does when he is troubled by something and just pushed the vegetables around on his plate. I never saw him take a bite of anything, but then, I could hardly eat, either.

Everyone knew that tonight the final decision would be made. A decision that would dictate the future of everyone in this room. Erik's claim to his title would be immeasurably supported by the presence of the team. And, the members of the team would all be going back in time on a unique mission with unknown dangers, but ultimately of incalculable importance. Only Freuda and I would not be going. She would return to her home and normal counseling practice. I would return to my law practice, but nothing would be normal.

For me, something deep inside told me that nothing would ever be normal again. My stomach churned as I contemplated how little time Erik and I had left. The bite of food in my mouth stuck in my throat, so I swallowed hard, forcing it down. Finally, Erik and I both gave up trying to eat, and his hand held mine tightly on top of his thigh for the rest of the meal as the others tried to make conversation.

Even the conversation was forced. When Horatio asked about Erik's driving the Corvette the previous Saturday evening, Jeremy and Matt made some attempts to tell humorous anecdotes about watching from their vantage point, but Erik did not take their chiding kindly and glowered in response.

I changed the subject and asked about Phen's progress. Horatio explained that some days she did quite well, but on others, the vertigo returned. Today was one of those where she was unsteady on her feet, so she did not join us for dinner because her bedroom was on the third floor of the house, and she could not navigate the stairs or even sit up without getting dizzy. I said I would go and visit her after dinner, and Horatio agreed that Phen would like that very much.

Finally, the huge, antique grandfather's clock in the hallway struck 7:30. We knew it was time for Horatio to leave for the Admiral's adjacent home where the meeting of The Program to decide Erik's fate was to begin. Horatio and Erik exchanged deep looks of apprehension before Horatio rose, excused himself and left.

Dessert was served, but a pall settled over the room, and no one really enjoyed the cook's spiced peach and cashew shortbread with caramel sauce. Erik and I glanced at each other as dessert was placed in front of us, and he shook his head and closed his eyes in disbelief. I felt the same way. How could we eat…now?

When the agony of dinner was over, we all went into the living room and everyone settled into the deep cushions of the couches, except for Erik and me. Erik started his vigil by commencing his panther-like pacing back and forth in front of the picture windows that looked out onto the expansive deck and the Sound. Watching him took me back to the first time I met him in my office. He was pacing, looking out the windows on that day four months ago, too. I was suddenly flooded with the thoughts of how much had happened since them.

I excused myself to go visit Phen in her bedroom. Freuda, Matt and Jeremy nodded their agreement politely, but Erik stopped in mid-stride, turning to look at me. His eyes told me that he did not want me to leave, but he took a deep breath, and asked, "You will return soon?"

"Yes, Erik. I will be gone for only a short time." I smiled and left quickly, torn between wanting to see how Phen was progressing and needing desperately to be with Erik. I raced up the stairs and hurried down the hall to her bedroom. Counselor Sebbied and I had visited her on Saturday, and she had still been quite unsteady on her feet and a little foggy, so we had stayed only a few minutes.

I knocked on the door and called out to her, "Phen, it is Laura. May I let myself in?"

"Yes! Laura! Please, come right on in!" Her voice conveyed that she was in a good mood this evening.

I entered and found her spread out on the couch, reading a book with a quilt tucked around her. She put the book down in her lap and smiled as I walked over and sat down in the easy chair next to her. "How are you feeling, today, Phen?" I asked with a smile, hoping to hear some good news.

"Well, today I had some trouble getting my sea legs under me, Laura. It is still like that. Some days, I walk quite well and others, it feels like the waves are rolling a bit to much under the deck!" she said with a wry grin.

I chuckled and reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it in sympathy. "Well, you have endured a horrible kidnapping. Between the drugs and the explosion and fire, you will need time to heal, Phen. Just be patient and give yourself…and your body…time!"

"But Laura! The trial! I have work to do!" she said with unabashed distress. I realized she was in total denial of her circumstance. How to ease her into understanding?

"Phen, you are a wonderful attorney, and you have already made valuable contributions to Erik and his case. In fact, all the evidence you gathered when you went back to the Opera Populaire in 1871 will become some of the most convincing evidence for the defense! You have already contributed valuable service, and we will continue to use the information you gathered, right through to the end of the trial. You know, we have only three more witnesses, and it has always been intended that two of those, Erik and Christine Daae, are to be my witnesses. Counselor Sebbied can present the final witness, using the information you gathered," I looked into her eyes and in my most sincere tone, I concluded, "Your work for the trial is done…and in fact, it has been very well done. You shouldn't have any concern for the defense case. You need only take care of yourself and get well now." Phen studied my face for several minutes. I could tell she did not like what she was hearing.

So, I changed the subject quickly, "Did Horatio tell you that tonight we learn whether The Program is sending the team back to France with Erik?"

"Yes, I know tonight they are making the decision." Then her fiery spirit reasserted itself, "But I HATE sitting here in this room, doing nothing, when all of you are shouldering the burden of defending Erik!"

"Phen, your job now, your primary duty, is to get well," I said with my gentlest voice.

"Never argue with a lawyer, huh, Laura?" she says with a chuckle, "especially you…!" At that we both had let out a laugh!

"Well, sometimes we have to bow to reality. Sometimes we have to accept things as they are, not how we want them to be," and as I said those words, I realized they were a double-edged sword and had just come back to pierce my own shield and deliver an undeniable blow. Tears welled up into my eyes for the first time tonight. But it wouldn't be the last time.

We visited for awhile as she asked me for details about how the trial was going and what the strategy was for the last three witnesses. I answered all her questions and listened attentively to her suggestions. I knew she needed to help in any way she could. After a half hour, I looked at my watch and explained that I had promised Erik not to be gone too long.

It was then that Phen brought up _the_ subject. "Erik has a lot at stake tonight. I wish him the very best. Horatio told me about…you and Erik. I was surprised to learn of it. I am concerned how it will affect Erik when he returns to France. Can he take another heartbreak? And what about you, Laura?"

She had not said a word about Erik and me during our conversation on Saturday or this evening. I thought she did not know, so her question took me off guard. I looked down and studied my hands. It flashed through my mind that it was a gesture I often saw Erik do in court.

I pondered her question…the one I had been asking myself constantly. Then I returned Phen's gaze and answered as simply as I could, "Phen, it just happened. Neither of us planned it or intended it. Things…so many things have happened…and step by step, day by day, we were drawn together. I worry about Erik, and how he will feel…when we are separated. I have thought about this constantly, and now I have made a decision. I am going to do the only thing I can. In time you will see." Phen studied me intently and then nodded her head. I leaned over her, and we hugged each other for many moments.

When I returned to the living room, Erik was still pacing back and forth in front of the bank of windows. His shoulders were thrust forward in tense determination, and his eyebrow slung low in deep introspection. Jeremy, Matt and Freuda sat on the couch chatting in lowered voices that did not disguise the anxiety they were feeling.

I walked over to Erik and stepped in front of him, stopping him in his endless circuit. When I reached out my hand, he took it automatically. Leading him over to a pair of high-backed chairs in front of the window, I motioned for him to sit down. He resisted at first, but I insisted, and he finally settled into the chair. So, we sat there, holding hands, totally withdrawn into our thoughts.

I knew that Erik was hoping The Program would fund the project, which would greatly enhance his chances of successfully asserting his claim to his title. I had to concentrate on _his_ life, _his_ needs and_ his_ hope now….and forget my own. Twice I failed in my intention, and tears sprang to my eyes. I looked away both times, trying to hide my feelings from Erik, but I could not. Each time he took my chin and turned my head back toward him and wiped my tears away. I could see in his emerald eyes he wanted to lean over and kiss me, but there were too many prying eyes in the room, and he could not. So, we held hands…waiting…waiting.

Shortly after 11:00 p.m., Horatio burst into the living room. The look on his face said everything. Before he spoke, I knew what the decision was.

"Erik! The Program is funding your project! We go back with you!" Horatio grabbed Erik's hand in a huge shake, pumping his hand. For a second Erik seemed stunned, then he burst out into a grin, followed by laughter as the realization fully came over him. He enthusiastically returned Horatio's handshake, then turned to me and took one step forward, stopping abruptly. He made a quick, embarrassed look over his shoulder at all the people who were standing nearby, watching.

Horatio laughed, clapped him on the back and said, "Go ahead, Erik! We all KNOW!"

At that, Erik covered the few feet between us, and he swept me into an embrace that lifted me off the floor. He kissed me tenderly, chastely on the lips, and then set me back down, looking into my eyes with a boyish look of joy, as I had never before seen on his face. I smiled back at him. This was what he had waited for…hoped for. I was profoundly happy for him.

Horatio called out to one of his staff to bring champagne for a celebration toast. Each person in turn gave Erik a toast with wishes for his future. Finally, when it was my turn, all I could think of was a quote from Thomas Mann, "Erik, a famous author wrote, 'Hold fast the time! Guard it, watch over it, every hour, every minute!...Give each clarity and meaning, each the weight of thine awareness, each its true and due fulfillment!' I wish that for you, a life full of precious moments and fulfillment!" He looked intensely into my eyes, and time stood still for that moment, then he touched his goblet to mine. We drank deeply, and I struggled to control my conflicting emotions. He was so joyful, and all I could feel was an aching pain.

Then the evening was over. It was 11:40 p.m., and I had an early appointment before court the next day. The rainstorm would slow my trip home, and so I had to leave. Erik understood, but reluctantly escorted me to my car. When he opened the door, just before I got into the driver's seat, he bent over and gave me a long, lingering, warm kiss. His parting words were, "We have much to discuss!" And all I could do was nod my head, while I was plunged into a deeper torment than I have ever felt. As the car door shut I whispered softly to myself, "And so little time."

All these thoughts, all these memories flood my mind and play over and over in the car as Matt drives us home in silence. And, I cannot control the tears. As Erik's life becomes more definite, his path more clear, mine seems to become more uncertain, confounding.

When we arrive home, I put my briefcase down on the counter of the bar and open it to take out a file I need to go over in the morning before meeting with my client. There on the top of my papers is a long stem of pink orchids, tied with a black silk ribbon bow. I gasp. Matt wheels around to see what has caused my reaction. He freezes as I pick up the flowers and study them for a moment. Suddenly, everything comes crashing down on me. Still clasping the flowers in my hand, I run to my bedroom and slam the door behind me. Walking rotely over to my bed, I sit on the edge, staring down at the delicate flowers, tears flowing from my eyes.

After awhile, I hear a soft knock on my door. I look up, surprised that Matt would knock on my door at this hour. He has never done that before. I walk to the door and open it.

Matt is standing in the hallway, a tray in his hands. "I thought some hot chocolate and cookies may come in very handy right now. You didn't eat much at dinner. Hopefully this will help you sleep well. I decided against coffee at this hour…too much caffeine!" he says like a concerned doctor giving a patient his instructions.

I sigh and smile at him. "Thank you, Matt." Reaching out to take the tray, I realize the large stem of orchids is still in my hand. Matt sees it, too, and asks instead, "Let me carry this in and put it on your bedside table, ok?"

"Yes," and I take a step back, opening the door so he can pass by.

Matt walks to the table next to my bed and fastidiously places the cup of hot chocolate, the cookies and napkin on it, returning with the tray and stopping next to me at the door.

He pauses, looks down and smiles, "I am sorry…I didn't have an olive branch. You were fresh out in the kitchen!"

"That's alright! Apology accepted!" as I laugh at his caring gesture, "It is already forgotten."

"Good, I'm glad," then, I expect him to turn and leave, but he remains in the doorway, looking at me for a long moment. Finally he says, "Will you be alright…tonight, Laura?"

For the second time tonight I am taken aback. "Yes, Matt. I will be fine. _Don't worry about me_."

He nods his head, and slowly backs out the door, never turning his back. I smile and close the door, deciding to put aside for now what I just saw in his eyes and heard in his voice.

As I get dressed for bed, I think about everything that has happened tonight. I crawl into bed, pull the covers up and lean against the pillows piled in front of my headboard. I realize that I have hardly eaten today, but somehow I cannot eat and leave the food and hot chocolate on my table—untouched.

Instead, I pick up the orchids and study them, resting the delicate petals in the palm of my hand. Looking at the flowers and the black ribbon tied around the stem, I reflect on the decision I have made. I know what I will do. The only thing I can. There are three more witnesses, which will take three more weeks of trial, and then one week for the jury decision. Only four more weeks. In that precious time, I will make sure that Erik knows he is desirable and able to be loved. For him, I hope that will heal his feelings of unworthiness, of being unacceptable. For me, I hope that will create something of him that I will be able to cherish and love after he has gone. That thought again intrudes… _"after he has gone."_ As I bend over, bereft and weeping, my hand clenches shut around the petals, and they fall from my hand, dropping gently onto the white satin bed quilt.

_Erik's POV:_

I walk quickly toward the door of Horatio's home, the umbrella practically useless in the rain, which is blowing in all directions and drenching me. But, when I pause to watch Laura's car drive away before going back into the house, I see that it has not moved. I stand and watch, wondering if something is wrong. Several minutes pass, and I am beginning to feel I must go out and see what is amiss. Then, surprisingly Matt jumps out of the car, runs to the driver's side and gets in. Immediately the car starts and drives away. The darkness and rain prevent me from seeing into the car…from seeing Laura, and I wonder why she is not driving. But the car has now passed from sight, and it is too late to find out.

As I walk to my room, I turn this over and over in my mind. What was wrong? Why did Matt have to drive? Laura always drives. Was she ill? Or was she upset? That is the conclusion I finally settle on. Laura was upset, so upset she could not drive. I had caught her crying twice tonight while we awaited The Program's decision. She tried to hide it from me, but how could I not notice? I notice everything about her when she is with me, and I cannot get her out of my mind when she is not. In the days...endless hours...between my times with her, the only thing that gives me refuge is my music. As I play the piano, I pour out my longing and my passion to be with her.

I take off my wet clothes, hang them in my bathroom to dry and continue to ponder what caused her mood tonight. She smiled and supported me throughout the long hours we awaited The Program's decision. And, she was joyful when we learned their decision, but all evening beneath that façade, I could feel her melancholy.

Certainly she wanted The Program to fund the team. Certainly she was happy with their decision. What was upsetting her could only be distilled to one issue: my imminent departure…and our separation. That, too, has preoccupied my thoughts, but I had been waiting for this one piece of the puzzle to fall into place, the approval of the Team to accompany me to France. I felt I could not take her with me if the SEALs were not there to provide a degree of safety and protection for her, as well as a degree of comfort in the form of others from her time and culture.

Putting on my warmest robe, I go to my fireplace and light the logs. I need extra warmth to overcome the chill from the rain, which has burrowed down into my bones. As I tend the fire into a raging blaze, I keep thinking about this problem that has been my constant companion, never far from my thoughts. Laura is clearly distraught by my leaving. It is equally clear that I cannot remain here.

The Program has made the public commitment that I will be returned on the day of my acquittal should that be the result of the trial, and it is looking very likely that will be the case. The Program holds all the cards. I cannot prevent going back. They put their time travel marker around my neck, engage their machines, and I am gone. I cannot overcome several SEALs bent on sending me back. But Laura is not part of the team.

She has made it clear that her skills cannot be used in 1871 France…at least by a woman. She would have to leave behind the life she has created for herself. Would she be willing to do that? If I ask her to do that, to come with me, would I not be doing to her what Raoul did to Christine? Expecting her to walk away from her abilities, her gifts, her training and education?

I watch the fire's tongues of flame shoot randomly in all directions, as chaotic as my own thoughts and feelings. I loathe becoming like Raoul, asking Laura to give up her soul's work to be with me. I do not like myself for being so selfish, so centered on my needs and wants. But, those feelings are dwarfed by my anguish when I think of all the years ahead without her. If she will have me, if she will come with me, _then I will move heaven and earth for us to be together._

I thrust myself up in impatience and begin pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. I have had an idea working in my thoughts for some time now. I have considered every possible solution, but this seems to be the only one that would be successful and overcome all objections or attempts to keep us apart. It seems to be the only way. Pacing several more times, I make my decision. I cannot wait until morning. I must start NOW.

Picking up the small gadget that Jeremy gave me to use in case of an emergency, I push the button. Within moments Jeremy bursts through the door of my room, firearm in hand. I groan. It seems that whenever anything out of the ordinary occurs here in this country, someone grabs a firearm!

"Jeremy, _put that down!" _I order with indignation.

"But Erik! You pushed the pager! What is God's name is up? I thought there was an intruder!" He blurts out testily.

"Intruder? Here? With all these firearms? They would have to be insane!" I point out the obvious.

I watch in disbelief as Jeremy scans and makes a circuit of the room, looking behind, below and around every piece of furniture. Then he goes into my closet, lest someone is hiding in the laundry basket, I presume. Finally he checks my bathroom, and I hear the click of the shower door open and closed. I shake my head as he emerges from the bathroom, still holding the firearm in his hand.

"Would you please put that DOWN?" I repeat my request, trying to control my irritation.

He places the offending weapon down on the table in front of the fireplace, but remains standing, giving me a challenging look, "So what is this all about, Erik?"

"Jeremy, I have something to ask you. Would you keep something I say to you private, and I mean private from everyone: from The Program, from the Admiral, from Horatio, from any of the other SEALs? Could you keep my confidence absolutely?" I ask with an edge in my voice.

"What? Erik, why would you ask such a thing of me! I have my chain of command!" he says in disbelief.

"I am asking it because you are my body guard, and you are to continue in that post when we return to France. I need to know I can trust you!" I study his face and see that I have hit a nerve. I have come to know and respect Jeremy. He is a man of honor, and right now I am giving him a contradiction to consider. How can he be loyal to me and to The Program at the same time if our needs diverge? Just where would his loyalties lie? I watch as he considers what I have said and hold my breath. His answer is of utmost importance to me.

"Erik, I will promise you this. I will not pass on anything you say to me now in confidence, not to anyone. But I cannot promise I will do what you are going to ask me until I hear what that may be. Is that fair?" He answers with calm conviction.

"Yes, Jeremy, that is fair. If you cannot do what I request, I accept that it will be enough that you do not share what I am about to say." Then, taking a deep breath and knowing that my greatest hope hinges on his complicity, I continue, "There is something I must do, and I cannot do it alone. _I need your help_…."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Thank you for your really thoughtful reviews and comments! We just got the 10th for Chapter 31!! But…please continue to post your reviews for that chapter…we want to hear from each of you!!**

**Time is a character in The Case…and Time is definitely running out…Things will now begin to occur that were unforeseen… The fuse leading to a powder keg has been lit… Only time will tell what this will mean for Erik… Getting seatbelts fastened?**

**We welcome KFC to our writing team with this chapter!! She was a writer in the Baby Case, and has been waiting in the wings for her part of the story to begin. **

**Chapter 32 Second Thoughts, by Phanfan, Phanna++ & KFC+**

_Friday, September 30, 2005  
Seattle, Washington  
Courthouse_

_Zoe's POV:++_

M Phantom has filled my thoughts all week, and I cannot get him out of my mind.

I feel such deep satisfaction at delivering the information that has been entrusted to my family for over 130 years. And I am also thrilled that I am the one who was able to help M Phantom know that he had...well, or has…a mother's love. My heart ached these last weeks listening to the terrible abuse he suffered in his lifetime, never having the care of a loving mother.

As I enter the courtroom to take my seat, I remember the incredible experience of meeting M Phantom. I have memorized his words from last week: _"Thank you Mademoiselle, for carrying out your charge. I am forever grateful to you and your family."_ My heart beat so wildly when I was near him that I was afraid everyone would hear.

I look around the courtroom, but it is still early and people are still arriving. Christine Daae will be back on the witness stand today, and I cringe at that thought. Recollecting her testimony of a few weeks ago, I pray it will be different today. But I am also confident that Ms Counselor and the defense team know what they are doing.

As I sit down in my seat, Bailiff George walks toward me from the other side of the barrier, catches my eye, and motions me forward. When I reach the barrier he opens it, and asks me to follow him.

"Where are we going George?" I am really curious.

"Just come with me," he says, his eyes twinkling, "I know you will enjoy this."

So I follow him through the front of the courtroom and out the door into the same corridor as before, but this time I am lead to a different conference room. George ushers me into the room and quickly leaves. My heart begins to beat faster, and my legs feel a little unsteady when I realize that M Phantom is waiting there, studying me with his head tilted to the side. I also notice that Ms Counselor is sitting at the conference table but my attention is totally riveted on M Phantom! He is so tall, so handsome! At this thought I can feel that irritating blush starting, and my cheeks flame pink, hoping that he can't read my mind right now.

"Zoe," my name said in that low melodic voice, sends tingles through me, "I wish to thank you and your family for your devoted service. Truly, it has been immeasurable." His eyes are looking directly into mine, and I think I just might thud. To have those beautiful green eyes focused on me, well, this will be one of those moments in my life that I will never forget.

Continuing in that deep, rumbling voice, "In addition, I hope that you will accept this from me as a token of my deepest appreciation." He extends a large black leather portfolio to me. My hands shake noticeably as I reach out to take the portfolio from him and open it. I realize that it contains pages of a musical score and glance up at him in disbelief. He smiles, and there I go…blushing again!

"Oh, M Phantom, this is lovely. Is it one of your own compositions?" Breathlessly, I wait for his answer. It seems surreal that I am actually standing here, having a conversation with him….with Erik, the Phantom of the Opera.

"Yes, Zoe. It is one that I have recently completed. There is nothing that I could bestow upon you and your family to express my indebtedness for all that you have done. But I hope that you will derive pleasure from this token of my regard." He looks directly into my eyes as he tells me this, and I can see his sincerity in their depths.

Leaning over, I place the portfolio on the conference table, open and turn the beautifully handwritten pages. It is written on golden vellum paper, and I study the elegant 19th century penmanship. On the cover page, M Phantom has signed his name and title, using his signet ring to mark an impressive red wax seal under his signature. This would be priceless if it were to be sold. But I have no intention of ever letting this go. It will be a cherished heirloom that I will pass down to my children, and they, to their children. What a lovely legacy to bequeath. I turn my head a little to look at Ms Counselor. She seems to understand all the emotions that I am feeling at this moment, and gives me a small smile and a nod of encouragement. My eyes fill with tears, and, trying to compose myself, I continue to scrutinize the pages. Finally, I close the leather portfolio and look up at M Phantom.

"I…I don't know how to tell you how much this means to me…and my family." I convey from the bottom of my heart. "Thank you." With that, I pick the portfolio up and cradle it in my arms. Then M Phantom takes me off guard when he extends his hand for a handshake. I offer mine to him, but, instead of the handshake that I expect, he brings my hand to his lips. My heart is now racing so fast that surely he must be able to feel my pulse! His lips touch the back of my hand in a light kiss. They are so warm and soft, I wonder if I will ever wash this hand again! No, there must be something more I can do to preserve it. I chuckle to myself as the thought occurs to me that perhaps I could bronze that section of my hand.

The next thing I remember is Bailiff George leading me back to my seat in the courtroom. But my mind still reels from the intoxicating encounter with M Phantom. Even the questioning looks of the other spectators are not upsetting when M Phantom and his defense team follow closely behind me when they take their seats at the defense table

When I am seated, I glance over at M Phantom and Ms Counselor. She is leaning very close to him and probably discussing the upcoming testimony of Christine Daae. I can tell from my two private meetings with them that Ms Counselor and M Phantom care deeply about each other. Seeing the private exchanges between them, I am glad that he has found someone who obviously returns his affection.

The court is called to order, and Christine Daae again steps into the witness stand. I look over at M Phantom as Ms Counselor begins her first question. He has resumed his usual formal posture and is staring straight ahead at his folded hands. I pray that Christine Daae will not do him any further harm with her testimony today. If she does, I silently vow that I will find a way to whack her with my newly gifted, original, handwritten composition in a _thick_ black leather portfolio without damaging it!++

_Jeremy's POV:+_

I have a gut feeling that today is going to be a very, very long day.

We arrived earlier than usual at the courthouse this morning. Erik wanted time before the proceedings started to present a special gift to Zoe Grenville in appreciation for everything she and her family have done for him. I had to chuckle to myself when I saw her come out of the conference room carrying the portfolio that Erik had given her. She looked to be in a daze with a funny little smile on her face. But stranger was the fact that she seemed to be carrying her hand aloft as in reverence. I couldn't figure that one out.

Now that Erik's meeting with Zoe is over, I accompany him, Laura and Counselor Sebbied down the corridor and into the courtroom. As usual, Matt has escorted Laura to the courthouse this morning, but is off-duty for the hours she is in court. It still worries me that Matt is going to remain here in the future to console Laura rather than stay with the SEAL team. Our team has been through so much together, and I am disturbed that Matt won't be with us in France. But, judging from the look on his face when he left Laura this morning, I have a sinking feeling he will not change his mind.

Ben, Russ, another ex-SEAL, and I do our usual visual scan around the courtroom as we enter and take our positions in the front of the courtroom, always in readiness, along with the other three bodyguards already in place around the perimeter.

Christine Daae will be testifying today, and I am not looking forward to that. She practically eviscerated Erik the last time she was on the stand. I will never forget how he reacted. I saw him for a fleeting moment in the men's room before Laura shoved me out the door, and I was thankful she was there to handle the situation. I don't know how I could have dealt with it myself. Definitely not something they teach you in SEAL training.

With a sense of dread concerning today's witness, I take up my guard duty and watch Erik, observing him as he looks down at Laura and listens to her intently. Her hand unselfconsciously rests on his forearm as she gives him final words of reassurance.

In the time that I have spent with Erik, I have come to know and respect him. Yes, he still has his odd ways, but I can understand most of them now. One of his favorite things to do to irritate me is to disappear for hours. But he has been a loner all of his life. I realize that was not by choice, but out of necessity. He is a very private person and does chafe from the constant hovering of the bodyguards, especially me, since I am always on his tail. However, I have seen him changing as the weeks go by. He's learning how to interact with people and is not quite so formal and on guard as he once was.

And, he has many traits I admire. He is very much a gentlemen, always considerate of other's feelings--well, that is except mine when I can't find him, and I see that smirk cross his face at my frustration when he does show up. I believe that he actually enjoys playing the cat and mouse game when he disappears. But he has a very strong ethical core, and I don't think that only stems from a 19th century code of propriety.

Tuesday night he took me completely by surprise when he asked for my help. He actually _asked_ for help! Of course, in his manner of manipulating the situation, first he strategically raised the issue of trust between us. I realized immediately that although I had flown into his room ready to trap an intruder, I was the one who was about to be cornered. When he pressed me for my discretion, I assured him that I would not reveal to anyone what he was about to say, but neither would I promise to help him unless I felt comfortable doing what he asked. Then he explained the details of his plan and asked specifically for my assistance. I stood for a full minute under his scrutinizing glare before I told him I would have to think about it overnight.

He was clearly not pleased that I was delaying my answer. I have come to realize that when he has his mind made up, patience is not one of his strong traits. He reminded me with a glower that time was "of the essence," though there was not a single thing that could be done about it until the next morning in any case. But a crossroads had been reached between us, and he had finally raised this crucial issue now that it was clear I would be returning with him to France as his personal bodyguard. Suddenly he had thrown down the gauntlet regarding the issue of my loyalty. He had me in a Catch 22, and I spent most of Tuesday night staring at the ceiling, wrestling with the deepening contradictions of my job.

My first and foremost duty is to protect and keep Erik safe at all times regardless of the cost, including my personal safety. But for me to be able to do this properly, Erik must trust me implicitly. If Erik does not feel that I have his best interests at heart, or that he can rely on me, he will go behind my back...our backs... for whatever reasons he deems appropriate, and therein lies a very grave danger to the Program. But if I divide my loyalties in order to do my duty, I walk a very precarious line. What might this mean when we go back to France? And what about the day that he asks me to do something that might be in direct conflict with The Program's goals? What will I do then? I hesitate to participate in this conspiratorial act with Erik, because I know that in time, the line I walk may grow very, very thin.

I spent most of Tuesday night wrestling with these issues. In the lonely darkness of my room, it was not hard to imagine Erik's anguish and urgency. I spent the wee hours of the morning tossing restlessly in my bed, wondering what I would do…how I would feel in Erik's situation. But it wasn't until I looked at my haggard face in the mirror the next morning that I made my decision to commit to Erik's plan.

Now it is Friday, and I have not followed my chain of command and reported what I am doing to help Erik. As I stand here in the courtroom waiting for the proceedings to begin, that bothers me deeply.

Erik, on the other hand, seems almost nonchalant and at ease. When he took his chair at the defense table moments ago, he even swirled his cape onto the back of his chair with a bit more flair than usual. The anticipation his plans have created are clearly overcoming even the looming cloud of Christine's testimony that hangs over the rest of the courtroom.

He turns now, just as Miss Daae is stepping forward to take the stand, and intentionally catches my eyes telegraphing a barely detectable smile...then settles smoothly back into his usual dignified, self-contained posture. My eyes are threatening to roll as I contemplate the difference between his calm and controlled exterior and what I know to be raging internally inside him right now. I continue scanning the room, focused on my duty of protecting him, but the thoughts about this new situation continue to intrude. I believe I have won his trust...but the question is whether I can manage to keep the trust of the Program as well if we are successful in our conspiracy.

I observe his attentive manners toward Laura as he pulls her chair back when she stands to begin her questioning. Was it providence or fate that assigned me to guard this enigmatic man? But, he is less enigmatic, less like a riddle the more I get to know him. I sometimes think that quixotic may be the better word to describe him, for he shares so many traits with Don Quixote. He is truly an extravagant romantic, and despite the many tragedies and obstacles of his life, he is an unabashed idealist. I sometimes wonder if there are any limits to what he would do for the one he loves.

Yes, I think _both providence and fate _conspired together to land me in this conundrum. Either way, it makes no difference—the Phantom of the Opera and I appear to be stuck with each other. On my side, he is my charge, and on his, he must accept my constant interference in his life as his bodyguard unless I quit The Program. My sense of duty and honor will not allow me to do that, especially with Matt bent on leaving. _Alright Erik_, I aim my thoughts at the back of his jet black head, as a phrase from an old song suddenly takes on a new twist. _"Because you're mine...I walk the line."_ +

_Laura's POV:_

After Christine has been sworn in, I stand and walk slowly toward her. I am wearing a white linen Armani suit with a long jacket and knee-length skirt today, setting a calm, reassuring tone. Christine is dressed in a pink linen dress with modestly cut bodice and exquisitely tailored jacket trimmed in delicate lace. I pass by the prosecution table and can feel the eyes of all the attorneys following me intently.

I stop a few feet from Christine and give her a warm smile trying to set her at ease. "Mlle Daae, I understand that you came to the Opera Populaire when your father died, is that correct?"

"Why, yes, when I was seven years old," she smiles in return.

"Was that a scary thing, for you to come to live in an opera house?"

"Well, no, I had been there many times before."

"Oh, and why was that?" I ask.

"My mother died shortly after I was born, so my father took me with him wherever he went on tour. You see, he was a very famous violinist and performed quite often at the Opera Populaire."

"Was it when your father died that you were put in the care of Mme Giry?" I smile thinking of Antoinette and her love for both Meg and Christine.

"Yes."

"Why is that? Is she a relative?"

Christine shakes her head, and answers, "No, there was no family still living that could take care of me. Mme Giry was a dear friend of my father's. Her husband was a soldier who died never having seen his daughter, Meg, who is a year younger than I am. My father and Mme Giry became like family to each other, and whenever my father performed at the Opera Populaire, we stayed in rooms there, just down the hall from Mme Giry. I always played with Meg from my earliest memories. Mme Giry is like my mother. She has always been there for me. She was with me at the bedside of my father when he was dying, and she always treated me as a daughter. And, Meg is like a sister to me. They are my family!" Christine now seems to be more comfortable because of these easy questions about her childhood.

"You trust Mme Giry?" I inquire as I watch her face.

"Well, yes, of course I do! With my life! She is the wisest woman I know, and she knows everything that happens in the Opera House!" Christine answers emphatically as if everyone should know this.

"And did you trust your father?"

"But, of course! Always! He never lied to me and was the most loving and kind of fathers. When he died I was inconsolable," Tears form in Christine's eyes as she thinks about her father who she obviously loved.

"Was it your father who told you about an 'Angel of Music?'" I ask kindly.

"Yes, he started telling me about an 'Angel of Music' several months before he died, just after he was diagnosed with the tuberculosis."

"Mlle Daae, what did he tell you about the 'Angel of Music'?"

"Oh, that there would be one to watch over me."

"Did you believe your father when he told you this?"

"Yes, of course."

"And, Mlle Daae, did an 'Angel of Music' appear in your life?"

Christine now stops, seeming to think about her answer. "Well…when I cried one night just after I came to live in the Opera house, I heard this voice singing a lullaby to me. I stopped crying and just listened. This happened again every night from that time onward."

"But how on earth did you connect this voice to the 'Angel of Music'?" I ask amiably.

"Because after several nights, I asked this voice, right after the lullaby stopped, if he were the 'Angel of Music' promised by my father, and he said that he was."

"Did you believe him?"

"Of course I did."

"And why was that?"

"Because my father would never lie to me, and here was an angelic voice singing each night to me. And when I asked if he were my 'Angel of Music,' he said "Yes."

"I see. You have previously identified M Phantom as the person who committed the 'fraud' of being the 'Angel of Music,' promised by your father, who you attest never lied. An 'Angel' who sang you lullabies and gave comfort to you from the time your father died onward…a period of about nine years. Is that a correct statement of your testimony, Mlle Daae?" I turn to the side so I can observe Erik's reaction. He is still staring at his folded hands, as usual, and listening intently.

Christine blushes and hesitates before responding, "Well, yes, it is."

"During that nine year period did he do anything else beside sing these nightly lullabies?"

Christine nods slowly, "Yes, when I was older, during the day he would give me lessons to train my voice."

"How long did that go on?"

"Oh, from about the age of ten until I was sixteen."

"Did you have any other voice teachers?"

"Uh, no," Christine glances toward Erik but he avoids looking at her.

"So, M Phantom, whom you called 'Angel of Music', was the only vocal teacher who trained your voice which is now recognized to be at the level of a diva?"

"Yes." Christine shifts uncomfortably in her chair and looks down at her hands, pensively.

"Well, that is a serious crime, indeed!" I say with a smile.

"Objection. That is not a question, but a commentary by counsel," S Luzano jumps to his feet and declares.

The Judge rules expeditiously, "Sustained."

I nod my head at the Judge, acknowledging her decision. Turning to the witness, I continue my questions: "You stated in your previous testimony that Mme Giry gave you a red rose tied with a black ribbon after your debut performance in Hannibal. Is it correct that you previously testified that Mme Giry said, 'He is pleased with you.' "

"Yes, that was my testimony," Christine begins wringing a handkerchief she is clutching in her hands, as if clearly nervous about what my next question will be.

"Did Mme Giry specifically say, "The Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera is pleased with you?"

"Well, no."

"Did Mme Giry ever discuss the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera with you or use that name?"

"No, never," she replies thoughtfully, shaking her head.

"I see. Let us go back to the actual time when Mme Giry gave you that rose. When she said "He is pleased with you," who did you, at that time, think she referred to?"

Christine twists the handkerchief she holds in her hands and softly answers, "I thought she meant the 'Angel of Music.'"

"Why did you think that?"

"Well, she and I often talked about the 'Angel of Music' and how he was helping me develop my voice. And I had been with Meg earlier that evening in the chapel praying that I would finally meet my Angel."

"'My Angel?' You refer to the 'Angel of Music' as 'my Angel?'" I speak these words with emphasis and turn around to look into the faces of the jurors to drive the point home.

Christine stammers, "Yyyesss, I guess I always did."

"What name did Mme Giry use to refer to this person who sang you lullabies, who was the teacher that developed your voice to the level of a diva and watched over you for nine years?"

Christine answers slowly, searching her mind for this response. "Mme Giry almost always referred to him as 'Angel,' although she on occasion referred to him as a 'Great Master,' like the time during the Hannibal rehearsal when she explained my voice training to the new managers."

'Now you said you trusted Mme Giry with your life?"

"Yes, I do."

"So, not only did Mme Giry know that there was an 'Angel of Music' watching over you and training your voice, but she knew him so well, he gave her a rose and a message to pass on to you?"

"Why, yes."

"Did Mme Giry ever warn you to stay away from the 'Angel of Music?'"

"No."

"Did she ever tell you he was dangerous or would harm you?"

"Oh, no."

"So was Mme Giry lying or being untrustworthy by not warning you about a man you have testified was both crazy and dangerous?"

Christine stops wringing the handkerchief in her hands and stares down at it, trying to figure out how she should answer. This is going to be a challenge, and Christine is clearly pondering her choices. If she answers "Yes" that Mme Giry was lying or untrustworthy, that would be untruthful about a woman she loves and admires. If she answers, "No," then she is admitting that her trusted surrogate mother knew all about the "Angel of Music," had no fear of him and felt that he was doing nothing that would endanger Christine, even passing messages and roses from him.

She looks over at Erik, and I glance over at him, following her gaze. He is now looking up, studying her intensely and waiting for her answer. Finally, after several minutes of consideration, Christine meekly says, "No, Mme Giry was not lying, and I have never known her to be untrustworthy."

"Ah, so then, you are admitting Mme Giry knew M Phantom, was aware that he was the 'Angel of Music,' and furthermore never told you that he would be dangerous to you or harm you?"

"Yes," Christine gives a small, resigned sigh.

"Is Mme Giry a fool?" I ask softly.

"Oh, no! Of course, not!" Christine quickly exclaims.

"Then you are stating that Mme Giry was not lying, was not being untrustworthy, and also was not being a fool when she did not warn you about M Phantom?"

"Well…yes."

"Mlle Daae, what you mean is that you also do not believe that M Phantom is dangerous and would never harm you? Remember, you are under oath," my voice now carries a warning tone for her to tell the truth.

Christine takes her time with this answer. She is beginning to realize that she is getting caught in her own contradictions. What she doesn't realize yet is that there is no end in sight

"No, I don't believe that, either." Christine's eyes lock with Erik's for several moments, and I see him acknowledge her admission with a small nod of his head in her direction.

As for me, I am relieved that Christine is deciding to tell the truth, at least for now, rather than get twisted further in an ever entangling web of her own dissimulation.

"Mlle Daae, you testified previously that after your debut performance in Hannibal, _'He sang to me that he was my 'Angel of Music' as I walked down a candlelit hallway with him.'_ Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"You just testified that you said to Meg Giry when you were with her in the chapel after your debut performance that you wanted your 'Angel of Music' to appear to you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then was it unexpected that the man who was your 'Angel of Music' would appear to introduce himself since you had finally asked him to do just that?"

"Well, no, that wasn't totally unexpected, since I did ask it."

"Mlle Daae, when you asked for your 'Angel of Music' to appear, was that because you wanted to meet him and were not afraid of him?" I continue trying to resolve her confused and conflicted testimony to strengthen our case.

"Well, yes, of course, I wanted to see him after all those years…." She pauses and then adds, "That is why I took his hand and followed him down a corridor. Because I had heard his voice every day for nine years, and he had always watched over me and had never harmed me…." Christine looks again at Erik, but I turn and find that he is studying his hands, deep in thought.

"So you voluntarily took his hand and followed him….he did not force you or lift you or grab you or harm you in any manner?" I ask with a soft, supportive voice.

"No…he did not…." she looks at Erik with an anguished expression, as if even she is beginning to realize how she has defamed him.

"When you took his hand and followed him, did you in any way object or say you did not want to go with him?"

"No, I did not," Christine says unequivocally..

"You also testified that he took you down to the '5th level of the opera house.' Isn't that where he has his home?"

"Yes, it is."

"You then testified that you remembered mist, a glassy lake, candles and a boat. Do you remember him singing to you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Did you find that to be a pleasant or unpleasant experience?" My heart is sinking because I suddenly realize I do not want to hear about the relationship that Erik had with Christine.

"Oh, very pleasant!" Christine exclaims with passion, her eyes open wide in remembrance, and her cheeks blush in a becoming shade of pink.

"Were you afraid at any time?"

"No, not really…."

I have no choice but to ask, "But you did faint?"

"Yes, when I saw the mannequin who looked like me and was wearing a wedding dress," she says emphatically.

"Mlle Daae, what did you think was M Phantom's reason for showing you the mannequin with the wedding dress?" again, my heart is plunging, as I have to ask these questions.

"Well," she pauses and looks over again at Erik. He is still sullenly studying his hands. "I thought it was to declare his intention to ask me to marry him."

I decide not to belabor that situation further, and quickly move on to the next morning, "You testified that when you awoke the next morning you saw him seated at his organ, playing music. You testified—and I read from the court reporter's transcript:"

'_I needed to know if this being, this person, was indeed the 'Angel of Music' promised by my father or some imposter playing upon my innocence. I approached him at the organ, and I asked him point blank who he was. When he didn't answer me but only continued with his playing, I carefully removed his mask to ascertain his true identity. With that he flew into the most violent rage I have ever witnessed. He threw me to the ground all the while screaming insults and curses at me. He continued like this for quite some time before he returned me to the opera house above.' _

"Mlle Daae, did you in fact speak to him, ask him who he was, or in any way tell him you wanted to see his unmasked face?"

She pauses, looking uncomfortable and picks at her handkerchief in agitation. "Well, actually, I was thinking those things to myself, but I did not actually talk to him, or ask him those questions."

"What was your real reasons for taking off his mask?"

"Well….I wanted to see why he wore it…what was under it….." Christine says with clear embarrassment, continuing to ruin the handkerchief in her hands.

"Did you find out then why he wears that mask?"

"Yes," she says, giving an apologetic look toward Erik. I cannot turn to look into his face. I fear I would lose my own emotional control if I see pain register on his face, "Well, he has a deformity on the right side of his face, so the mask is worn to cover it." I hear Erik's chair creak loudly behind me. Clearly he has shifted in his chair from distress at this testimony.

"How did you go about that?" I ask doggedly.

"I put my hand on his cheek and soothed it, then when he closed his eyes, concentrating on his music, I just took it off…." Christine says very softly as though wishing no one could hear her.

"You 'just took it off?' Did you ask his permission to 'just take it off?'" I ask incredulously.

"No."

"Did you tell him you planned to take it off?"

"No." Christine is now hanging her head down miserably.

"Did you take it off gently or 'just' rip it off?" I ask very pointedly.

"I guess you could say I 'sort of' ripped it off." Christine continues avoiding all eye contact.

"You are confirming now that you 'sort of ripped' it off?" I repeat, turning to the jury and raising my left eyebrow in shock at this insensitive act.

"Yes," she responds, again blushing.

"Do you think that might have also been a little painful--tearing a mask from someone's face, considering that the mask had to be held in place with an adhesive?

"Yes, I guess it could." Christine gulped.

"Would such an abrupt, unexpected action which also resulted in some pain cause someone to jerk in reflexive action?" I look at her intensely, challenging her to look me directly in the eyes.

"Yes, it might." She keeps her eyes down, concentrating on that handkerchief which is now mangled beyond recognizing the delicately embroidered initials.

"You testified that 'he threw me to the ground.' To throw something requires picking something up in order to throw! Did M Phantom pick you up to throw you?"

"Well, no he didn't."

"When you 'sort of' ripped off the mask, did he put his hands on you anywhere?" I ask pointedly.

"No."

"So you startled him by removing the mask, most likely causing some pain in the process, but he did not pick you up, or put his hands on you, or throw you, is that what you are saying?"

"Yes."

"Where were you standing?"

"Right behind him."

"Close enough to touch him and remove the mask, correct?"

"Yes."

"When you 'sort of' ripped off his protective mask, what did he do?"

"Well, I was standing behind him--behind the bench he was sitting on--and he jumped up and ran to the other side of the room."

"So was it when he jumped up suddenly from the bench and ran to get away, that he pushed against you, knocking you down?"

"Yes. He knocked me over as he rushed away."

"The truth of the matter is, when you ripped off his mask, the combination of the pain from tearing off the mask and shock from an invasion of his person was so unexpected, that he reflexively jumped up from his seat. And, so he knocked you over by accident as he was fleeing from this violation to his person?"

"Objection! Calling that a 'violation of his person,' is inflammatory language and should be stricken from the record." S. Luzano again rises to assert an objection.

The Judge leans forward, peers down at S. Luzano and says judiciously: "Objection overruled. Under the circumstances, 'violation of his person' seems to be a factual statement."

I repeat the question: "Is it true that you were standing so close that he knocked you over by accident as he was fleeing from this violation to his person?"

"Yes, I think that would describe what happened. " Christine answers miserably not able to make eye contact, looking down at the shreds of handkerchief in her hand..

"Did he touch you with his hands at all when you ripped off his mask?"

"No, he did not."

"What was he doing with his hands?"

Christine looks up suddenly, confused. "What? What do you mean?

"What was M Phantom doing with his hands at that moment?"

"Well…he was holding his right hand over his face…over the scarred side…he was trying to cover it." Christine lifts her right hand in imitation.

"So he was trying to hide it from your view?"

"Yes, he was trying to hide it."

"Which was also why he was running from you, was it not, so that you would not see the deformity?" These words are so difficult for me to say, but I must.

"Yes, I guess it was." She looks down and tears of understanding and empathy form in her eyes.

"So, when you fell, what did you fall on?"

"I think it was a rug and pillows."

"Were you bruised by the fall?"

Christine pauses and responds sadly, "No, I was not."

"Were you startled?" I ask.

"Well, yes, I was."

"Just as M Phantom was startled by your feigning a gentle touch, then "sort of" ripping off the mask that hides his scarred face?"

The tears in Christine's eyes now break loose and flow down her cheeks. "Yes, I think he was very startled."

"Did his reaction indicate that he was traumatized by what you had done?" I pursue this point tenaciously, making certain not to look back at Erik. I, too, am trying to control my tears that are stinging the back of my eyes.

"Yes, they did." Christine answered tearfully.

"What did he do next?"

"He called me a 'Prying Pandora,' and said he hoped I could see the man beneath the monster…."

"So when he said 'monster' he was referring to his physical deformity?" My heart is now breaking at these words.

"Yes, that was what he meant, and how I understood it."

"Well, Mlle Daae, do you think your actions may qualify as a 'Prying Pandora?"

She pauses for a moment and then slowly replies, "Yes, I guess they do."

"And is it wrong for M Phantom, or anyone for that matter, to want people to look beyond their imperfections, whatever they may be, and see their true nature, the best of who they are?"

Christine slowly looks up, glances over at Erik and says with sad conviction, "No, that is not wrong, and when he spoke his feelings to me about what had just happened, I began to understand the depths of the pain he felt."

"So, Mlle Daae, do you still testify that he abused you physically or emotionally on that occasion?"

"No, he did not abuse me…he did not act any more impulsively than I did…." Christine shakes her head in realization, and uses one of the shreds of the handkerchief to wipe away a tear.

"When was the decision made to take you back to your dressing room?"

"Right away."

"Who proposed that you return?"

"Well, he did."

"So he did not keep you there against your will?"

"No, he did not."

"Now, turning to the event in the cemetery, who came to the cemetery with his sword drawn first, the Vicomte or M Phantom?"

"Well, it was Raoul…er, the Vicomte. M Phantom and I had been singing to each other, when Vicomte deChagny rode up on his horse, jumped down and pulled out his sword."

"You now say you and M Phantom were 'singing to each other.' You previously testified that M Phantom was 'attempting once again to deceive me into thinking that he is my 'Angel of Music,' until Raoul showed up and told me that this man, this 'thing,' was not my father.' Did you believe the voice you were singing with belonged to your dead father?"

"Well, the voice came from my father's tomb, and at first I was deep in thought and a bit confused. I wasn't sure who was singing to me, so I asked if it was, 'Angel or Father, Friend or Phantom?'"

When I hear Christine say things like this, I can't help but think that this young lady is really, really confused. She is even thinking that her dead father may be singing to her. "So then what happened?" I ask patiently.

"Well, a voice immediately answered 'Have you forgotten your Angel?' I knew then who it really was. We sang about how my soul connected with him and with the music."

"So, if you knew 'immediately' who it was, that it was your 'Angel,' and he identified himself as such, then your previous testimony that he was trying to deceive you is not correct, is it?" She continues to get caught in the web of her previous testimony.

"No, that was not correct," she says with acceptance.

"That was when the Vicomte interrupted the song you were sharing with M Phantom, rode up on his horse, jumped down, imposed himself into the scene, insulted M Phantom in the most egregious manner by calling him "That Thing," and drew his sword. Does that accurately reflect what happened next?" I simply summarize the testimony both she and the Comte gave concerning this scenario

"Yes, that quite accurately describes what happened." Christine nods agreement, meeting my eyes as if something is dawning in her vacillating thought processes.

"So the Vicomte is the one who brings the sword to the cemetery, a place of solitude and reverence, and threatens M Phantom?"

"Yes."

"What happened next?"

"Well, there was a sword fight, of course, and M Phantom lost his sword when he tripped and fell backwards. Then the Vicomte stood over him, with this sword pointed down at his heart and was about to…" Christine's eyes went wide as if she were seeing the episode play out again in front of her eyes. She is unable to finish the sentence, but instead gasps.

"The Vicomte was about to kill M Phantom, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, that is."

"Why did the Vicomte stop this fatal blow? What held his hand?" I ask pointedly.

"Well, I cried out and told him not to do this!" Christine looks distressed and glances over at Erik sending him a pained look of sorrow.

"So, it was the Vicomte who was about to commit the murder of M Phantom?"

"Yes!," she almost yells out, and it seems as if the courtroom starts to hum as everyone begins to talk, exchanging comments about this admission.

"Mlle Daae, you said that you participated in the plan to capture M Phantom, is that correct?"

"Yes," she shakes her head regretfully.

"You testified you participated because you wanted to remove M Phantom so you could continue your career in the short term as a diva of the Opera Populaire, and in the long term become the Vicomtesse deChagny, is that correct?"

"Yes, that was what I felt…then," she says hesitantly, and I wonder just how much of that has changed, now that she has heard the testimony of Mme Giry and Freuda regarding her 'Angel.'

"You testified that you knew the gendarmes would be present that night to capture M Phantom, is that true?"

"Yes, I knew the gendarmes would be there."

"Were you not afraid for your own safety, that if the guns were fired, you could be accidentally hit?" I ask this probing, very important question.

"As I said before, I became numb with shock and fear when I saw M Phantom come onto the stage. I had not expected him there…on the stage…with me…so near to me! I felt then that he knew our plot and that he had one of his own!"

"So, you testified that you forced yourself to perform, and that you simply acted out your part in Don Juan Triumphant to continue with the plot to capture M Phantom?" I ask, but my heart is breaking that Erik has to sit and listen to this and the questions that I must still ask.

"Yes, as I said before, I forced myself to perform to continue with the plot, but also to find a way for me to escape."

"Mlle Daae, you testified that you were not afraid of the gendarmes. Didn't the thought occur to you when you were standing on stage, near M Phantom that if the gendarmes shot their guns, they could hit you by accident?" I ask this question because her original testimony on this point seemed to be vague.

"Well, yes, I did realize that there was a little danger should they choose to shoot," she says, again gazing at her hands and refusing to look me in the eyes.

"A 'little danger?' You had only a 'little' fear concerning the guns being shot at someone who was standing next to you?"

"Well…" she pauses for a long time, clearly considering her answer, trying not to contradict what she has previously said, "yes. Actually, I did realize that there was a danger to me. That is why I took off his mask. I wanted to show everyone it was him, and I felt he would flee, he would want to escape when everyone could clearly see who he was."

"So, part of your reasons for taking off the mask was to disclose his identity, and part was so that he would flee, thereby distancing you from any guns that might be fired at him?" I say, startled by Christine's admission. I hear Erik's gasp behind me.

"Yes," she answers softly.

"I can barely hear what you said. Mlle Daae, could you please repeat your answer so the jury can hear it?"

"YES!"

"But, you did not know that you were standing on the trap door he would use for his escape, did you?"

"No, I did not."

"You testified that when M Phantom took you with him to his home, he did not threaten or harm you, is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct, he asked me to put the wedding dress on--there really wasn't any force--I just did what he asked. He had already, basically proposed when we were on the bridge, and I understood that. He also took the ring and put it in the palm of my hand and closed my fingers over it."

"So what was your response?"

"Well, I was angry at the entire situation and told him so!"

"How did M Phantom respond?"

"He never got to, really, because Raoul--the Vicomte deChagny--arrived then and started yelling to open up the gate."

"What did M Phantom do in response to Vicomte deChagny's request?"

"He opened the gate--just like Raoul—the Vicomte--asked."

"What happened next?"

"Well, as I explained before, that is when M Phantom threw his noose around Raoul's neck and tied him to the large grate. Then he said I had to choose…between marrying him and Raoul's life."

This is the part of the testimony—of the entire case—that I have most dreaded. And, there is no way around it. That second unmasking by Christine was utterly traumatic to Erik, and the effect on him was compounded by it occurring in front of a large crowd of people who reacted with horror. That had pushed Erik over the edge and into a full-blown attack of post-traumatic stress disorder. He had gone temporarily insane, but that, ultimately, would be our defense for his subsequent actions. The horrible reality I was now dealing with was that for us to bring out the facts that would clarify his condition, I had to ask Christine these questions and have her once more go over that terrible night. After all, the first time Christine testified, the rest of the story had not been told. The jury had not heard what happened next, what happened after Christine kissed Erik. They did not know the facts concerning his subsequent actions. So, Erik has to sit through this and hear it again. My stomach is nauseous, my feelings in utter turmoil, but my mind knows what it has to do, and I let it take over and guide me.

"So," I ask with my heart in my throat, "what did you do then?"

"I mouthed 'I love you' to Raoul, which was my way of telling him how I felt for him, and then I put that ring on my left hand and walked into the murky waters to M. Phantom and kissed him."

"You previously testified that you kissed him twice to convince him of your intent to marry him, thereby saving the Vicomte's life, is that correct?" My mind is now split, half here, asking the questions, and half back in the past, seeing Erik's form, a long, dark line of black on the white floor the last time these questions were asked. I pray he will be able to get through this without his emotions plummeting again.

"Yes," she answers, looking across the room at Erik. Now I have to turn and assess how he is coping with this most traumatic part of the questioning.. He seems to be suspended, as if he has stopped breathing temporarily, but he is clearly controlling himself.

I quickly move on to the facts we need to impress on the jury's understanding of these events.

"So what did M Phantom do next…after you kissed him?" my throat closes around those last words, almost strangling them off.

"The three of us could hear the mob shouting for his death for the first time, and he drew back from me and began to sob. I could not understand why he was reacting this way. Then he told me to go and take Raoul with me! He said to leave quickly so that the mob would not know we had been there. He said for us never to speak about him. Then he turned and walked away from me. He went up into his chamber at the top of the stairs."

"How did you react to that?"

"I could not believe it! I went over and freed Raoul from the ropes tying him to the grate…."

"When you untied the Vicomte at the instructions of M Phantom, did you both immediately leave?"

"No, we didn't."

"Why not?"

"I...uh, told Raoul I had to go find him." Christine says hesitantly.

"And what did the Vicomte say to that?"

"Well...he said I could not go. He wouldn't allow it. I told him I had to—to give back the ring, to rescind what I had said…what I had done…"

"Did the Vicomte then allow you to do that?"

"Yes, he did."

"What did you do when you got to the upstairs chamber?"

Christine pauses again, looks down at her hands and takes a deep breath, "He was in a condition I never thought to see---he was totally demolished as if he had no will to live. He was listening to his music box—the one with the monkey on top. Just sitting there and singing—like he was in a trance. I had this feeling that he was going to wait for the mob to find him…that he was going to let them take him…. I could not help it, my heart was breaking to see that. Then, he saw me standing there and looked up and told me that he loved me."

I am utterly shocked. I have never heard that before. In all of our discussions and thorough preparations, Erik never told me that. I wonder if he even remembers it himself, or if he was in such deep trauma, it has been wiped from his memory out of self-protection. Shaken by this unexpected, tragic image, I glance sideways at Erik to read his expression, and he, too, seems taken by surprise, his eyes narrowed, attempting to hide his pain.

Gathering my wits about me, I ask, "And, so, what did you do next?"

"I walked over to him and put the ring in his hand. I was so sad about how everything had happened, but I had to go. So, I didn't say anything…I just left with Raoul. I remember looking back once when we were in the boat and seeing _him_ standing at the top of the stairs, just watching us…" she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Mlle Daae, you stated that M Phantom told you to free Raoul and for both of you to leave before the mob found you. But, you have now testified that shortly after that you were again alone with him in his room, and he did not touch you, molest you, or hold you against your will. Is this correct?" These, of course, are the facts that show who Erik really is, and they establish his real behavior when he is not under the temporary insanity of PTSD.

"Yes, that is true," she says with a firm nod of her head.

"So, M Phantom, of his own will and volition, let you and Raoul go free isn't that also true?"

"Yes, he did."

"Thank you, Mlle Daae. No further questions." I breathe a deep sigh and walk past the prosecution table. M deVere places his pen down on his note cards and studies me intensely. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch an inconspicuous smile that goes over S. Luzano's face, as he nods his head slightly at me. Mr. Broadbent's red face barely contains his fuming indignation. He knows what we are doing, and he knows Christine just helped us with our proof.

I arrive at the defense table, and I barely reach my chair before my knees finally give out. Dropping into my chair, I gaze straight ahead at the Judge, not yet daring to look at Erik. Thankfully, she immediately dismisses the court for the lunch hour. Erik reaches over and takes my hand underneath the table. Gathering together my frayed emotions, I look up into his eyes, which register only calm. I am totally shocked to see that and watch as his eyes follow Christine with compassion and some other emotion that I cannot quite identify, as she is escorted from the courtroom.

"Erik, are you alright?" I ask, trying to understand this unexpected reaction.

"Yes, Laura. Finally, I truly am. Thank you." His sea green eyes look down at me and reach into my soul.

I search his face and find only peace, which is unmistakably reflected in his expression. Has he truly overcome his demons that have so relentlessly haunted him? Are these now relegated to a life that he has finally put behind him? My mind flashes back to Tuesday night, to his elation when he learned that The Program funded the team. They would go back with him to 1871 France and do everything to support his claim to the deChagny title. Even Christine's appearance here today and her testimony, he had taken in stride. Had he truly put it all into the past and moved on? Or was there something else?

As the bodyguards escort Erik and me out of the courtroom, my mind is processing these questions. When we arrive at our private conference room for lunch, I call my office as usual to check in with my staff. That is when I get the unwanted news that a new client has received a dangerous, threatening call and needs temporary restraining and stay away orders today to protect her over the weekend. My paralegal has filled out the motion and drafted the declaration, but I need to research and dictate a special points and authorities, supporting our request for an ex parte order. I close the cell phone and give a disheartened look at Erik who is studying me closely.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I won't be able to have lunch with you today. I have to go to the law library to prepare a document that my paralegal will be picking up and filing this afternoon. We need a protective order for a client right away!"

Strangely, a slight smile flickers across his mouth before he responds, "I am sorry to hear that, Laura. Will you be occupied the entire lunch period?"

"Yes, I am afraid so, Erik."

"I will miss you, but I understand you have other duties and responsibilities," he says with an accepting nod of the head.

I look up at him, surprised at his easy acquiescence. I had expected more resistance or even an argument from him. As I gather my purse and brief case and walk to the door, I notice Jeremy and Erik exchange conspiratorial glances. Something is up. I ponder this as Russ, the bodyguard that fills in for Matt on Fridays, escorts me to the law library. Then, I force myself to push this from my mind as I begin researching the cases I will need to cite in the points and authorities I am dictating for my paralegal.

That is when the truly unexpected happens. I am looking down, reading an appellate case when someone stops on the opposite side of the ancient oak library table. The voice brings me suddenly out of my concentration.

"I would like to have a word with you, Mlle Counselor."

Before my eyes can look up at the statuesque figure standing on the other side of the table, I know the voice belongs to Christine Daae. When I see her striking face and penetrating eyes in front of me, I inhale sharply.

"Mlle Daae! What are you doing here?" I ask with as calm a voice as I can muster.

"I saw you come into this room without him, and I followed you! May I have a word with you?" She responds with a slightly nervous catch in her voice.

"Yes…Mlle Daae?" I wait, suspended with curiousity about what she will say next.

"I have watched you in court for several weeks now. I have seen how you and M Phantom behave toward one another," Christine begins, "I know it is not proper to inquire into a private matter, but there is something I feel compelled to ask you…"

I hesitate, wondering what she is getting at. Reluctantly I reply, "You can ask if you must…"

"I would like to ask you _what is_ the relationship between you and M Phantom?"

I am taken aback, and Christine's two women guardians shift uncomfortably behind her and look away. Clearly they are also surprised at this unexpected question.

"Why Mlle Daae, whatever it may be, how can that be of interest to you? You are an engaged woman…engaged to marry the Vicomte deChagny," I remind her of this rather significant fact.

She studies me for several moments and replies, "Well, the truth of the matter is that the marriage has been postponed. The Vicomte's father has withheld his consent, and Raoul will not be able to marry without it until he is twenty-five years old. That is four years away. Many things could happen in the meantime. I now have a more mature understanding of M Phantom…of his situation. After all, he is a Master of music. Perhaps my future holds only a career in the theater after all. So, I was wondering if you have intentions toward him." Her disclosure now gives me a very clear picture of her own intentions.

"What do you mean by intentions?" I am amazed by this question.

"Intentions of marriage, of course!" she responds without hesitation.

"Well, no, Mlle Daae," I answer directly, "We are friends. Marriage has never been discussed."

She smiles for the first time and responds, "I am sorry to have been so bold, Mlle Counselor, but I needed to know if perhaps I could continue my…friendship…with M Phantom again."

Looking up at Christine, I am utterly speechless.

"Good day, Mlle Counselor," she says with a polite curtsy and leaves. I can only nod in response and watch as her two guardians and one bodyguard follow her from the law library, looking back at me with uneasiness. I look down at the book and continue reading, almost from a detached perspective, even though the words blur across the page.

I force myself to finish dictating the remainder of the document into my tape recorder. As I return my legal pad to my brief case, Christine's words collide with my plans regarding Erik. I cannot avoid the reality that she wants to renew her relationship with him as a means of assisting her career in case the marriage with Raoul does not come about as planned. And how could I ever tell Erik about this meeting with Christine or what she has said? I decide never to tell him this…it would crush his heart and, after all, perhaps their being together was always meant to be.

And, there is that unavoidable reality that I will not be there. The Program has a select team, and each person is being sent back because they have a specific skill which is needed to further the timeline project. My skills as a lawyer, especially since I am a woman, are not able to be used in 1871 France. I simply do not fit the requirements of The Program.

Then, there is that other undeniable fact. When we were on the island, I told Erik that I love him. But when I told him that, he fled, and ever since that time, he has never told me that he has the same feelings for me. Perhaps now I understand that, too. In court today when Christine testified that she had found Erik singing to himself in front of his music box after he sent her away, _he had told her he loved her_. Her reaction had been to put the engagement ring in his hand, say nothing, and immediately leave with Raoul. I could see it clearly in my mind's eye as she described it, the image of Erik sitting there bereft, and I was utterly overwhelmed by the realization of how he must have felt. For a moment, I almost lost it in court. I had not known, had not been prepared for _those words_, for _that image_, and it nearly overcame me.

Now Christine has spoken the very words that have been haunting me. "What are your intentions?" I have longed for a marriage proposal from Erik, but it has never happened. I responded truthfully to Christine. For whatever reason, he has never told me that he loves me. So, I have resolved to give him all my love in the little time we have left. Before I open the door of the library to walk back into the corridor, I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.

_Erik's POV:_

An uncontrolled smile crosses my mouth when I hear Laura will spend the lunch hour in the law library. Fearing that Laura may have seen it for a second before I assume a mask-like expression, I quickly hide my excitement at hearing this. Finding the opportunity to be alone for a period of time at lunch has been perplexing me all morning, so this comes as an unforeseen gift.

When Laura departs, I am left alone in the conference room since Counselor Sebbied has been taking her lunch in the courthouse dining room. Jeremy waits a few minutes to assure that Laura is out of sight before he leaves to carry out our plan. I hear him instruct two of the bodyguards to remain outside the door and let no one enter in his absence.

I cannot sit down and eating is out of the question. My stomach is churning, and I begin to pace up and down the small room. On occasion I stop to look out the windows. Storms continue to rage, heralding in fall with a vengeance. The sky is dark even now, at noontime, with sullen pewter clouds that release a steady rain and create a cold, dismal mood. But I do not allow this to intrude upon my spirit…or my hopes.

I resume pacing. Many minutes go by as I study the large, institutional wall clock, certain that the hands are not moving. Time trudges past as slowly and irritatingly as an aria sung by Carlotta.

Stopping again in front of the window, it is evident that the day has darkened further so that it looks almost like evening. Why isn't she here? Why is it taking Jeremy so long to find her? I MUST see her…talk to her…TODAY! I sweep my gloved hand through my hair in agitation.

I begin my endless pacing again when the door suddenly swings opens, and I see her standing hesitantly, her tall statuesque figure framed by the doorway, Jeremy just behind her. She gazes at me nervously and does not come into the room.

"There is no need to be afraid," I say to reassure her, "What detained you?"

"I had to speak with someone first," she looks at me with an apologetic smile.

"Please enter!" I respond, relieved to see her finally here. I begin removing my black gloves as I walk toward her. "_Come_, we have much to discuss and little time!"


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Have you noticed the Chapter titles on these latest chapters? Providence…Hope…Second Thoughts…and now, Dreams…They all have great meaning…and the next chapter…? **

**Thank you to each of you who post your delightful, insightful comments and reviews!! **

**Chapter 33 DREAMS, by Phanfan and KFC+ **

_Friday, September 30, 2005  
Seattle, Washington  
Courthouse _

_Matt's POV:+ _

Pulling out of the courthouse parking lot in Laura's 'vette, I head toward the ocean. Fridays, while Laura is in court, is the only time I have away from my duties as her bodyguard. I usually use it to take care of things like banking, buying the few personal things I need, and stocking up on reading material for the times I sit and wait for Laura in her office each day. But today, those mundane matters are the last thing on my mind. Today my only personal business is to think...to drive...to search my soul and ask myself the difficult questions I must find the answers to before I return to the courthouse.

Maneuvering through the traffic and reaching the coast highway, I step on the gas and let the 'vette have her way as she eats up the road. The sky is dreary, and dark clouds are rolling in from the ocean. A light rain has already started. I turn the windshield wipers on and settle in for a long drive along the coastline. Laura's music fills the air, along with a faint hint of her perfume, and the lovely scent takes me back to the day I met her.

Horatio called to inform me that The Program had assigned me as bodyguard for Erik's new attorney. She and Marek were having dinner at the Le Bouc in Seattle, and I was to be available when they walked out of the restaurant that evening. Not having any particular expectations, I was taken by surprise at the elegant beauty of the woman being introduced to me as Erik's attorney. She exuded a demeanor of professionalism and confidence, along with a friendly smile, and a calming touch when I shook her hand. I walked her to her car and when I opened the door for her she gave me a startled look. Then as she brushed past me and slid into her seat, I caught the warm, exotic scent of her perfume.

I escorted Laura home that night, and she settled me into her cushy guestroom, which has a king-sized bed, a large screen TV, a private bath and an extensive collection of books. This was clearly not going to be the usual SEAL assignment. Since then, other than on Fridays while she is in court, I have been near her, watching over her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Realizing from the beginning that she found it a nuisance to be 'shadowed' all the time, I kept my distance and gave her all the space I could. In time, she became comfortable having me around. One night, discovering an unused coffee maker in her kitchen, I asked her permission to use it. She said, "Of course," and when she smelled the aroma of Ethiopian Yergesheffe the next morning, she couldn't resist trying a cup. Since then I've always made the coffee. And we have become friends.

We are hardly ever "home" because Laura works long hours. I've never met anyone more dedicated to her work, more willing to pour herself out for the people and the causes she believes in. Sometimes I worry about her health. I have escorted her home from her office or the law library many times after 3 am. And I often hear her taking emergency calls from her clients in her room in the middle of the night. Watching her day after day, I wonder if there is a bottom to her heart, or any limit to her love.

I observe her clients as they sit in the waiting room before an appointment, often anxious and fearful. But later, they come out of her office relieved. So many times I have seen her clients return from a court hearing, smiling and happy because they received the protective orders they needed.

It's not just her dedication and her compassion that has left an impression on me. It is the little, everyday things that I watch her do that intrigue me. She is absolutely fascinating to watch. I have never seen _anyone_ so organized. She carries a legal pad with her everywhere, even to and from her bedroom, and is constantly making notes. One time I suggested that she use a tape recorder that she could tuck into a pocket, but she just smiled and told me that she _likes _to write everything out by hand. Go figure.

Her house is immaculate. Everything has a place, and I've learned to be sure I follow that particular rule! According to Laura, Saturday mornings are for laundry and cleaning, although there is really never much cleaning to be done since a maid cleans on Fridays. But she cleans her refrigerator, makes her shopping list, and in between loads of laundry she pampers her plants, and of course, does her ironing. In this day and age she still irons. That is something I didn't understand at all, until one day when I went to retrieve my laundry out of the dryer and found my white shirt ironed and hanging up for me. I have to admit, wearing that shirt felt good.

It wasn't until we went on that first outing with Erik that I realized how much I care about her. While we were onboard the _Regina_, Laura and I were standing near the railing, and I was pointing at a spout of water rising from the ocean. Without even realizing it, I placed my hand on her shoulder to direct her gaze toward a whale breaching in the distance. And that was the moment that I felt it. The moment that I knew I loved her. She looked up at me, her eyes shining with excitement, her beautiful black hair blowing in the ocean breeze...and I was lost.

Then she turned around and called out to Erik with eyes only for him, and I knew they were falling in love. I had been noticing the signs for a while and wondering...but it didn't really hit me until right then. I don't think they realized at that time—the undercurrent between them—but over the last several weeks, it has become undeniable. Laura loves him deeply. I see it in her eyes whenever Erik is around, when he whispers to her or when he takes her hand in his. At moments like those, I feel the fool for ever having fallen in love with her.

But I did fall...very hard. And I can't just turn that off and walk away, especially not after last Tuesday night. I keep thinking back on how upset Laura was after Horatio made his announcement. She allowed her happiness for Erik's good fortune to shine on the surface. After being in close quarters with her for months now and watching her carefully that evening, I could sense that underneath her radiant smile, she was torn.

I knew the reality that she and Erik would not be together was finally sinking in, and that it hurt. When she completely broke down in the car before we could even pull away from Horatio's, I realized that the news had more than upset her, it had devastated her. I have never seen Laura so distraught. I knew she was doing everything in her power to hide her feelings from Erik. But she cried in front of me.

Insisting on driving home, I took the keys from Laura even though she protested. She was in no condition to drive, and the instinct to take care of her overwhelmed me. She cried all the way home and it tore my heart, knowing this was only the beginning of the pain. As we drove through the darkness and pouring rain, I felt the intense loneliness of being so close to Laura I could touch her, yet so far away I could do nothing to stop her tears. And that was the first time the road ever blurred in front of me.

Laura had her emotions under control by the time we arrived home that night. But when she found in her briefcase that stem of flowers from Erik, her eyes welled with tears again and she fled to her room. Later I brought her a tray of comfort food, telling myself it was to apologize for our disagreement. It was partly that, but the real reason was that I just needed to be there for her somehow. I couldn't stand to see her suffering...and it tore me up not to be able to stop her pain.

Although I knew she wouldn't eat a thing, I set my peace offering on her bedside table anyway. Either my face, or my voice, must have given away what was in my heart, because as I left the room she looked right into my eyes, suddenly understanding the depth of my feelings for her. I had no intention of letting her know, but I am not good at wearing a mask. She closed the door on me gently, and as I stood outside for a moment, the first tears I've cried in years actually slid down my face. I don't think she slept much that night...and I know I didn't.

But she seemed at peace when she came out of her room the next morning and had apparently not taken offense. In the car on the way to court that day, she was her normal self, only very quiet. Over the next two days, the comfort level between us gradually returned, and by the time she met with Erik on Friday in the conference room, she was smiling. It was such a relief to me to see her smile. Her eyes shone as Erik took her hands in his, and I stepped outside the room, closing the door to give them the privacy to embrace. When they came out of the room several minutes later, Laura's face was radiant again.

Bittersweet memories continue to flood my thoughts, and I feel restless, in need of a walk to clear my head. The coastline is rugged along this stretch of the highway and has no designated parking areas, but I pull the 'vette over anyway. It has stopped raining for the moment, and only a hazy mist hangs in the air as I walk down the beach toward a jut of rocks near the waterline. As I scan the horizon, the real issues in pummel my mind. The Program has made the decision to send the SEAL team back to France with Erik as soon as he is acquitted, which seems likely. If I am not going to accompany the team on this mission, I will need to speak to Horatio, tomorrow when I take Laura for her Saturday meeting with Erik. I am not looking forward to breaking this news to him. I know he will not be happy about it. And I feel like some kind of a traitor, leaving Team Bravo after all we've been through together.

Then there is the unknown...the question that has been nagging me, and keeping me up at night. If I do stay behind, will Laura allow me to see her...as a friend? Is it possible after the struggles of letting go of someone she loves, forever…that in time she will turn to me? I watched time and providence change her relationship with Erik. It was a slow, unanticipated fall...into a deep love. And I wonder if it's possible that it could happen again? Or do we have only one chance to love fully and deeply in this life? That question nags me as I walk out onto the rocks and climb on top of one of the larger ones, using it as step to reach the huge boulder beyond. When the tide surges in, I feel the sting of the salt spray as it crashes against the rocks.

_Laura, all I know is that I love you with the very depths of my being...no less than he does. There's no love, no protection he can give you that does not already follow in your "shadow." I don't wear the mask, and the most formal I dress is a plain black shirt and jacket. But there's no one in the world who would give more of himself...would sacrifice more. It's what I do. It's who I am.  
_  
_Yet,_ _I know where I stand with you. And I know where your heart lies. You love Erik...with a passion I've only dreamt of. But when he is gone, you will be alone again. And though you've poured out your soul to the people that you serve...bound their wounds, given them hope and second chances...none of them are going to be there to help you through your heartbreak, or hold you while you heal. Can you understand why I can't walk away? _

_It's a long shot, Laura, I know. Crazy...out of reach...a dream. Maybe I'm denying the truth. But you knew it was crazy to fall in love with a man from another time. You risked your heart, and did it anyway...because to stop the fall you would have had to run away. And you couldn't do that. He was your responsibility...your charge. And so I'm going to stay to watch over you, to love you from a distance.  
_  
Standing on the rock, facing the incoming tide, I seek the courage to face reality without putting up defenses. Glancing at my watch, I realize that court will adjourn soon, and it's time to return. The encroaching tide shoves me out of its way and cascades over its coveted space as I make my way back to the car. As I get inside and start the engine, Laura's music comes on automatically. Uilleanne pipes fill the air with their lament, and I look out toward the ocean again. The music stirs my longing, and as I pull out onto the highway, the words say everything I feel...

_When you love someone  
You'll do anything  
You'll do all those crazy things... that you can't explain  
You'll shoot the moon  
Put out the sun...  
When you love someone... _

_You'll deny the truth  
Believe a lie  
There'll be times that you believe...you can really fly  
But your lonely nights...  
Have just begun...  
When you love someone_

_When you love someone  
You feel it deep inside  
And nothing else...could ever change your mind  
When you want someone...  
When you need someone...  
When you love someone..._

_When you love someone  
You sacrifice...  
Give it everything you've got...and you won't think twice  
You risk it all  
No matter what may come  
When you love someone..._

_You'll shoot the moon  
Put out the sun...  
When you love someone ++_

It's raining again, and the closer I get to the courthouse, the harder it seems to come down. By the time I turn into the parking lot, it's an out and out downpour and people are coming out of the building with umbrellas up. I park near the back door of the courthouse and take Laura's umbrella in case it is still raining when I bring her out. But I don't open it. I'm not the type to walk under umbrellas...at least not usually.

I make a dash for the door. Inside, all the lights are on inside because of the dreary day, and people mill about the foyer, peering doubtfully outside at the downpour as they button up their overcoats. Two other SEAL guards and I make a security check of all the corridors and rooms on the ground floor near the elevator, then I take my position in front of the elevator doors and call Jeremy to let him know I am here. +

_  
Jeremy's POV:_

"I can't believe I am doing this!" That thought keeps playing through my mind as I search the hallways of the courthouse for one wayward young woman. Glancing down at my watch, I realize that almost fifteen minutes have elapsed. I have no doubt that Erik must be pacing and stewing by now back in the conference room.

Then I see her just ahead in the corridor and accost her by the arm, glowering down at her in an almost Erik mode. She is a bit taken aback, but I tell her he is waiting, and she goes with me without any argument. When I reach around her to open the door of the conference room, she freezes in the doorway when she sees Erik walking toward her. I should have thought about this—her reaction to Erik. He also sees her hesitation and says,

"_There is no need to be afraid. What detained you?"_

She answers nervously, _"I had to speak with someone first."_

Erik tries to reassure her, _"Please enter! Come, we have much to discuss and little time!" _

He comes to a stop next to the chair on the opposite side of the large oak conference table in the middle of the room, gracing the young woman with his most charming smile, but still she does not move. I begin to seriously worry that she might thud, here and now. She begins to wobble, so I put a supporting hand under her elbow and nudge her forward. Pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table from Erik who is still standing, I gently guide her into the chair, but she plops down into it unceremoniously, her knees finally giving out.

Erik gives me a perplexed glance, but continues to smile warmly at her. "May I also sit, Mademoiselle?" he says with his formal manner, clearly becoming uneasy about her reactions to him. She only nods her head in response, clearly not yet able to speak.

Erik places his black gloves on the table, sits down and folds his hands in front of him in his usual fashion. He then regards the young woman and says with a slight edge in his voice, "Mademoiselle, did you bring the papers with you?"

She suddenly snaps out of her shock at being in the presence of the Phantom of the Opera and looks down into her hands at the papers she has been clutching. "Oh! Yes! Indeed, just as Mr. Nichols requested in our phone conversation Wednesday. I have everything that is needed right here!"

Great! I think to myself, she is beginning to get her wits about her. That is a good sign. The last thing I need now is a thudding court clerk.

"May I ask your name, Mademoiselle?" Erik inquires politely.

She swallows hard, gathers her senses and answers, "It is Maggie Peterson."

"Ah, well, Mlle Peterson, could we begin? I fear we have a very limited time to accomplish our business. Please explain what I must do to obtain a marriage license here. Do we need to post banns?" Erik asks with strained tension in his voice. That is when it dawns on me that in France it is required to post banns many days, possibly weeks, before the marriage can occur. So THAT is why Erik has been so concerned to press forward as quickly as possible! He was afraid he would run out of time because of how long it takes to post banns!

"Post banns?" the court clerk repeats rotely, quite confused by this question. "What do you mean by 'post banns,' M Phantom?"

"Well, in my country, we must post banns in the magistrate's office. They are a formal announcement of the intent to marry and must be publicly posted for some time before the marriage ceremony is allowed to be performed. Is that not required in his country?" he now seems confused by her lack of knowledge about something he takes for granted.

"No, M Phantom. That is not required here. In fact, I have never heard of such a thing before!"

I watch Erik's face relax into a grin, then suddenly change to a look of panic as he asks, "But surely there is a time period one must wait before one can marry! If so, how long would that be?"

"Yes, there is a waiting period in this state of three days between the filing of the marriage license and when the ceremony can be performed," she responds, utterly oblivious of the effect those words are having on the man sitting opposite her. However, _I ca_n tell from the look in Erik's eyes that his mind is whirring with the prospect of being married so soon. I suppress a chuckle, as I think to myself that I hope those thoughts don't totally overload his circuits.

"Three days, only three days?" Erik repeats her words, dazed by this unexpected turn of events. Now I cannot resist a chuckle. It is clear that Erik cannot believe this bit of good luck dropped into his lap.

The clerk smiles and repeats, "Yes, three days from filing for the marriage license to the wedding ceremony." My guess is that it is not only the three days to the marriage ceremony that Erik is thinking about.

"Ah, I see," Erik clears his throat as he tries to cover for his previous, somewhat overenthusiastic response, and says with a more dignified tone, "Well, then, Mlle Peterson, let us initiate the process. What are the other requirements?"

I then interject the question that has been worrying me, "Ms Peterson, is a blood test or physical exam required in this state to obtain a marriage license?" I hadn't been able to figure out how we could accomplish that and still keep this marriage conspiracy a secret from everyone else in The Program. Erik gives me a surprised glance upon hearing this question.

"No, Mr Nichols, those are not required in the State of Washington," the young woman puts to rest my biggest concern about carrying out this plan. I let out a sign of relief, and Erik nods his head, suddenly realizing that we have again received a bit of good news.

Erik then poses a question I had not thought about, "Mademoiselle, is there a residency requirement to marry here? Can a person…such as I, who come from a different country marry without establishing residency?"

"Oh, no, that is not a requirement. You don't have to be concerned about that at all!" she gives Erik a warm smile.

"So, Mlle Peterson, what are the requirements to obtain a marriage license here?" Erik presses nervously.

"The first requirement is that both applicants must be over the age of 18 years."

"Oh! Of course! That is not a problem. Both of us are definitely beyond that age!" Erik nods his head.

"But, we must have documentary proof, M Phantom, such as a photo ID!" the court clerk responds.

"Photo ID?" Erik repeats her words and looks at me with a questioning wrinkle in his brow.

"Ms Peterson, you realize that M Phantom doesn't drive, so he doesn't have a driver's license or any other photo ID, for that matter. Is there something else that can be used to verify his identity and his age?" I begin to think we may have a glitch or two after all.

The clerk looks at Erik, "Well, yes, we do need some proof of identity and age. Do you have a birth certificate?"

"Of course! That is required in my country to obtain a marriage license, so I brought my certificate of birth with me!" Erik then reaches inside his black waistcoat and brings out an ancient, folded document. He lays it on the table between him and the young lady and carefully handles the aging paper, which crackles as he opens it for her to review. I recognize it as one of the documents Zoe gave him.

"This is excellent! Then let's begin to fill out the required information on the marriage license application!" I hand her a pen, which she takes with a shaky hand, as she scrutinizes the document Erik is holding.

"Uh, M Phantom, I do not understand French. Perhaps you could translate it for me?"

"Certainly, Mademoiselle." Then, pointing to the words as he translates, Erik reads with unmistakable pride in his voice, "My formal name is, Erik Phillipe deChagny, and here it states I was born in Paris, France. My parents were, Vicomte Edmond Raoul deChagny and Vicomtesse Bernice Louis deChagny."

There is a pause as she fills in the information. Then she looks up, "We need the date of birth, of course."

Erik points to the line where that is stated and translates, "Saturday, the 13th of November 1836."

The court clerk writes that information down, then suddenly her head jolts up as she stares at Erik. "Uh, the next thing to fill in is your age," she gives Erik a quizzical look, "and by my calculations, this would make you 169 years old!"

Erik gives his enigmatic smirk and responds, "Ah, Mademoiselle, then fill in what you must. At least that verifies that I am 'of age' to marry, does it not?"

I choke down a laugh at Erik's retort. I suspect that the court clerk is not going to find very many things about this particular marriage license application to be within her usual experience. She nods but smiles at Erik's comment, and I see her fill in "169" in the blank provided for age.

The clerk then asks the question I have dreaded. "When will your fiancé join us to fill in her part of the application, M Phantom…er…Vicomte deChagny?"

"Well, Mlle Peterson, she is currently occupied with professional business and cannot join us at this time. Perhaps I can provide her information for you to fill in the application!" Erik proposes with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. I hold my breath. My gut feeling tells me we are not going to get away with this part so easily, although I did obtain all of Laura's information using my security clearance.

"But M Phantom! That is absolutely NOT appropriate. The law requires BOTH applicants to be present to provide their information and affirm their desire to obtain the license!" Her tone tells me we have just hit a brick wall.

"Could we not fill it in for her? We have all the information you require," Erik says with a smile that could make butter melt in the Arctic Circle.

"No! I assumed she would also be present. The law states that each applicant 'must be present to apply for a marriage license' and to verify their identity and age!" She has suddenly turned from a pleasant, somewhat shy young woman, to a professional who is defending her turf, and I am wondering how we will get around this not-so-little glitch. I watch Erik as his eyes study her, intensely appraising where to best attack her defenses.

"Mlle Peterson, I was truthful when I said that she is away on professional duties and cannot join us for lunch. I have all of the information you require. Could we not fill in the application form? You understand that I have only this short time between court sessions to accomplish this procedure, and with the security constraints, I am not permitted to come to your office at other times," his lowered tone has changed his voice to a honeyed plea.

I wonder why she does not thud, but instead, her backbone seems to have strengthened, and she stiffly sits back and demands, "I do not understand why this person cannot be present to personally fill out such an important document! Furthermore, I must verify her age and identity, and how can I do that if she is not here?"

Erik takes a deep breath and obviously decides to take the plunge, "Mlle Peterson, you do know her and could easily verify her identity and age yourself. After all, Ms Counselor has tried many cases here in this courthouse, is that not correct?"

"Ms Counselor? Your fiancé is Ms Counselor?" she seems surprised at this information and leans back as if to get a better view of Erik. "Well, of course, I know Ms Counselor. I have filed many motions and restraining orders for her and her paralegal. But that is not the same as her being here to verify that everything is accurate and that she wishes this license issued! I am willing to come back anytime this afternoon when she has a break from her duties to assist her to fill out her part of the application!"

Clearly the young woman is trying to be helpful, even accommodating. However, there is, of course, that other _small_ problem….

"Well, you see," Erik pauses, clears his throat again and then proceeds. "Mlle Peterson, that would be quite awkward at this point in time," Erik adds with a dramatically sad shake of his head.

"Awkward? Why would it be awkward?" she tenaciously persists.

"Well, you see, I have not proposed to her…_yet_."

"WHAT?" erupts uncontrollably from the clerk's mouth.

I cringe, wondering if her loud exclamation could be heard by the guards standing in the corridor. Images of Christine looking at the mannequin suddenly spring into my mind's eye. Erik has a definite _cart-before-the-horse syndrome_ when it comes to proposing marriage.

"You see, there has not been the proper, uh," Erik pauses to carefully consider his choice of words to explain this rather interesting pickle he is in, "…opportunity to allow for such a proposal. However, tomorrow will provide such an occasion. And, each Tuesday Ms Counselor and I have a meeting, which would be three days thereafter, the ideal time to perform the ceremony. As you are aware, I will not be at the courthouse again until next Friday. And, well, Mlle Peterson, there are extenuating circumstances which make it of the utmost urgency to move this matter forward to the earliest possible time."

I closely study the young clerk as she listens to Erik's explanation and wonder if she has a clue as to what he is talking about, or if he is getting through her business-like boundaries. This has become an interesting contest of rules versus romance. I wonder which will win.

After a very long pause during which Erik gazes into the young woman's eyes with a persuasive smile and pleadingly raised eyebrow, she shifts in her chair and looks down at the document in front of her.

"But both applicants are to be present at the same time when these documents are filled out!" she says tenaciously sticking to her guns.

Erik considers this for only a few moments and points out with lawyer-like logic, "But you said that the law requires the applicants to 'be present.' You did not say that it requires them to be present at the same time!"

Good volley, Erik, I think to myself and switch my attention to the clerk to see how she will field that technicality.

"But, the couples always come in together when they apply for a marriage license," she lobs the ball back in Erik's court.

"But, does the law require that? You stated only that they 'be present.' Could they not 'be present' at separate times?" Erik clearly has something up his black, tailored sleeve.

"What are you suggesting?" She seems open to conceding. Things are looking up.

"Well, I could take this document with me, and tomorrow, Ms Counselor could fill out her portion and bring it back to the court, providing both the verification of the information and that she is also applying for the license. In that case, I am present today, and she will be present tomorrow. Would that suffice?" he smiles at the young woman, and I can tell he is holding his breath, hoping this will work.

She fidgets with the pen in her hand for several moments, then looks up at Erik and replies, "Because Ms Counselor is an attorney, and an Officer of the Court, I will make an exception. I will release this document to you. Tomorrow give it to Ms Counselor, and if she fills it out and brings it back to the court in person, I will accept it. Luckily, I am on duty at the clerk's office tomorrow until 5 p.m. Make sure she gives it to me…and no other clerk. I will process it as if you were both there _together_!"

"Thank you, Mademoiselle, you are most kind!" and Erik beams a smile that leaves the young woman blushing deep red. "Is there also a fee for the license?"

"Yes, it is $60.00," she responds.

Erik reaches into his waistcoat again, takes out a black wallet, removes a $100 bill and hands it to her. "This should cover that fee."

"I do not have change here to give you," she shakes her head and refuses the money.

"Please. Keep the difference as your fee for coming here and helping during your lunch hour," Erik responds.

"No, we cannot accept such money. It would be improper. But I will take it and send the $40.00 to your court's head bailiff, and he will return it to you."

With that, Erik stands and formally bows to the young woman, "Thank you, Mlle Peterson. You are a very understanding young woman. I am forever in your debt."

I escort the young clerk out into the corridor, and just before she leaves, I lower my voice and ask, "Please, Ms Peterson, keep this matter confidential and do not talk to anyone about it!"

"But the license is a matter of public records, Mr Nichols. Anyone can have access to it!" she says with a regretful shake of the head.

"Well, could you please keep it confidential and say nothing about it at least until the middle of next week? If Ms Counselor returns the document, could you continue to, shall we say, keep it private at least for the next four days, until after the ceremony?" I hope this is a young woman who can be trusted. Her standing up to Erik and insisting he follow proper rules gives me the feeling she has ethical standards.

"Yes, Mr Nichols. I understand your concerns about M Phantom's security and privacy issues. I will make sure the license gets lost in a file on my desk for at least four days!" she laughs conspiratorially, "By the way, I thought you should be aware that the law requires two witnesses at a marriage ceremony."

"Thank you, Ms Peterson, you are a jewel!" and as I watch her disappear down the hallway, I know we have gotten lucky again.

_Erik's POV:_

When Jeremy escorts the young clerk out of the room, I turn and walk to the window. The day is even drearier than it was before and casts a pall over the room, but my own feelings could not be more hopeful, even ecstatic. I cannot get out of my mind that if Laura accepts my proposal tomorrow, we could be married by next Tuesday _night_. Then, The Program would be facing a fait accompli…she would be my wife, and they would have to send her back to France with me. They would not vote to back me as part of their plans to change the timeline and then alienate me by refusing to send my wife back with me. They simply would have no choice.

I begin pacing as I consider how, ever since last Friday when Zoe put that fateful box in my hands, my life has utterly changed. It is as if an entirely new life has been handed to me. I now know my true name and identity, and even possess the documents to prove that I am the senior heir to the deChagny title. The Program has voted to send a team back to France to protect me and support my claims, and now, it is within my grasp for Laura and me to be together for the rest of our lives. I stop again at the window, watching the heavy rain begin to pour from the dark sky, awestruck by this incredible change of fate.

I reach down and put my hand into my pocket and feel the velvet box. It contains the jewelry I designed for Laura, which arrived only yesterday. Now, it will make a perfect engagement gift. There is enough time before the wedding to order the rings. I will have the same elderly jeweler, who did the exquisite crafting of this piece, assist me with choosing those.

Jeremy comes back into the conference room and sits on the edge of the conference table, grinning with self-satisfaction. "Well, Erik, that went about as well as we could have hoped!"

"I cannot believe it! If Laura accepts my proposal tomorrow, we can be married by Tuesday! I had never thought it could move so quickly. I feared we had to post banns for several weeks! Imagine, Jeremy! _Tuesday!" _I stop and shake my head in disbelief. "Will you be able to have the Navy chaplain come that soon? On such short notice?"

"Yes, I have no doubt he will clear his calendar of anything to be there! I spoke with him Wednesday evening and told him what this was about! He said he always has to listen to the SEALs carry out their secret missions, but as a chaplain, he never gets involved in such capers!" then Jeremy adds with a chuckle, "He said this will be the closest he will ever get to doing that, and nothing could keep him away!"

"He will maintain total discretion until the wedding has been performed?" I still worry that something may go wrong, but the chaplain is necessary to perform the ceremony.

"Yes, Erik, he is totally trustworthy! However, there is another consideration. The clerk told me in the hallway that the law requires two witnesses to the wedding! I am one, of course, but who do we ask to serve as the second?"

Pausing for only a moment, I say, "I do not think it would be advisable to ask Matt to stand as a witness." The reaction that flickers in Jeremy's eyes confirms what I had suspected concerning Matt's feelings about Laura.

"I agree, Matt would not be the best person…how about Freuda? I have a feeling she would enjoy participating in this conspiracy!"

"Yes, I agree," grinning as I consider Freuda's reaction to this. "However, I think it advisable not to tell her until just before the…." The door to the conference room swings open then, and Laura enters. I abruptly stop in mid-sentence. Laura notices.

"Well, gentlemen, did I interrupt something?" she says with a smile and a questioning eyebrow.

"No, nothing important, Laura."

She regards me with obvious skepticism. Jeremy, the coward, makes some excuse and leaves quickly. After she watches his obvious retreat, she turns her unfettered glare on me.

"Alright, Erik. Something is up. You didn't seem to be bothered that we could not spend lunch together, and now I walk into the room and you stop in the middle of whatever you were discussing with Jeremy. Do you have a secret lady friend you are hiding from me?" Laura says half jokingly and half sadly.

I particularly notice the sad part. Her eyes are blood shot, as if she has been crying. Maybe all this secrecy is not wise, but I do not want to propose marriage in a conference room on the fifth floor of a musty courthouse, at lunch between court sessions. At the very least, it lacks finesse. And, I do want a memory we will both always cherish which includes flowers, candles and wine…well, just a _little_ wine.

Looking at her expression, I realize sometimes talking will just not do. I take a couple strides over to her before she can pursue her discussion of my suspicious behaviors and wrap her in my arms. Pulling her close and gently pressing my lips to her forehead, I breathe in the scent of her hair. Then I tilt her chin up and look into her eyes. "Yes, I do have a secret lady friend. But I hope that soon everyone will know…it is you." I capture her lips with mine and taste her sweetness until we both are breathless. She puts both her hands on my chest, and they slowly glide up to the back of my neck, until her fingers are entwined in my hair pulling me to her.

We become lost in the sensations of each other until we hear Jeremy's irritating knock on the door. Laura pulls back and a haunted look comes into her eyes. Suddenly, a stab of fear pierces through me. "Laura, what troubles you?"

A deep sadness comes over her, and she says with an urgent tone, "Erik, I want you to always remember that I love you." She looks deep into my eyes for a moment, but before I can respond, Jeremy comes into the room and announces that court is about to commence. We reluctantly step back from one another, our eyes still conveying our longing.

* * *

The song lyrics are from "When You Love Someone," by Bryan Adams.

Profuse thank yous to our gifted editor, Phanna!


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Wow!! You are giving us your 10 reviews so quickly! We posted the last chapter only two days ago! We really appreciate your thoughtful and supportive reviews! Thank you!!**

**However, we are doing fine-tuning edits before we post here, and two days is a bit short!! So, please understand if the same thing occurs with this chapter (10 reviews in two days!), we may need to add a day or two because the next chapter is longer and more complex and does need some special editing!! **

**So…here it is…Christine finishes her testimony and the unexpected happens….**

**Chapter 34 FATE by Phanfan and Barbkesq+ **

_Seattle Washington, Courthouse_

_September 30, 2005_

_Laura's POV:_

As I sit at the defense table and wait for the bailiff to bring the witness, my stomach growls and reminds me that I didn't eat during the lunch recess. Too many other things had occupied my time, including Christine who now enters the courtroom and takes her seat in the witness box. Her surprise visit with me in the law library gnaws at me, not letting me forget, like my stomach that protests its emptiness. I hope for Erik's sake…and mine…that her testimony this afternoon will be brief. I am thankful that S Luzano will be doing her cross-examination. Chances are he will be to the point and leave out the theatrics. +

S Luzano walks briskly around the prosecution table and undramatically begins his questioning. "Mlle Daae, regarding your father's promise to send you an 'Angel of Music,' isn't it true that your father never described to you who this 'Angel of Music' was?"

"Uh, no, he did not," Christine turns for a quick glance at Erik as she shakes her head.

"Did he say whether he meant the 'Angel of Music' to be a real person or more like a spiritual guardian watching you from heaven?" I am slightly astonished to see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of S Luzano's mouth.

"I don't know, Monsieur. My father never told me who the 'Angel of Music' was, only that there would be an 'Angel of Music' to watch over me when he was gone."

S Luzano leans in slightly to emphasize his next question. "Did he ever say how this 'Angel of Music' would appear to you or when that would happen in your life?"

"No, he didn't. But I believed my father with all my heart when he said that one would appear to me." Christine eyes glisten with unshed tears at her father's memory.

"Mlle Daae, you indicated in your testimony that you had visited the Opera Populaire many times when your father was on tour. At the time, were you aware of any relationship between your father and M Phantom?"

"No, I wasn't. Not until I heard Mme Giry testify about that in court."

"Did your father ever talk about M Phantom with you?" S Luzano presses this point doggedly.

"No, he didn't." I glance up at Erik who studies Christine doubtfully as she responds to the questions. When we came into the courtroom today Erik again placed his cloak on the back of his chair. Now he reaches over and places my hand on his thigh and laces his fingers between mine.

"During the several months before your father's death, did your father tell you that M Phantom was the 'Angel of Music' that he would send to watch over you?"

"No. I don't remember him saying that M Phantom was the 'Angel of Music.'"

"If your father meant that M Phantom was the 'Angel of Music' he was sending to you, wouldn't he have told you?"

"I really don't know who my father intended the 'Angel of Music' to be. All that I know is when I was crying in the chapel one night shortly after I arrived, I heard a beautiful voice sing me a lullaby, and that comforted me. I asked the voice if he was the 'Angel of Music', and he said 'yes', so I believed him. I had no reason to believe anything other than that the voice that spoke and sang to me belonged to the 'Angel of Music' my father promised."

S Luzano frowns at this response. It is not what he wanted to hear, so he tries another approach. "Mlle Daae, did you believe the voice was the voice of a man or that of a real angel?"

"Well, at the time, I was only seven years old when I first heard the 'Angel of Music' sing to me, and I thought he was indeed an angel from Heaven. Over the years, as he sang to me and gave me voice lessons, I did not know for sure if his voice was that of a man or the voice of an actual angel because I never saw him. But I believed the 'Angel of Music' to be real."

"Did M Phantom ever tell you to call him the 'Angel of Music?'"

"No, that is what I called him, but he never gave me any other name, so I continued to do so."

"Did he ever tell you that he is not an angel or that you should not call him by that name?"

"No he did not. But I felt that he was like a real angel because he was always there to comfort me and guide me!" With that response, S Luzano pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. Perhaps my strategy has worked. Listening to the testimony of Mme Giry and Freuda seems to have awakened in Christine a different perspective about her 'Angel of Music.' Erik squeezes my hand gently, and when I glance up at him, I realize he also perceives this.

"You testified that you had asked Mme Giry many times about who the 'Angel of Music' was. Did she tell you that there were reasons why he could not be seen?"

"Yes, I did ask Mme Giry about the 'Angel of Music,' but she said that he could not be seen for certain reasons. She said that perhaps one day I would understand."

"So Mme Giry kept the true identity of the person who claimed he was the 'Angel of Music' from you, did she not?"

"That is true. She never told me who the 'Angel of Music' was. But I could tell she knew all about the 'Angel of Music', and felt that he would always protect me and never harm me. Then, after my debut performance in Hannibal she gave me the rose from the person whom I thought was the 'Angel of Music'."

"So, Mme Giry never told you the 'Angel of Music' was one and the same as the 'Phantom of the Opera' or the 'Opera Ghost'?"

"No, she never told me that!"

I contain my smile at this testimony. Inadvertently, S Luzano's questionings have just landed the responsibility for Christine's continued acknowledgement of Erik as the 'Angel of Music' squarely on the shoulders of her guardian, Mme Giry, rather than Erik himself! I glance at the jury and verify they are listening intently. Their surprised faces reflect that they realize that fact as well.

"And throughout the nine years, M Phantom never showed himself to you until the night of Hannibal, isn't that correct?"

"That is correct. I never saw my 'Angel of Music' during those years. I only heard his voice. The night of the Hannibal premiere I finally met the person who I thought was the 'Angel of Music'."

"But, you were not expecting to meet M Phantom that night, were you?"

"No, I expected to meet my 'Angel of Music,' and it turned out that my 'Angel of Music' wore a mask, which everyone in the Opera Populaire had always talked about when they whispered of the Phantom of the Opera!"

"When M Phantom took you to his home, you indicated that you placed your hands on his cheek in a soothing manner, and that M Phantom permitted you to do this. Did he ask you to move your hands from his face, fearing that you might remove his mask?" With these words I can feel Erik tensing, and I tighten my fingers around his for reassurance.

"No, he did not, but then, he was concentrating on his music and did not seem to mind my touching his face when I put my hand on his cheek."

"Did it appear to you that M Phantom was fully aware of what you were doing, and his reaction may have led you to believe he was ready for you to take off his mask to show you who he was?" S Luzano uncomfortably looks down at the notes in is hand. Undoubtedly he is uneasy asking this question, and I realize that even he does not believe this.

"Well, Monsieur, everything happened so very quickly. I was so curious to see who this man was under the mask. And so I took his mask off. I realize now that I should have asked for M Phantom's permission to remove his mask. That is why he got angry with me, even though I did not mean to hurt him. No, I don't think he was ready for me to see what was under the mask." S Luzano coughs nervously, realizing he got caught in his own question.

"Isn't it true that M Phantom's display of anger frightened you?"

"Yes, I was frightened at his anger. But when he asked me to understand, to see the man behind the monster, I wasn't afraid anymore. I just cried and felt sorry for him…and for what I had done." Christine looks down at her hands, too embarrassed to look in anyone's face. Erik shifts in his chair next to me, but I cannot look into his face. I know him so well and have no doubt the pain his eyes are registering. I only pray that the testimony is nearly over.

"Turning to the events in the cemetery, you indicated that the Vicomte had his sword drawn. Isn't it true that he was just trying to protect you from M Phantom?"

"Yes. Raoul was trying to protect me, but he didn't need to because I wasn't in any danger at the cemetery. If I felt I was in danger, I would not have gone to the cemetery alone."

"But isn't it true that the fighting was started by M Phantom when he jumped down from the roof of your father's mausoleum and attacked the Vicomte?"

"I don't know. It happened so fast. Both he and the Vicomte had their swords drawn at each other and began fighting at the same time."

"During the fight, didn't M Phantom wound the Vicomte?"

Christine glances nervously over at Erik and replies, "Yes, he wounded him in the arm."

"So after that the Vicomte continued to fight while injured, isn't that so?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it possible that the Vicomte felt that M Phantom posed a continuing threat and could kill him, which is why the Vicomte at the end had his sword directly pointed at M Phantom?"

Christine is now looking down at her hands again, "M Phantom had stumbled and fallen backward, and his sword was knocked out of his hand. He was pinned to the ground, and I don't think he could have overcome Raoul then. I did not want Raoul to have any blood on his hands and be the murderer of an unarmed man, which is why I told him to stop."

S Luzano's brows lower over his eyes. He is not doing well, and he did not expect Christine's testimony to be quite that supportive of Erik, especially the part about Raoul being a potential murderer of an unarmed man. Unbelievably, Christine's answers are only helping our case.

"On the night of Don Juan Triumphant, you indicated that when you saw M Phantom come onto the stage unexpectedly, you felt he knew the Vicomte's plot to capture him. Isn't it true that you believed M Phantom knew that your plan called for you to unmask him so that he could be identified?" Erik restlessly shifts again in his chair, trying to control his reactions.

"Yes, Monsieur, it is true that when M Phantom entered the stage, I felt he knew what we were trying to do. But it is also true that we had not made unmasking him as part of our plans. You see, we did not know he would be so bold as to come onto the stage and participate in the performance. That was totally unexpected. We felt he would come to watch the performance, so the gendarmes were planning to capture him in one of the boxes, or the flies. They were even hiding in the room adjacent to the dome where he had stood when he interrupted Carlotta's performance. So, when he appeared, I realized he must have already planned a way to escape capture from the stage area, which was the other reason why I took off the mask. I hoped to distance myself from him when he fled."

"However, M Phantom did not distance himself anytime from you on that bridge and thereby put you in danger of being shot, even after you unmasked him, isn't that true?"

"No, on the bridge, M Phantom did not distance himself from me. Everybody saw who he was after I unmasked him, and the gendarmes began running toward the stage. So, my plan backfired because that's when I felt I was in the greatest danger of being shot in their attempt to capture M Phantom."

"When M Phantom escaped through the trap door, did you go with him willingly?"

"No, I did not want to go with him, but he took me. I had no choice." Then Christine unexpectedly volunteers, "But I was also relieved I no longer had those guns aimed at me."

Erik's thigh, which is under our interlaced hands, tenses. This is so agonizing for him to hear again. Thank God, it is the last time. But, we, of course, have already dealt with his taking Christine on this occasion against her will by proving to the jury that Christine caused his attack of PTSD when she ripped off his mask in front of the huge crowd who reacted with jeers and horror. Erik's subsequent actions were clearly done during that period of temporary insanity, and that is grounds for a verdict of not guilty on those charges.

"You testified that after you kissed M Phantom, he freed you and the Vicomte. Isn't it true that he made you leave quickly so that the approaching mob could not find you there in the lair?"

Softly, Christine says, "Yes." When she looks up at Erik, her eyes reflect a deep sadness.

"So did M Phantom tell you to leave because he heard the angry mob approaching and did not want to get caught, rather than because he wanted to let you go?"

"I didn't know why he let us go, but I couldn't believe that he did. All I know is that he did not flee when he told us to go. Instead, he went up into his bedchamber. When I went there to return the ring, I saw him sitting in front of his music box. He appeared not to care about whether he would be caught by the mob. But, he seemed to come out of a trance when I arrived. He looked up at me and said he loved me. I felt he never wanted me to go." Now there are tears flowing down Christine's cheeks.

"But he did not prevent me from leaving. In fact, he did not move after I put the ring in his hand. I just went back to Raoul, who was waiting for me, and I left with him. When I last saw M Phantom, he was standing at the top of the stairs, watching us depart in the boat. He was not moving then, either. In fact, he stood there, staring after us, right up to the time I lost sight of him. I wondered if he would just let the mob capture him."

With a sympathetic smile, S Luzano hands Christine a tissue, gives out a resigned sigh and looks up at the Judge. "I have no further questions, Your Honor." +

"Do you have questions on redirect, Ms. Counselor?" the Judge says to me. I hastily free my hand from Erik's and stand.

I shake me head, "No, Your Honor, we have no further questions of this witness."

"Mlle Daae, you are dismissed!" The Judge announces, banging her gavel, "Court adjourned for the day!"

The courtroom seems to empty with the swiftness of water flooding from a breaking dam, people streaming out the doors, anxious to talk about what they heard today. Perhaps they are anxious to get to their cars before the storm clouds open up into a full deluge, which seems imminent. I notice the bodyguards escorting Christine and her guardians out of the courtroom. She will be returned to 1871 France immediately.

Even the three prosecutors cannot seem to leave quickly enough after the debacle of Christine's testimony. Only S Luzano pauses briefly as he passes by to catch my attention and give me a nod of acknowledgement. I have had the feeling for some time his heart is not on the side of convicting Erik, and his subtle gesture tells me he would not be averse to an acquittal. Of course, I know who our rebuttal witness will be, so I, too, feel Erik's return to 1871 France is all but assured.

Counselor Sebbied comes around the defense table and gives me a flamboyant smile and hug. "Laura, I think you have nailed it!" Then she leans in and whispers in my ear, "I intend to have a celebration dinner tonight with a very special someone in my life, and I hope you do the same!" She gives me a wink and a knowing smile, then, in her diva fashion, leaves in an unusually urgent haste.

Since the other bodyguards have gone ahead to inspect the corridors, only Jeremy, Russ, Erik and I are left in the courtroom as I put all my papers and notes into my brief case. Erik gathers up his cloak from the back of his chair and seems particularly excited, almost happy. I look into his face and cannot contain a laugh at his devilish smile, which seems to be reflecting some private joke. I would never have expected him to be in this mood after Christine's testimony, but I am greatly relieved to see that this time it has passed uneventfully.

As we walk toward the door at the front of the courtroom, I ask, "Alright, Erik. Just what is going on? I have never seen you this happy _after_ listening to a day of court testimony!"

He looks down at me and the edges of his mouth curl up in that self-satisfied manner he occasionally cannot control. "I do have something special planned for your Saturday visit tomorrow, Laura. So, I would be most honored if you would come prior to your normal 2:00 p.m. appointment. Would you be able to come several hours earlier so that we can have lunch together?"

"Really?" I am surprised at this, and decide to kid him a bit before agreeing, "Well, I don't know…I have some housecleaning and laundry to do….I always do that Saturday morning, you know!"

The look on his face immediately becomes distressed, "Laura, you cannot be serious?"

"Yes, I am quite serious, Saturday morning is when I always do my housecleaning!" I can hardly suppress a grin at his reaction.

"Laura, perhaps on this one occasion you could postpone your housekeeping duties to Sunday?" He says with impatience, and his eyebrow flattens disapprovingly across his uncovered eye.

"Well, perhaps I could change my schedule….if you tell me what this is all about!" I cajole him mercilessly.

"No, I really want it to be special...a surprise! You will know soon enough!" He answers with a laugh, and his beautiful sea green eyes darken and sparkle.

"Well, I warn you. I am an attorney. I may pry the information out of you between here and the parking lot!" I reply with an impish grin.

By now we are at the doorway to the corridor, and Erik opens the door for me. As I pass by him, he reaches out and takes my heavy brief case. "Here, let me carry this for you."

"Oh, _my knight in shining armor_...carrying my shield!" I say with a laugh, not resisting and letting him take it from my hand.

Jeremy passes us and goes to the elevator, pushing the button, but it has not arrived by the time we get there. As we wait for the door to open, Erik looks down at me and reaches out to sweep a disorderly lock of hair back from my face, and I feel his fingers brush against my cheek, lingering there for a moment.

Jeremy's cell phone rings, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling it out. A smile flashes across his face as he says, "Great Matt! We are entering the elevator right now and will be right down!" Just then the door slides open, and Erik steps to the back of the large court elevator, as I walk over to the side and turn toward the control panel. As I push the button for the ground floor, I face the open door and glance down the hallway where a dark shadow, clothed from head to foot in black, smoothly steps out of a doorway.

What happens next becomes one of those eternal moments. A single second in time that is so fateful, it fragments into separate parts, each one clearly distinguishable from the next and experienced by all the senses--seeing, hearing, feeling…

Suddenly Russ steps toward me. At the same instant, I see the hand of the man clad in black lift and realize what he is holding. I swing toward Erik who is behind me, framed by the open doorway. Erik is turned toward me, totally focused on our conversation. It is clear to me in this fragmented, infinitesimal moment there is no time for him to see this spectre and move out of range. There is only a split second for my panicked yell, "Erik!"

I throw my body with every bit of my strength against Erik, hitting him squarely and propelling him toward the side wall of the elevator. In the next fragment of that second a sense of inescapable fate hits me as I hear two gunshots. Erik's eyes lock with mine in that instant, and instinctively, we both know our final moment is now. This last fragment unfolds as if suspended, and then I feel the explosion in my chest. A third gunshot, and Jeremy grunts out in pain. Finally, I hear the elevator doors shush together as if to put a period at the end of this closing sentence of time.

I feel my body crashing to the ground, landing on top of Erik and hear his voice echoing a disbelieving _"Nooooo,"_ in the enclosed, tomb-like elevator. The impact knocks all the wind from my lungs, and when I breathe in again the air is warm and wet.

I cannot see anything.

I think to myself it is strange that I feel no pain, only Erik's arms tightly enclosed around me and the warm wet fluid which is spreading, spreading. I hear Erik calling my name, but I seem lost in a fog and no longer know where I am. I try to answer him, but my brain seems disconnected from my body, and I cannot form the words I so long to say to him _one last time._

The jerk of the elevator as it hits ground floor jars my body against Erik's, and when the doors open, I hear Russ yelling orders. Then I hear Matt's agonized voice calling out for someone to hurry with his medical kit, followed by a confusion of noises, more shouting and panicked footsteps. Erik's voice breathes heavily into my ear, pleading, _"Laura, do not leave me. I love you!"_

But then, I begin to feel light, very light. Suddenly I am floating above my body, looking down on Erik. I see him cradling me. Everything in the elevator is covered in red. I can see Russ holding his right shoulder, and Jeremy's body crumpled on the floor. Matt bends briefly over Jeremy, looks at his wound, and then quickly moves on to where Erik is clutching me tightly to his chest. I can hear Matt talking to Erik, explaining that he needs to let go of my body, to let him do his work, but Erik won't let go.

Matt calls out and two men rush into the elevator. They lean over Erik and tell him something, but he shakes his head in confusion. Then they stand on each side of him, trying to pry his arms open and wrestle my body from his grip. I realize that Erik doesn't understand what they are trying to do. I try to tell him they only want to help, but he cannot hear me. He continues fighting them, so a third man, a bailiff, enters the elevator, and with his added strength, they are able to loosen Erik's desperate hold, and my body is placed on the floor in the middle of the elevator.

As Erik watches and the three men continue to restrain his arms, Matt begins to try to breathe life back into my body. But I now sense a beautiful white light approaching me, and I look up in its direction. Suddenly I am not in the courthouse, I am in a meadow, near an ancient bridge. I recognize it as the one on my grandparent's farm in Ireland where I spent my summers as a child. I see their cottage on the hillside, and Grandmama is waving at me in the distance.

Then I see myself standing awkwardly in my first prom gown. It was all white, like the suit I wore to court today, but had a full, flowing skirt with many layers of organza. My date was more nervous than I, and we often stepped on each other's feet as we danced.

I see myself receiving my law diploma in a black graduation gown, with the purple cowl befitting a doctoral degree. My parents and family are all there, smiling and happy. Then, my first court trial, and the relief I felt when I won a long battle to protect a child, to keep her permanently safe from an abusive parent. I see so many faces of women and children pass in front of me.

Then Erik comes into view. His stately, black figure cloaked and turned away from me that first day as he paced and looked out the window. The first time I saw his face when he turned in anger, thinking I was trying to remove his mask. I see him in so many moods: my finding him spread across the floor in anguish, watching his excitement as a whale breached above the blue ocean waters, seeing his wonder at flying in the clouds above the earth, teaching him how to drive the Corvette, feeling his caressing touch, sharing his joy when he read his mother's letter. Each memory of him comes to me as if it were happening again, and finally, I see our last kiss only hours ago…

For a moment I can again see the chaos below as Matt feverishly works over me, and I try to ask him why he is not helping Jeremy. I attempt to tell him that Jeremy needs his help, too. Then I see Erik again and try to tell him that I am alright. I am not in pain, but he continues to struggle against the muscled arms of the three men. Soon the loving white light approaches, beginning to gently enfold me. All below fade from my view, and_ I turn toward the light as it greets me_…

* * *

Thank yous to our fine editors, KFC and Phanna! 


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Well…What can we say? We thank you for your heartfelt comments and very thoughtful reviews. **

**Erik has indeed entered a dark night of the soul. And, he reverts to full Phantom mode…**

**Chapter 35, TEARS, by Phanfan and KFC+**

_September 30, 2005,  
Hospital  
Seattle, Washington _

_Matt's POV:+_

A waking nightmare surrounds and threatens to engulf me. Its dark tentacles clutch at me, and I struggle not to succumb to its grasp as I walk down the hospital corridor. The scene plays over and over in my mind…the red everywhere as my body worked mechanically, in silence, trying to resuscitate Laura. So much red... It still stains my white shirt, and the blood down the front of my slacks has dried and is beginning to stiffen.

Nothing seems real. I feel numb, and I can't get my mind around what has just happened. I remember everything clearly…it has been etched in my mind for eternity. It unfolds time and time again. But I can't feel anything. My emotions have shut down. I cannot react. I feel as if I'm walking in a dream…no, not a dream… a nightmare. And as more time passes, I fear I will not wake up.

Jeremy's doctor called and told me Jeremy is refusing to go to surgery until I answer his questions about what happened. He is in the room just ahead on the right. I seem to be approaching it slowly, but in actuality I am walking my normal speed. Time is out of whack. Recognizing this as part of an adrenaline surge, I hesitate just a moment before entering the room. As I approach the hospital bed, I hear Jeremy's voice, full of concern, and will myself to focus on him.

"Matt, tell me, how is Erik?" Jeremy's pained question triggers a flash back to Erik…holding Laura…her life blood pooling on the floor….

"He was not hit," I hear myself say. My voice sounds dull and flat.

Collapsing into the chair next to Jeremy's bed, I automatically assess his condition. He has a bandage across his left shoulder and upper arm, and I can see the blood seeping through. Another bandage on his forehead covers the gash he received when he hit the side of the elevator, propelled by the force of the assassin's high powered bullet. His expression is grave, his eyes brimming with pain.

"Jeremy, I'm telling you the truth. You did your job." I grind out these words because I know that Erik isn't ok. He is physically intact, but his soul is devastated.

"Laura…how is she?" he asks tentatively. "I know she was hit…" His gaze is intense, probing, and I turn so he can't read my eyes.

"Well…." I hesitate, "We don't know yet. She's in surgery right now." I wonder how much of the truth I should tell him.

"Jeremy, she sustained serious injuries. She was hit from the side and the bullet entered her abdomen." Red flashes again in my mind's eye. I lower my head and hold it between my hands, "She lost a lot of blood."

Jeremy groans and closes his eyes.

Looking down, I stare at the floor.

"What about Russ?" Jeremy finally asks.

"Russ was hit as well," I sigh, "His right arm was grazed just below the shoulder. It just needed some stitches, and he was taken care of in ER."

"Did you catch the gunman?" Jeremy shifts painfully in his bed and winces, still in disbelief that the assassin got past security.

"Yes, we did," I assure him, "Russ called from the elevator, which enabled the SEALs to begin their search quickly, and they caught him in the basement."

"How did he get through, Matt?" Jeremy presses incredulously.

I shake my head, "I don't know all the details, Jeremy. I've been focusing on taking care of the medical end of things."

My answer does not alleviate his distress, but I can't fully answer his question, so I just try to reassure him. "Jeremy, you and Russ carried out your duties. Erik was not injured and that was your chief responsibility. And Laura….well…she put her own life on the line to protect him. She took that bullet for Erik. She did what one of us would do."

This is a deep wound that will take a long time to bleed. I run my fingers through my hair, wondering when I will feel again.

"God, Matt." Jeremy looks up at the ceiling, and I see him swallow hard a few times. "How is Erik handling this?"

I've noticed a growing bond between Jeremy and Erik in the last few weeks, and I opt not to tell him all that I know. "He's in a bad way Jeremy," is all I say.

Jeremy looks back at me, his eyes deeply troubled.

"You did everything possible, Jeremy. No one could ask more of you. Put your mind at ease." I let my head fall back on the tall hospital chair I'm sitting in. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and my body is beginning to wear down.

"Stop being so hardheaded and stubborn," I urge, as I shove myself up, out of the chair. "I'm going to get your doctor in here so she can take you to surgery and fix that arm."

"Matt." Jeremy stops me as I wearily walk toward the door. I turn back to him.

"What?"

"How are _you_ doing?"

_I'm in the middle of a nightmare, Jeremy. _But I nod my head and say nothing as I turn to leave the room.

I make my way down the corridor toward the elevators. Erik is in a secure location, surrounded by bodyguards, but Horatio hasn't arrived yet with Freuda, and I feel a pressing need to get back to him.

Stopping in front of the hospital elevator I push the button. While I wait, I lean forward, pressing my forehead against its cold stainless steel frame. The elevator…I can't stop the memories flooding my mind. They come at me like a tidal wave...

Suddenly I am again standing by the elevator in the courthouse, hearing Russ' urgent voice on the two-way radio, "GUNMAN! FIFTH FLOOR! DRESSED IN BLACK! SHOTS FIRED! PEOPLE DOWN!" My blood runs cold at those words…not 'man down', not 'men down'…he said, 'people down.' That can only mean one thing…_Laura_!

I feel adrenaline course through my body, and I am conscious of the SEALs immediately dispersing... They know what to do without anyone giving orders. They've been trained for this situation. My job as medic is to wait and take care of the injured when that damned elevator door opens.

I hear Russ' words again. "People Down." _Oh my God…please God_, _don't let it be her…please_…. I turn and start spewing out orders. "Get my med kit out of the black 'vette…. Here!" I toss the keys to the bailiff standing by the exit door and order, "Call 911 and request three ambulances!" Only seconds have passed, but time is crawling by in slow motion.

I hear the whine of the elevator approaching the ground floor. What's taking so long? Why won't it come down? Laura is in there!Finally I hear it jerk to a stop. Why won't the doors open? "Open, damn it!" My mind is in a frenzy of fear for Laura. The whish of the opening doors punctuates the beginning of the nightmare. Russ stands to the side, Jeremy is on the floor in a crumpled heap, and Erik…Erik has Laura wrapped in his arms. My last coherent thought before going into action is, _"OH MY GOD, it's Laura." _Then emotion flies from me as I step into the red pool of blood at the bottom of the elevator.

The bell of the hospital elevator dings as the door opens, yanking me back to the present, and I jerk upright. Stepping inside, I slump into a corner, barely able to stand. I shake my head trying to avoid reliving the scene again... but can't escape the vivid memories. _Is there no end to this nightmare+_

_HORATIO'S POV:_

_Rain! Damn rain! _Blown by angry winds, it is coming down in sheets and buffeting the car as we sit here on the freeway, inching along. Even the windshield wipers working at top speed barely remove the rain enough for me to see a couple cars ahead. The steel grey sky makes it seem as if it is already dusk instead of barely 4:00 o'clock in the afternoon. The headlights from the besieged cars valiantly struggle against the encroaching darkness, but instead are engulfed.

"Damn traffic! Isn't there a shorter route? Can't you drive any faster?" Phen pleads.

"No! I can't drive any faster! Do you want me to drive over the cars in front of us?" I respond with equal impatience. On top of the storm, we also got caught in the Friday commuter traffic on this main freeway through Seattle. In good conditions, with no traffic problems, the trip from my home to the courthouse is about thirty minutes. The hospital is only two miles from the courthouse, and we have already been driving for thirty minutes and are not quite half way there. The flow of traffic is down to a crawl, so I cannot avoid the worries that intrude in my mind and make this delaying storm almost unbearable.

Looking out the windshield at the onslaught of Mother Nature, I feel as though everything is cascading down at once. I was just returning from a meeting of The Program at the Admiral's where we discussed the training program for the Team that was getting ready to accompany Erik back to France. We felt an acquittal was imminent, so Marek will be arriving late Saturday evening to supervise the Team's training. The Team members will be schooled in the challenges of time travel and living in a time period that was far more primitive than what they are accustomed to—19th century France.

I was just stepping off the elevator at home when Russ' call came in. It stopped me dead in my tracks, frozen by the horror of what had happened in that elevator. He reported in efficient military fashion that the gunman had timed the attack perfectly. The corridors were clear except for Erik, Laura and their two bodyguards, so no one was there to intervene. Then, with precision planning, he had waited until the doors of the elevator were just about to close and had fired several shots rapidly with professional accuracy. Between the injuries from the shots fired and the doors of the elevator closing, he had time to flee, and no one to stop him. He took the stairwell and fled to the basement where he had changed his clothing. Fortunately, one of the SEALs had caught him just as he was putting his black outfit into the furnace, almost succeeding in burning a valuable piece of evidence.

Russ pointed out that they captured the gunman in time only because of my advance strategic planning. After the shooting of Mr. Albertson, I had developed a plan that each SEAL who was stationed at the courthouse was to follow in case there were another incident. Each SEAL was assigned a specific location to search so that all areas of the courthouse could be covered quickly without any loss of time for orders to be given. The four SEALs on general duty in the courthouse had heard Russ' call on their two-way radios telling of the shooting by a man dressed in black. They had immediately begun to search their designated areas to look for the gunman. The SEAL assigned to cover the basement caught him just after he had changed into his usual clothing…that of a staff janitor for the courthouse. His gun was not with him.

It was only after Russ concluded his report, and I asked how he was doing that he admitted he, too, had been hit in the arm. I ordered him to get to the hospital for treatment and make sure the other four SEALs were guarding Erik in a private, isolated room at the hospital.

My next call was from the police chief who confirmed that they had the gunman in custody and on the way to jail. He assured me that the police department would continue searching the courthouse for the gun.

My mind keeps going over the gunman and how he managed to get through all the security checks. Considering that his job was to take the garbage from the courthouse out to the large trash receptacles, it is not difficult to imagine how he smuggled the gun, piece by piece, into the courthouse hidden in the garbage cans. According to the police chief, all that is known so far is that he was hired several weeks before Erik's trial started; but that was weeks after it had been announced the trial would be held at that courthouse. His identification cleared security, but since this man is clearly a professional assassin, I think there is little doubt we will find it was forged at a very sophisticated level.

I churn these facts over and over in my mind, trying to think of a way we could have prevented this, but the truth is, for every military defense ever created, there is always a weakness, a way around it, if there is a will and mind set to accomplish that. And, the PTB has such a will and mind set.

We did our best. The two bodyguards with Erik had protected him, and he had not been shot. The other SEAL guards had acted quickly and efficiently, capturing the gunman.

The only unpredictable factor had been one courageous woman who unexpectedly became the third bodyguard…and Russ confirmed that she was the one who pushed Erik out of the path of the bullet meant for him. She is now struggling for life…but if she loses that battle, how will this affect Erik and the entire project that The Program has developed around him? Every time my mind settles on the image of Erik holding Laura's body after she was shot…his not wanting to let her go…_I shudder_.

The call I received from Matt also keeps replaying. He called me after Laura went into surgery, as he was walking to Jeremy's room. That conversation stands out most in my mind.

"How is Laura?" I knew she had been the most seriously wounded and could not help asking that first.

Matt paused before responding, his voice toneless and his words to the point, "The bullet hit Laura in the side and did extensive internal damage. She lost a lot of blood. I was able to stabilize her until the ambulance came, and she was taken into surgery immediately upon arrival at the hospital."

"Do you think she will make it, Matt?" I asked the question that I really didn't want to.

"It is too soon to know the full extent of the damage." Matt answered with an edge to his voice that was unmistakable.

I changed the subject quickly, "Jeremy? How bad is his wound?"

"Jeremy was hit in the left upper arm as he stepped sideways, trying to cover Erik who was back and center in the elevator. Jeremy is refusing to have surgery until I talk to him and tell him what happened. I'm on the way to his hospital room right now. The bullet passed through his arm, and he didn't lose too much blood, so he should be fine."

"Russ? How is he?"

"Russ was wounded in his right upper arm. The bullet only grazed him, and he just needed some stitches."

I already had a feeling what Matt would say, but I asked it anyway. "_And Erik? How is Erik?" _

"Erik is in a really bad way. We literally had to pry Laura out of his arms just so I could work on her. When the ambulance came he went berserk. He totally lost it when the EMT said he couldn't ride to the hospital with Laura. I talked the EMT into breaking the rules and letting Erik go with Laura in the ambulance. The EMT agreed as long as I rode with them. God, Horatio," Matt began to unload on me a little, "Erik went into a full-blown PTSD reaction. I did the only thing I could other than totally knocking him out. And I couldn't do that. So, I just stayed with him in the ambulance and the hospital, trying to keep him calm.

"I'm sorry, Matt…" I can only imagine how he felt, and what he was dealing with, "…and how are you?"

Matt answers with a tired voice, "Horatio. Honestly? I don't know. I don't even want to think about that right now."

"I understand," I know there is nothing I can say right now to help Matt. I have seen the way Matt looks at Laura. He never was good at hiding his feelings. After dealing with Phen's kidnapping, I know that this is as bad as it gets. Not knowing.

"Where is Erik now?" returning to the business at hand.

"On the top floor of the hospital in the administration office waiting room. The offices are closed over the weekend, so the entire floor has been turned over for our use. It is on the 15th floor and the windows face the bay, so there is no danger of sniper problems. And, the elevators can be locked down so no one without a key can get access to that floor, making it easy to secure."

"Good. We will leave for the hospital right away."

"One last thing, Horatio," Matt's voice is strained. "You need to bring Erik some clothes. His are, uh, in bad shape."

That was when I got the rest of the picture. "Understood, Matt. We'll be there soon. In the meantime, you are in charge of all the SEALs."

Clicking off my cell phone, I had gone to the den to tell Freuda. She was in the middle of a long distance phone call, but immediately ended the conversation when she saw my grim expression. When I told her what had happened, she informed me that she needed to be with Erik, and that she would go with me.

Next, I found Joe and told him to get ready to leave with me, and finally I climbed the stairs up to the third floor to tell Phen. Her immediate reaction was flaming anger and she too, demanded to be taken to the hospital. I knew that arguing with her would be futile. Her recovery had been progressing well all week, and she was walking now with few bouts of dizziness or vertigo. So I told her to get ready while I packed some clothes for Erik.

As the car slowly wends through the endless traffic boondoggle, the four of us sit in silence, totally preoccupied with our own thoughts. As I process what has happened, questions stubbornly intrude about how this will turn out for Laura and how it will affect Erik…and The Program. Erik really has no choice. Once the acquittal occurs, he goes back to France, and the Team will be ready to go with him. But now, not only Laura's prognosis is uncertain. Now it seems like everything else is in total flux, with Erik's reaction to these events unpredictable.

It is nearly 5:00 o'clock when we arrive at the hospital. I have been keeping in touch with Matt, and he waits for us at the main entrance to the hospital. He is wearing blue hospital scrubs, and I do not ask why he changed into them. Based on the description of what happened in the elevator from both Russ and Matt, I know. Another shudder passes through me as I consider what Erik's clothing will look like.

Matt is sullen and says little as he leads us to an elevator used by hospital personnel only. When the door opens, Phen, Joe, Freuda and I get in the elevator, but Matt hesitates. We all stand, waiting…until he finally enters, puts a key in the control panel, then hits the button for the top floor.

When we exit the elevator, Matt guides us down a short corridor to where two SEALs stand guard. I stop briefly and talk with them, thanking them for their rapid response, which was instrumental in the capture of the gunman. Then, it is time to go through the large double doors into the administrative office where Erik is waiting. I take a deep breath and nod to Matt to lead us in.

The office waiting room is large and sleek in design, with modern leather couches and glass-topped tables. It also has floor to ceiling windows along the far wall that face the west and have a picture-perfect view of the sunset, that is, if you could see one. In front of the windows, Erik's black figure paces angrily, expending emotional energy that he does not know how to control. As he walks to the far end of the room, all that can be seen is the back of his black, tailored suit. He is so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he does not hear us enter. He stops at the far end of the room and gazes out at the grisly hues of the sunset through the darkening sky. For many minutes, he does not move, and we do not know what to say or do.

Finally, Phen ventures forward and walks over to Erik, placing her hand on his shoulder, trying to reach out and comfort him. He swings around, his eyes narrowed and raises a hand to his mask, as if protecting it. His elbow hits Phen in the shoulder and knocks her back. Only her catching the edge of a couch prevents her from falling. Realizing it is Phen, he pulls back, but scowls at her.

"_Erik!"_ I call out, trying to divert his attention from Phen who takes several steps back, startled.

He looks over at me, his gaze coming back into focus, as he finally sees Joe, Freuda, Matt and me standing just inside the door. That is when I see his mask and clothing. The mask has dark crimson smears across the cheek, and his white shirt is now saturated with that same darkening red, which is also splattered across his black cravat, waistcoat, jacket and trousers. His hair is hanging over his eyes and juts across his mask. But his eyes are the most horrifying. They have a haunted look and reflect unyielding pain. His mouth is a tight, straight line of anguish. I have never seen anyone so devastated, even after combat.

I walk toward him, speaking as calmly and reassuringly as I can, as I would with a wounded animal. "Erik, it's just us. _We're here to help_…to wait with you. To do whatever we can." I approach him slowly, and he just watches me as a large cat watches its prey, not responding.

When I am a couple feet away, I raise the duffle bag that is in my hand so that he can see it. "I have brought you some clothing. Would you like to change?" I say gently, hoping something I say is getting through, is registering in his haze of agony.

He stands silently, still, as the minutes pass. Then, wordlessly, he takes the bag and looks over at Matt.

"Come with me," Matt's voice is soft, edged with sympathy. "I'll show you where the men's room is.

Erik takes the duffle bag and follows Matt down a short hallway at the far end of the room. Matt opens the door, allowing Erik to pass by and enter the bathroom. Closing the door, Matt falls back against the wall and stares down at the floor. I exchange looks with Joe and Phen. This feels just like it does after battle among the walking wounded….wounded not of body, but of mind and spirit.

Freuda thankfully speaks up now, giving us wise direction, "I suggest dat ve order somehtink to drink, some coffee, hot tea and soft drinks, den ve all just sit down and say nothink until Erik iss ready to talk. Den ve just listen, and try to give him vhat support ve can. But, follow his lead and talk only about vhat he vants to…vhat he is ready to share."

Joe volunteers to bring back the beverages, and the rest of us settle on the couches. We don't have to work at being quiet. We are each occupied with our own thoughts. Matt continues to stand by the door until Erik emerges dressed in clean black slacks, a white shirt and black sweater. His mask is again pristine white, and his black hair combed back in its usual immaculate style. He seems almost normal again, except for the expression on his face and the wild look in his eyes, which says that nothing may ever be normal again. Erik returns to his pacing in front of the length of the picture windows, and Matt joins us on the couch.

When Joe returns with the drinks, Freuda sweetly says to Erik, "Please come and haff somethink to drink, Erik. It vould do you goot." Erik does not stop or look back. He seems not to hear, as if suspended in oblivion as he paces tirelessly.

Hours pass. Erik maintains his walking vigil. The rest of us sit silently, utterly helpless. Matt receives a couple phone calls. One is from Jeremy's physician confirming that Jeremy's operation is over, and he is in recovery. Another call informs us that Laura is still in surgery. Phen snuggles close to me for comfort. Freuda watches Erik with obvious concern. Erik's endless pacing continues.

Then, just before 10 o'clock, I take the call that comes through about Laura. Erik suddenly stops for the first time in an hour. The nurse informs me that the doctor is on his way up and wants to speak with the next of kin, and I repeat that information to everyone. Joe leaves to meet the physician and escort him past the SEAL guards. Phen looks up at me with tearful eyes and shakes her head in a silent signal of hopelessness. Freuda shifts uneasily on the couch, studying Erik who stands motionless, his body rigid with tension. I look over at Matt, but he avoids eye contact and leans forward in his chair, resting his forehead on his hands.

When the doctor enters, Erik still faces the window, but his head cocks to the side, listening intently. The doctor looks very nervous, plainly not accustomed to being brought to a locked-down administration office, past two SEAL guards, into a room with three more SEAL guards. He clears his throat self-consciously, his eyes scanning the expectant faces surrounding him, trying to determine the person he is to give his report to. "Uh, who is the next of kin to Ms Counselor?" he asks awkwardly.

"Ms Counselor's parents are not here. They live in Ireland and are currently en route, but will not arrive until tomorrow," I explain frankly.

The doctor responds with a polite smile that freezes on his face when a deep, rasping voice seems to thunder from the edges of the room, as if coming from all directions at once…

"_You may consider that I am the next of kin." _

I hardly recognize that as Erik's voice, but know it could only be his. I have never heard such a sound from him, or from any other living human. The reverberating echoes send shivers down my spine.

All eyes turn toward Erik as he slowly swivels around to face the dumbstruck doctor. Erik is always impressive, but never more so than the first time one meets him. The startled doctor is suddenly confronted with Erik's intense, piercing eyes and infamous white mask. The poor man actually gasps. Erik does not move toward the physician or make any attempt to relax his imposing demeanor.

"_Please tell us how Ms Counselor fares,"_ Erik commands.

The doctor pauses, looking at the four of us silent observers, as if questioning whether we are also to hear this report. Erik notices his reticence and orders, "You may share your information with all present."

The doctor swallows, nods his head in understanding and begins, "The bullet struck Ms. Counselor in the left side and nicked her left lung before entering her abdominal cavity. Inside her abdomen, it hit her left kidney, ricocheted and struck the lower part of her liver. She lost quite a bit of blood, which we are still replacing. Her left lung was reinflated in the ER, and we did not have to repair the damage since it was only a small hole and will seal itself off on its own. We were able to remove the bullet from her liver and repair the damage there. However, we were unable to save her left kidney and had to remove it. Although we began replacing her blood loss in the ER, she suffered from profound shock, which caused some measure of oxygen deprivation before we could get all of the bleeding inside her abdomen stopped in the operating room.

With those words, which must be shocking to someone from the 19th century, I look over at Erik. His face has gone ashen.

The doctor pauses to let us digest this horrific recitation of Laura's condition. "As I said, she lost quite a bit of blood. However, we can not tell for sure how much time her body was deprived of oxygen. We have done all that we can now, and it is a matter of time. She has a ventilator breathing for her because of the blood loss and possible prolonged oxygen deprivation. We are replacing the blood, but if she has been deprived of oxygen for an extended period of time, that would result in permanent brain damage."

Again the doctor stops to assess our reactions before continuing. With a sympathetic tone he says, "So, at this point, we're not certain if she will regain consciousness. All we can do now is continue to support her by giving her blood and fluids to keep her blood pressure up and see what happens. In 48 to 72 hours we'll see if we can remove her from the ventilator. It may be several days after that before we know how much damage the oxygen deprivation actually caused."

The room is silent. We stand in shock as the impact of the doctor's sentence on Laura's life settles on us. The doctor did not mince his words. It is not difficult to read through his medical jargon that Laura's survival is somewhere between slim and none.

Erik's face is stone, but I can sense that his anger at this unwanted verdict is beginning to cause his emotions to boil to the surface. Visibly shaking with barely controlled rage, Erik nods to the physician, then turns and strides to the farthest corner of the room. His back to us, he stares out the huge windows at the darkness of night and the violent storm that seems to be an extension of Erik's own black torment.

The doctor concludes, "Right now, she is in recovery and will be there for about six hours. Then you can go in, one at a time, and see her."

I thank the doctor and ask Joe to escort him down the elevator. The physician follows Joe without any further comment, relieved to be out of the presence of the Phantom of the Opera who has clearly reemerged in the last hours.

Erik begins pacing again, now waiting for the time when he will be allowed to see Laura. It is almost midnight when Joe returns, bringing with him a tray of sandwiches from the hospital lunchroom and placing it on the glass coffee table. Despite the fact that we have not eaten for almost twelve hours, food does not appeal to any of us. In an attempt to encourage us to do something normal, Freuda picks up a sandwich, examines it and peels off the wrapper. She looks up at the rest of us seated on the couches and gives us permission to do something connected with everyday life. "Please, eat somethink. It will do you goot!" she directs in motherly conviction. Then, after taking only one bite, she puts the sandwich back down on the coffee table and pushes it away.

Matt is staring at the tray of sandwiches. I have noticed he has been strangely disconnected all night, speaking in monotones and only when necessary. Matt's face is drawn and pale, and as I study him with concern, I see his hand is trembling. Without a word, Matt stands up and walks to the men's room, shoving the door closed behind him. I am worried about him and walk over to the door. Just as I am about to open it, I hear the sound of Matt retching and heaving inside. I stop and close my eyes, leaning against the wall, knowing there is nothing I can do right now to ease Matt's trauma. I return to the others and sit down next to Phen, taking her hand in mine, remembering how I felt when I thought she might not live.

We all continue watching Erik's endless pacing. Finally, Freuda bravely gets up and walks over to the window and stops next to it, placing her diminutive body directly in Erik's path. He does not realize what she has done until he turns around at the end of the room and starts back on his well-worn route. When he sees her, he comes to a stop, only a few feet away from her determined stance. He is so taken aback, he says nothing and only glares at her as if she were an otherworldly creature he has never encountered before. Freuda does not budge and just stands her ground, firmly planted in place. This is clearly a stand off, and all watch with utter fascination, wondering what will happen next.

Neither speaks, but Erik's glare slowly changes as Freuda's look of compassion begins to melt through his icy dudgeon. "Erik, _please_, sit down for avhile. You cannot help Laura in dis vay!"

He stares at her for moments more, and I wonder if anything is going to get through to him. Then, miraculously, he turns, walks over and sits down on the couch Freuda has been sitting on. A look of victory passes over Freuda's face, and she returns to her seat, pours Erik a cup of hot water and places a tea bag in it. She hands it to him insistently. He studies it for many moments and finally accepts it. When he actually takes a sip from the cup, I feel relieved that he is at least beginning to reconnect with physical reality.

Everyone sits in silence until Erik's voice, without warning, cuts like a knife through the stillness. "Freuda, he was aiming at me. She pushed me aside to save my life. _Why would she do that?_ She had to have known what would happen?" His words trail away, but he finally voices the question that has been eating at his soul.

Freuda reaches over and places her hand on Erik's where it rests on the couch next to him. He flinches at the contact, but does not withdraw his hand. She takes a deep breath, thinks for several moments and begins, "Erik….Laura vas not a bodyguard. She did not do it because it vas her job. _She did it out of love_. Dat is de only vay to understand vat she did…and you must come to accept dat as de gift she gave you widdout questionink her reasons or her heart. Dat is de least you can give her in return," Freuda says with gentleness.

Erik shakes his head at Freuda's explanation as if he is unable to accept such a sacrifice. After thinking about Freuda's words, Erik responds, "But, Freuda, she called me her 'Knight in Shining Armour,' just minutes before it happened. When we went through the doorway into the corridor, I took her briefcase to carry it for her. She actually called me that and said that I was carrying her shield. I feel I completely failed her," Erik utters in self-blame, his eyes tormented.

I lean forward in my chair toward Erik, "You say you took her briefcase just before you both got on the elevator?"

Erik turns and looks at me fiercely, trying to discern my meaning, "Yes…I did."

"So she wasn't holding it when she was on the elevator?"

"No, I was holding it," Erik shakes his head, trying to fathom where these questions could be leading.

"And then, Erik, when she saw the gunman, she threw herself at you and knocked you out of the way, right?"

"Yes," his throat constricts in pain around the word, and his eyes close tightly as if he is reliving the moment.

"Well, think about that…if she had been holding the briefcase, she would have been weighted down by it and could not have thrown herself to push you out of the way as she did. Or, if it were in her hand, it would have taken time—valuable time—to drop it so she could push you out of the way. Not having the briefcase in her hand allowed her to turn and move very quickly…to do what she did," Erik's anguished eyes are searching mine as I conclude. "To me, it sounds like what happened is a combination of her _choice_ and _fate_."

Phen suddenly interjects, "You know, I have been pondering those words Laura spoke. She referred to her briefcase as a 'shield,' and actually, she did use her skill and the law—and all the papers she carried in her briefcase—to protect people, to shield them from harm, or abuse, or injustice. I think it really was a shield of sorts, huh?" She turns from me to Erik, giving him a look of deep understanding. I know she has been struggling with this issue of how fate takes those we love.

Erik seems to gain a small amount of comfort from Phen's comment and responds, "Just like a warrior using a shield?"

Phen's comment triggers a recollection, and I add, "Yes, but a true warrior who defends, rather than a gladiator who fights for glory or money or power. I have been thinking about that word—shield. Didn't Laura study Chinese in college?"

"Yes, she did," Erik replies.

"Well, I had to take Chinese at the military language school in Taiwan when I first started my naval training. It was a three-month intensive course, and we were quite fluent by the end of the course. Talking about shields, the Chinese combine the character for sword, 'mao,' with the character for shield, 'dun,' to create the word, 'mao-dun' which means contradiction, or paradox. You see, they view the shield as defending from the sword and deflecting it, thereby creating a paradox…the shield rebuffs the parry of the sword and prevents it from doing its damage."

"Just like life iss…a paradox," Freuda contributes her own perspective with a sigh, "and life iss all about paradoxes, so ve often haff to give up somethink in order to gain somethink."

Suddenly Erik stares at Freuda, as if fully coming out of a trance. "What did you say?" he blurts out. "We have to give up something in order to gain something?" His eyes are now aflame.

"Yes, Erik, de answer to your question of vhy Laura did vhat she did iss a paradox. She had to give somethink…her own safety and life, to gain somethink, your safety and your life."

Erik springs off the couch and resumes his pacing in front of the windows with renewed fervor. None of us say anything further. We anxiously watch Erik's fiery energy sparking off him, and the only sound in the room is his pounding foot steps on the well-worn carpet. When nearly half an hour has passed, he spins on his heel, strides toward us and sits down resolutely on the couch.

Something entirely new is imprinted on his face—something I don't think any of us have seen in the many months Erik has been with us. His unswerving gaze pierces through me, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Even Phen senses something and places her hand on my knee in support.

A cold chill runs through my exhausted body at the dangerous look flaring from Erik's eyes. It is the look of a genius deep in thought, tinged with madness—the madness of a desperate and determined man. Phen, Freuda and I exchange worried glances. The thought occurs to me, "I don't know if Phen and Freuda are getting the mental picture that I am, but from the look on Erik's face, all I can see in my mind's eye is a chandelier…a HUGE chandelier…_about to come crashing down_!"

_Erik's POV:_

After the longest night of my life, I am informed that I may see Laura. I am torn between relief and torment: relief at knowing she is alive, and torment at seeing her unmoving body.

The SEALs escort me down the elevator and through the hallways that have been totally cleared of anyone except hospital personnel. Nonetheless, they form a close circle around me, creating a human shield. This will not be necessary many more times as I have already told Horatio that I will remain in Laura's room for the remainder of my time in the present. Horatio said that since I am not family, that would be outside of normal hospital policy. I told him I did not care what their policy was, find a way. So, he has used his considerable influence through the Program and made the arrangements with the hospital to accommodate my request.

As we approach the small room where Laura is, my heart sinks into my stomach, fearing what I will see. A nurse talked to me briefly on the phone, telling me about the monitors and tubes which were attached to Laura after the surgery, even a breathing apparatus taped to her mouth to facilitate her breathing. The kindly nurse was obviously trying to prepare me, but as I listened, my trepidation only increased at the prospect of seeing Laura…_of actually confirming how serious her condition is._

Pausing at the door before reaching out and turning the knob, I know that what is on the other side confirms that this nightmare is real. I sway on my feet for a moment, then take a deep breath and open the door. There, in the middle of the small room, is Laura's unmoving form, in the middle of white sheets and seemingly innumerable tubes and machines. I groan as reality sets in, then will my feet to walk over to her bed.

I look down at her tiny, still body. Her dark, luminous eyes sleep deeply behind closed eyelids. What I would give to look into them once more. So strange that her beautiful face is unmarred, perfect as ever, yet a wound that I cannot see keeps her from me, from my arms. Gazing down at her hand lying on top of the shroud-like sheet, I blink back the tears that are coming of their own volition.

Gently lifting her hand, I lean down and place a kiss on it. I am relieved that her hand is warm and soft, with life still pulsing through it. But, it is also limp and does not respond to my touch as it always has. Those memories flood into my mind: her hand as we both reached for the door in her office that very first time we met…her hand that always reached out to me and held mine when we met in her office…her hand that held mine and gave me comfort during the trial…her hand as she reached up and accepted my hopeful, expectant hand in the Japanese garden…her hands entwined with mine as I told her about my life, and then when she put her hands on my face and gently turned it, she told me that she understood…her delicate hands stroking my chest or brushing through my hair…her warm hands on my body…. _Her hands…._

Leaning over, I study her face. "Laura, why…why did you do it? It was meant for me…not you…," I softly implore her, wishing she could tell me what is in her heart. Tears flow freely now. I can no longer hold them back. "Laura, you have always fought for others. Know that I will fight for you now. I will be your knight, and I will not let you down."

I again lift her hand and kiss it, this time placing its open palm against my uncovered cheek and holding it there. "_Dear heart_, do you not know? If you do not live, if you are not with me…what does my life matter to me? But I have a _plan_…and I _will _find a _way_…" Then the sobs overcome me, and I can say no more.

* * *

Thank you to our fine editor, Phanna.

Very special THANK YOUs to EUROCENTRIC—who is a doctor—for her medical analysis, diagnosis and prognosis of Laura's condition….

And to BARB—who is an ER nurse—for information about hospital procedures regarding emergency operations and post-operative care.

We writers of The Case appreciate your invaluable expertise, advice and unstinting help!!


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: This is truly a difficult time for everyone. And emotions **_**are raw**_**…**

**Marek now arrives to train the TEAM, but Erik wants to meet with him. **

* * *

**Chapter 36 There Be Dragons Here! by Phanfan and Phanna+**

_Sunday, October 2, 2005  
Seattle, Washington_

_Phen's POV:_

Today the slow-moving windshield wipers easily clear off the light drizzle of rain. Strange…the things one remembers about times of crisis. I'll never forget the storm we fought through on Friday afternoon to get to the hospital. Then, the wipers could barely clear the onslaught quickly enough to allow us to see our way. So today's gentle rain is like the calm after the storm. Or, I wonder, is the _real_ storm still ahead?

An hour ago, Erik called Horatio. That alone was startling. I will never forget the look on Horatio's face as he spoke with Erik. It was not only unusual for Erik to be calling on the phone…there was also the fact that he was actually talking. He has hardly spoken to anyone since our discussion about "shields" early Saturday morning. When the call ended, Horatio refused to tell me anything about it, no matter how hard I grilled him. In the end, his tight-lipped resolve won out. I hate that. I hate not knowing. I hate to lose.

The only thing Horatio said to me was to go ahead to the hospital with Freuda and Joe, as he turned and headed for the elevator that goes to the Admiral's adjacent home. I might have dismissed this as normal business except for the look in Horatio's eyes. He is very good at poker faces, but I can always read his mood in his eyes, and they told me that Erik's call was the sound of the other shoe dropping…or was it louder…a chandelier perhaps?

We have been waiting and wondering ever since that conversation at the hospital in the early hours of Saturday morning. Freuda had been trying to counsel Erik and help him deal with his sense of guilt over what had happened to Laura, when suddenly he shot off the couch like a rocket and began to pace again. The energy rolling off him was enough to light up a small city. When he finally sat down, we all saw the crazed look in his eyes, and there was no doubt this was no longer the Erik we had known. His eyes shone with the cunning of a wild beast that was cornered, but prepared to fight back.

From that moment, Erik has hardly uttered a word. Once he was allowed to be with Laura, he has not left her side. When others are permitted to go into her ICU room to see her, he does not speak or even acknowledge their presence. He is always next to her, holding her hand. Sometimes he is seen standing next to her bed, engrossed in his thoughts or looking at Laura. Other times he is seated in the chair leaning on his elbow, toward her, but he always has her hand in his, as if his energy flows through that lifeline, pouring into her body and keeping her alive.

Freuda and I stayed at the hospital until yesterday evening. We were allowed into Laura's room for only short periods throughout the day. Then we finally gave in to exhaustion and went home to sleep. Horatio was often absent from the hospital throughout Saturday, assisting the police in their investigation and interrogation of the gunman. Late last night he met Marek at the airport and brought him back to the Admiral's house. This morning Horatio was about to accompany us to the hospital, but that abruptly changed when Erik called. So, here I sit in the car as Joe drives, feeling helpless, only able to watch the rain and try to put all the pieces of this unexpected and confounding puzzle together.

We arrive at Providence Hospital just before noon. I tell Freuda I want to stop at the small chapel on the first floor, which is not far from the elevators. She nods her head in understanding, but says she will go right up to be with Erik. She has concocted a special combination of teas—chamomile and mint, loaded with sugar—and brought it with her in a large thermos. Erik has not eaten or slept since Laura's incident, and only Freuda has been able to get him to drink the hot cups of tea she kept putting into his hand yesterday. Since he has withdrawn darkly into himself, she is the only person he seems to respond to, and now she hopes her tea will relax him and cause him to sleep.

Joe follows me closely as I enter the chapel, but takes a seat near the door to allow me some privacy. I spent a lot of time here yesterday whenever I wasn't in Laura's room. This is a Catholic hospital, and the chapel is beautifully designed. There are several rows of carved wood pews covered in comfortable velvet cushions. Several paintings of saints hang above the ornately carved oak altar, watching over all those who enter. Large, floor-standing brass candelabras flank the altar and hold tall, white candles whose flames cast dancing light on the paneled walls.

The dim chapel lighting creates an aura of calm, and flickering lights from a bank of votive candles near the altar beckon me with a reassuring glow. As I walk reverently toward them, I pass the only other person in the chapel, a young woman with blonde hair who was also here yesterday. I nod to her and smile, wondering why she is here, who she is praying for.

Even though I am not Catholic, I kneel in front of the votive candles and light three of them. Something about that simple act is so comforting. As I look into the first tiny flame, Jenn's face appears before me. Tears well in my eyes, and I say a prayer that she is at peace. When I light the second candle, I envision Erik's haunted face and the pain in his eyes. I pray that somehow he will be able to come to peace with what has happened to Laura.

And Laura…well…if miracles are possible, she needs nothing less. As I touch the match to the wick of the third candle, the flame sparks to life, just as Laura's eyes often would flare with her inner fire and desire to defend Erik, to bring out the truth and to vindicate him.

Unbidden tears begin to form, and I swallow hard to keep them from falling. I know the doctors have done everything they can for Laura. She is receiving the best care that modern medicine can provide, but we know that the extent of the damage to her body leaves little hope for recovery.

Sitting back on my heels to watch the three candles, my mind flashes back to Jenn's struggling form in the cold, dark ocean, and my anger flares at the capriciousness of fate. It seems to me that fate is the hunter, and anyone can become its unwilling prey. Suddenly a sense of loss, of defeat, washes over me, and I lower my head into my hands and cry. Feelings I have been suppressing escape my body in waves of sobs as I surrender to a sense of utter helplessness. When I finally have no more tears to shed and begin to calm, I feel a hand on my shoulder and glance up in surprise. The young woman I noticed earlier in the chapel looks into my face now with caring eyes, full of concern.

"May I help?" she asks gently, handing me several tissues.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and shake my head. "Thank you," is all I mean to say, then not understanding why I am opening up to a stranger, I volunteer, "My sister…died recently. And now a close friend is in ICU…and…" my voice trails off. I don't want to finish the sentence.

She nods her head, "Yes, I see. I am so very sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Thank you, but I don't think I am ready to, yet. You must have worries of your own…you don't need mine, too."

"Well, yes. Someone I know is in ICU also. A man who is close to her is sort of, well…like family, so I will be here in the chapel each day as long as they are here. If you should change your mind and just want to talk, I'm here," she smiles and returns to her place in the pews.

I struggle to gather myself together, preparing to face another day with Erik and resolved to try to help him in whatever way I can. I rise and walk past the young woman, giving her an appreciative nod. As I approach the back of the chapel Joe stands up and breathes a deep sigh. I see the sympathetic look in his eyes before he looks away in embarrassment, having seen me cry. I forgot he was here, and the thought occurs to me that we are once again technically serving in the Navy while on this project for The Program, and I outrank him. My crying must have been difficult for him to witness. Such an emotional display can't happen again in front of the SEALs when,_ if_, we get to France.

When I enter Laura's private ICU room, Erik is seated in a well-worn, vinyl recliner next to her bed, holding her hand. Two other small, straight-backed chairs are located against the wall at the foot of the bed. On the opposite side of Laura's imposing hospital bed, fitted tightly into the corner of the small room, is a cot-like single bed. Its blue blanket and pillows are undisturbed. The cot was placed there for Erik, but obviously he hasn't slept yet.

Laura continues to sleep deeply in the midst of white sheets and a myriad of tubes and monitors. She still has the ventilator to help her breathe. I step next to the bed and look down at her face, so still, so devoid of her usual vibrant energy. I miss her flashing, knowing eyes. Erik is seated only a few feet away, but I don't touch him, or speak. He looks only at Laura, immersed in his own thoughts. I wonder again what his call to Horatio portends.

Turning around, I walk to the foot of the bed and take my place next to Freuda on one of the small, hard chairs. She doesn't speak, but shakes her head and lowers her eyebrows in concern about Erik.

My heart breaks at the sight of Erik. I can tell by the droop of his shoulders that exhaustion is finally overcoming his steely resolve to be on continuous vigil for Laura. He has truly exerted a superhuman effort beginning the night he waited for her surgery to end and continuing ever since, staying by her side, awake and alert. And, what else has been spinning in that cunning mind of his? I study his face, but can't read his eyes like I can with Horatio. Erik's face is now lined with fatigue, and his eyes appear to be unseeing, as if in a trance, his thoughts again turned inward on his unrelenting turmoil.

Noticing the cup of tea Freuda gave Erik sitting on the bedside table, I can tell it is half empty. She obviously got him to drink some of her brew. I know she made it with chamomile to relax him and get him to sleep, but it does not appear to be working. How much longer can he do this? What is he waiting for? The time moves slowly as Freuda and I sit quietly on our chairs like two church mice observing Erik's solemn ritual. The only interruptions are the nurses who silently come in on occasion to monitor Laura's condition or change one of the bags hanging from the metal stands.

Over an hour has passed when we hear voices in the hallway. The SEAL guards are talking with Horatio, and I also recognize Marek's Scottish burr. Their discussion continues for several minutes, then Horatio and Marek open the door and quietly enter the room. Horatio glances at me and nods, but his smile is brief and half-hearted. He remains by the door as Marek walks over to Erik and places a hand on his shoulder. I wince. I wonder how Erik will react to that.

Erik jerks back his head as if he had not noticed them come in and looks up at Marek. Erik blinks his eyes, forcing himself to focus back on the reality of the moment. With exhaustion weighing heavily on his tall frame, he slowly gets to his feet, then turns to face Marek, without a word of greeting.

Marek's voice is calm, "Erik, I canna imagine what ya've been through," he says in hushed tones, as if standing in a church, "My heart goes out t' you, man." Sensing Erik's mood, Marek steps back and doesn't touch him again or even extend his hand for a shake. Erik acknowledges Marek's comments with a nod of his head, but still says nothing. The searing look in Erik's eyes communicates everything.

Marek clears his throat. "I understand you would like t' discuss somethin' with me…"

Erik nods again, "We need to speak privately…elsewhere…." He turns his head slightly toward Laura, indicating that he will not allow anything in her presence that would be disturbing.

"Yes, o' course, Erik," Marek answers without hesitation. "I am here t' help in any way I can."

A determined expression crosses Erik's face, and he responds with a guttural tone, "I will hold you to that, Marek."

I exchange questioning looks with Freuda, whose eyes are studying Erik thoughtfully. She understands Erik very well and must suspect something!

As the three men leave the room, Freuda and I waste no time jumping to our feet and following them down the hallway. One of the SEAL guards has apparently made arrangements for the use of a private waiting room for this meeting between Marek and Erik, so he leads the way. After the two men go into the room, the guard closes the door behind them and takes his position in front of it. Freuda, Horatio and I stand helplessly outside in the corridor, looking at each other and wondering… _What is this all about? _

I focus my concentration, trying to hear any words that might seep through the hospital walls, but I notice that the door is made of thick metal. I curse under my breath because I can't hear anything. At least not for a few minutes. Suddenly Marek's voice booms through the heavy door, 'YOU WON'T DO WHAT!?'"

Following that exclamation, the rumbling sound of the two men arguing on the other side of the door is audible. But, their voices are just below what can be clearly heard, and only an occasional word is distinguishable. I am frustrated that I cannot make out the gist of what they are saying. The volatile exchange rages, the voices becoming angrier and angrier. Finally, the SEAL guard glances at Horatio and asks, "Should I do anything...go in and break it up?"

Looking over at Horatio, I wonder what he is going to do about this situation. "No, I don't think that will be necessary," is all he says. Then with a wry grin toward Freuda and me, he adds, "Luckily, neither one of them has his sword with him." Turning back to the guard, he orders, "We won't disturb them unless we hear tables and chairs starting to crash."

I study Horatio's face. He stares at me with a totally controlled demeanor, except for his eyes, which disclose his own inner conflict. "Horatio, you know what this is all about, don't you?" I snap. "He talked to you, and you brought Marek...so you must know something!" I bore holes into him with my eyes, trying to expose and extract whatever information he is hiding.

Horatio sighs and answers tersely, "Well, there is nothing I can _say_ at this point."

"Oh! So you DO know!!" I am getting angry at Horatio now. Why won't he share what he knows with me? If it has to do with Erik...or with Laura...I should be told! "Horatio! I heard what Marek said. Erik has told him he won't do something. But if Erik has said he won't go back to the past as long as Laura in this condition...well, he really has no choice. The Program has publicly announced that they will return him immediately after the verdict to quell the bad publicity of bringing him to the future in the first place. And the entire Team is ready to go then, too. I know all of you feel it is too dangerous for him to be here any longer than necessary because another assassination attempt may be made. But Erik knows all that, and he knows that he has no choice! When they push that button on their time travel machine...he goes. Period! So, why would he be making such an idle threat? That makes _no sense_!"

Horatio has not wavered under my interrogation. "Just drop this subject, Phen," he replies obstinately.

Now I am really, really upset. As I'm racking my brain for clues, the voices in the adjacent room are getting more heated, more intense. I expect to hear crashing tables and chairs any minute now.

Then the door bursts open, and Marek comes barreling out of the room, his face livid with anger. The calm, gentle, scholarly archeologist he used to be is gone, and before us is a different man...one who has fought hand-to-hand combat in battles with swords and has no doubt used one to kill. The look on his face is that of a dragon…like the ones told about in medieval tales...the fire-breathing kind, and I remember the saying,

"_Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup." _

Judging from the look on Marek's face, I bet he wouldn't wait for anyone to pass the ketchup!

I step back, out of the way, as does everyone else. He storms over to Horatio and orders, "Take me back t' the Admiral's house right now." Horatio nods and without a look or word back at me, turns and follows him down the hallway. I just stand and watch in amazement. What just happened?

Turning around, I exchange glances with Freuda, who is still deep in thought. We walk up to the door that Marek just came out, open and cautiously peer around it, to see what Erik's condition is. We don't want to meet up with another he-dragon.

Erik is standing in the middle of the small waiting room, his shoulders slumped and his body bent over slightly. His energy appears to be entirely spent, and exhaustion is swiftly consuming him. Freuda bravely goes up to Erik and takes his elbow, turning him around gently and leading him out the door. I follow them down the corridor, back to Laura's room, amazed that Erik is not protesting Freuda's touch or her directing him.

When we are back in Laura's room, she puts her hand on Erik's shoulder and softly pleads, "You must go ofer and lie down now and get some sleep. You haffn't rested all de time I haff been here and probably haff not slept for de last two days. Go now, go and sleep."

Erik sways a little on his feet and nods his head in concession to Freuda's urging. Surprisingly, he doesn't argue with her. Then turning slowly, he walks over to the small cot in the corner that has been provided for him. The cot has never been slept in, and Erik lowers himself onto it with effort. He wearily removes his shoes, and in one exhausted movement, lifts his legs and stretches them out, lying down on his back. A minute later he is asleep without even getting under the covers.

Looking from Erik to Freuda, I am not able to contain myself any longer. "Well, what do you think that confrontation with Marek was all about?"

"I don't know, Dahlink. But eef I were a bettink voman and vere bettink about who von dat argument, I vould bet on Erik!" She emphasizes her point by walking over to Laura's bedside and picking up one of her hands, then nodding her head toward Erik's sleeping figure.

_Sunday afternoon,  
Seattle, Washington, Hospital_

_Zoe's POV:+_

Will M Phantom's torments ever end? I have been at the hospital every day since the horrible events in the courthouse on Friday afternoon. What happened has left me stunned and shocked, and my heart reaches out to M Phantom and Ms Counselor. From my meetings with them, I could tell that they are deeply in love just by the way they look at each other. And now…how is M Phantom going to get through this? I cannot believe that fate could be so cruel…_again_…to this man.

As soon as I heard the news—it is being broadcast constantly on television and radio—I drove immediately to the hospital and have been here each day, praying for them in the chapel. M Phantom has no family in the present. But my great, great-grandmother was the personal maid to his mother, and we have kept his family secret through the years. Because of this, and the bond that was formed when our lives became interwoven during the trial, I need to be here and stand vigil, even if I cannot see or speak to him.

To let him know that there are those who care and support him, each day I send two white roses to Ms Counselor's room, knowing that M Phantom is there also. These roses are called 'Peace,' and they have special meaning to me other than the traditional meaning that white roses carry of purity and friendship. This rose was developed by Francis Meilland, a French horticulturist in the late 1930's. Its formal name is _Rosa "Madame A. Meilland," _but it was changed to _"Peace"_ in 1945. M Meilland wrote to Field Marshall Alan Brooke asking if he would lend his name to the rose because of his important role in the liberation of France during WWII. The Field Marshall politely declined saying that his name would be forgotten, but he suggested a name that would be remembered_—"Peace." _He felt that would be more appropriate.

M Meilland was my great uncle, and his grandson continues the family tradition as a horticulturist, so I have arranged for two of these special roses to be sent by international courier from his private hothouse in France and delivered each day to Ms Counselor's room. My family trust has more money than I will ever use since I prefer to live simply, but thankfully it now allows me to make this gesture of support for M Phantom. Perhaps I should call him the Vicomte deChagny now, after all….

This hospital chapel is quite beautiful with its elegant carvings and candelabras, but more importantly, it is peaceful and private. Only occasionally does another person stop in to pray.

I have been here all afternoon, and my stomach is letting me know that I need to eat, so I decide to walk down to the hospital cafeteria. As I exit the chapel, I push on the door, but it seems to stick. So, I shove harder and feel it hit something. To my horror, I realize it is not a "something," it is a "someone!"

I peer around the door and see a man holding his forehead. Concerned, I step toward him, "Oh! Are you alright?" I can't see how badly he's hurt. He still has his hand over the upper part of his face, but I can definitely hear him mumbling.

"Yeah…I'm ok...but damn it, can't you look where you're going?" He snaps.

"Me?" I retort, a little bit annoyed at his attitude. "All I did was open the door, and I can't see through it!!" But I feel terribly guilty about hitting him. "Here let me look at that." When I reach up and try to pull his hand away from his head to check the injury, he moves his hand from his forehead and accidentally whacks my forehead. Stepping back quickly, I drop my purse, spilling the contents all over the floor.

I groan at the mess and stoop to pick everything up, but he bends over at the same time, and our heads collide. We both look up, startled. Ready to tell him how clumsy he is, I see his lips begin to twitch. I am fascinated watching his mouth turn into a smile and then a laugh. I can't believe he's laughing at me! When I stop to think about it though, I realize how absurd this situation is and begin to laugh with him.

"Ok," he begins, "You take one step back, and I'll take one step back, and we can assess the damage here."

When we both break into laughter again, I can't help but notice that he is a bit charming and not too bad looking either. I always love a good sense of humor. I extend my hand, "Hi, my name is Zoe." He looks at my hand suspiciously, feigning that he is afraid to get too close, but then he glances up at my face, grins and takes my hand.

"Mine's Joe."

"Hi, Joe." Peering up at his forehead, I can see a large red bruise beginning to appear. "I think you better have someone look at that or at least get some ice on it."

"Nope, it's fine. It was just a bump." Then he sways a little, and I step toward him. He takes a step back, and we both break into laughter once again.

I throw my hands up in the air. "I promise I won't hit you again!"

"Sorry. Just protecting myself." This time I think I can see a hint of a dimple in his right cheek as he gives me a rakish smile. Well, he really is very nice looking. No, not very. He is _extremely_ nice looking.

He wobbles again. "Ok, Joe, you really do need someone to look at that."

"Well, maybe I'll just sit down for a minute."

Looking around for a seating area, I realize there isn't one here in this hallway. I suggest we go back into the chapel. He doesn't object, so we sit down on the first bench inside the chapel.

"I really think you should have some ice for that bump at least. I will be right back." Walking to the nurse's station around the corner, I return soon with a small ice pack.

"Here, put this on your forehead," I direct, handing him the ice pack.

Joe stares at me for a few seconds before asking, "Are you a nurse by chance?"

I shake my head, "No."

"Are you visiting someone in the hospital?"

"Well, not actually visiting. But I am here to pray for two special people."

"Oh." Joe smiles over at me and then asks me a question that catches me off guard. "Is one of them your boyfriend or husband?"

Taken by surprise I sputter, "No… of course not. Well…what I mean is that no, I'm not…." Well, I wonder, is this any of his business?

He studies my face, and I can feel myself start to blush. "I didn't mean to be so blunt," he admits with that charming grin of his. "But I was just wondering if you are involved with anyone." He looks straight into my eyes, and now my cheeks must be totally pink!

But, as I think about this, I realize he is just curious…as I am, actually. And I decide to be blunt also. "No. Are you?"

He shakes his head emphatically, "No, absolutely not!"

"So, were you coming into the chapel to pray when I hit you with the door?" I decide to change the subject quickly.

"Actually I was." he taps the ice pack on his forehead and says with another wide grin. "I'm off duty right now and had some time, so I thought I would come down here."

"Oh, do you work in the hospital?"

"No, do you?" Good grief, I realize he's trying to flirt with me!

"No, I don't." I sit down on the bench, careful not to sit too closely.

"Well, what do you do when not hitting men with chapel doors?" he smiles with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

Chuckling at his barb, I decide to tell him a little about myself, "Well, I served in the Peace Corps for the last eight years, since graduation from college," then I pause, wondering how to explain my new job, "but I have a couple months off before reporting for training for my new work."

"Well, don't stop there…what is that?" he prods. I wonder about all this curiosity he has…

"I am joining Christian Peacemakers."

"Christian Peacemakers?" He scrutinizes me for a minute and then continues, "I haven't heard of them. What do you do? Are you a missionary?"

"No!" Shaking my head, I smile. That is always the first question I get when I talk about this organization, "There is no proselytizing at all…It is an organization committed to peace. We are given special training to go into volatile, often violent situations around the world and challenge abuses of human rights, as well as support local movements toward nonviolent social change. The organization is always invited by the local people to come and deal with these issues. Christian Peacemakers is currently in Colombia, Hebron and the Congo, as well as a number of other countries.

Joe gives me a surprised, studied look, then he finally says, "I can see that you care about the Peacekeeper program. Your eyes light up just talking about it."

"After working in third world countries for eight years with the Peace Corps, I saw so many violations of human rights, so much oppression, but could not get involved. With this organization, I can," I respond simply.

"Well, it certainly sounds like you know what you are talking about. So are you trying to make the world a better place?" He says this with another of those charming grins, and his eyes are dancing with a gleam of mischief.

I chuckle when I see the expression on his face after all of my unexpected information. Joe certainly makes me laugh a lot. "Ok, that's enough about what I do, what kind of work are you in?"

"Oh, I think that's enough talk about what we do for right now. I still have about two hours before I am back on duty, and I am starved. Would you like to go get something to eat?"

"Oh, Joe, thanks but I don't really think I should." Intending to decline this invitation from a virtual strange, albeit a charming one, I start to get up to leave but he reaches out and touches my hand.

"I promise that I am harmless, and you can trust me." There is that charming smile again, and his eyes seem so sincere. He's so nice, and I haven't met anyone like him in a long time. Then with a little boy look that all men seem to be able to use at will, he continues, "I will have to invite you to the hospital cafeteria because I can't leave the premises. I need to be close by in case I get a call to go back on duty. Come on, it's just a dinner and some conversation in a public place. How 'bout it?"

Oh yes, he is very smooth, and I can't help myself. I give in. "Ok, just as long as you promise to hold that ice pack on your head a little longer. I sure don't want you to sue me for bodily injury! But I told you what my work is…now it's your turn… So, what kind of work are you in that you have to stay close by?"

He laughs, stands up and with that twinkle in his eye, says, "Well, Zoe, I'm just your run-of-the-mill personal bodyguard—nothing special." +

* * *

Kudos to KFC for her sensitive, poetic editing!

We again give our THANK YOU to EUROCENTRIC, our own resident physician, for her valuable input regarding medical issues and hospital procedures!

If you are interested in reading about the Peacemakers, here are two websites:

www dot cpt dot org/

www dot cpt dot org/delegations/delegations dot php


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Erik receives a special gift and several **_**very special**_** visitors…**

* * *

**Chapter 37 Once Beautiful and Brave by Phanfan**

_Sunday, October 2, 2005  
Seattle, Washington_

_Phen's POV:_

It is 7:00 p.m. and the busy, noisy waiting area of the International Airport buzzes around us, but we stand next to each other uneasily. Horatio silent—me silent. We can't seem to talk much anymore. Perhaps it's my keeping him at arm's length regarding our personal relationship. Or, maybe our mutual reversion to our past professional relationship. Today, perhaps it's his self-imposed silence so that he doesn't accidentally slip and disclose what's going on between Marek and Erik. Every time I even mentioned the subject as we drove to the airport, his eyes clouded over like a thunderstorm descending. I can't figure out where Erik's actions are headed, except I have the sinking feeling there will be an explosion if it keeps progressing in the volatile direction I witnessed earlier today.

So, here we wait, wordlessly, for Laura's parents to arrive from London. They were told we would meet them to take them immediately to the hospital, so they had faxed their pictures. But, with my mind busily preoccupied by thoughts of Laura and Erik, I don't notice the approaching couple and receive a small shove from Horatio's elbow to snap me back to the present.

Laura's parents walk toward us with searching, sad eyes. Horatio immediately steps forward to identify himself and verify that they are Laura's parents. Laura's mother, Mary, gives Horatio a polite smile of acknowledgement, while her father, Brian, extends his hand for a formal shake, but there is no smile on his face. One look at Mr. and Mrs. Counselor, and the grief for their daughter is palpable. Horatio formally introduces me to them, and we exchange our first names. Horatio takes their carry-on bags from Brian, pointing the way to the luggage pickup area. We make small talk at the airport, discussing the horrible weather in London that caused the delay of their flight for over a day.

The mood turns solemn as we settle into the minivan. I sit in the back with Mary, and Brian takes the front seat next to Horatio. It's only a few moments into our drive when the questions begin. They want to know everything about what happened. How could the shooting occur in the courthouse with all the security and guards that were there? How was it that a medic was there on the spot? Had Laura really died briefly at the scene? What was her real condition?

We try to give sensitive answers to their questions, but refer them to Laura's physicians for her current status. We don't have the heart to tell them. From what we can discern, the doctors feel the coma may never lift, and it's only a matter of time. We know that Laura's physicians plan to discuss her living will with her parents since they were named as having the power of attorney to make medical decisions.

And, of course, there's more. Horatio and I must prepare them...for Erik. We not only have to explain his presence and how he feels about Laura, but there is that other matter. Erik is staying in her hospital room around the clock, and even has a cot to allow him to sleep there. We feel that isn't something for them to discover when they enter the room and meet Erik for the first time. Preparation is definitely necessary. Horatio has graciously given me this task, so I take a deep breath and begin.

"Mary, Brian, I'm sure you know about M Phantom?" I start out as obliquely as possible.

"Yes, of course we do," Mary responds.

"We have been watching the trial on court television on satellite. He seems to be quite an intriguing person," Brian adds, looking back over his shoulder at me.

"Well, yes, M Phantom is a very interesting person," I agree. That seems like a good start. Now to drop one of the shoes. "Did Laura share anything about her relationship with M Phantom with you?"

"Only that she was putting a lot of time these last months in on his case and really believed that he had been wronged. Laura said she was doing everything she could to defend him," Brian responds without hesitation.

Mary, however, studies me for a few seconds before she answers, "Yes, I spoke with Laura a couple times this last month. I think they were quite close, weren't they?"

"What?" Comes the startled exclamation of Laura's father from the front seat.

Side stepping Brian's reaction and smiling at Mary, I plunge onward, "Yes, they are very close. In fact, I am bringing up this issue so we can explain something to you." Mary's eyes tell me that she is ready for just about anything I will say, but I am very cognizant that Brian may be a lot more upset at this next bit of news. "Monsieur Phantom, his first name is Erik, and we now know he is the Vicomte deChagny, cares very much for Laura. Since the incident at the courthouse, he has never, _ever_, left Laura's side except when she was in surgery." I think that is a good first step and pause to let that sink in.

"Well, that is very considerate of him," Brian says from the front seat of the van.

"'Never left her side?'" Mary repeats my words, and I know she is beginning to get the picture. "You mean except when he goes to his home to sleep?"

Inhaling deeply, I drop the other shoe. "Uh, no, he does not go home to sleep. They brought a cot into the room, and he sleeps there. He refuses to leave the room." There...it's all out on the table now. I hold my breath, waiting for their reactions.

"_What?" _Laura's father explodes.

Mary seems a bit surprised, but remains calm and looks into my eyes, trying to discern the truth of what this means. I realize when Mary speaks that Laura is very much like her mother, compassionate and wise. "Well, I think this all must be a terrible shock to him. After all, the assassin was aiming for him, and Laura pushed him out of the way. That has to weigh very heavily on him...on his sense of responsibility...and on his feelings for Laura. Is that the case, Phen?"

"Yes, Mary, that describes the situation very well," I am relieved at her depth of understanding and can see how Mary must have been a wonderful role model for Laura.

However, Brian isn't so understanding. "Well, I'm not so sure about this! I think we will be fixing _those arrangements_ once we get there!" He makes his final pronouncement, and no one says anything further on the subject the rest of the way to the hospital. I speculate on what will happen when Laura's father meets Erik…and tries _"to fix"_ the situation.

_Erik's POV:_

When I roll over, my arm finds nothing but air, and my eyes fly open. Suddenly remembering where I am, I focus my eyes and see Laura's bed only a foot in front of me. I gaze lovingly at her face, still serene in her unending sleep. My aching body does not want to move, so I decide to lie here for a few minutes. But with so many thoughts, so many questions, careening through my mind, I cannot return to sleep either. Finally I push myself up into a sitting position on the cot. A glance at the wall clock tells me it is just past 7:00 o'clock, and I have been slumbering for over four hours!

I stand and stretch, then walk around the bed and sit down in the armchair on the other side. Taking Laura's hand in mine, I kiss it and hold it against my cheek. Sometimes it seems like she is here with me in this room, and I feel her soft hands touching me. But perhaps that is only my imagination...a wish..._a dream_...

Noises at the door behind me announce a visitor.

"Erik…may I come in?" I recognize Counselor Sebbied's voice.

Without turning around or looking up, I respond, "Yes, please enter."

She walks over and stands next to me, gazing in pained silence at Laura's motionless form. Then I hear her sobbing, very softly. At last she whispers, "Erik, I am so sorry." She takes out a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and wipes her eyes and nose, "I can't believe this happened."

At last, she gets her emotions under control, tucks the handkerchief back into her purse and explains, "Friday afternoon I was with a friend, at his home near the ocean. I wasn't able to get here any sooner because the storm flooded all the surrounding roads. They were reopened just a few hours ago."

Nodding my head to her, I continue watching Laura.

"Erik, I will be taking over your case, if you approve," she proposes hesitantly.

I look up, startled, realizing I have not given the case any thought since Friday. "Yes, Counselor Sebbied, I have every confidence in your ability to finish the trial."

She places her hand tentatively on my arm, "Erik, you were scheduled to testify next, you know."

I look away and scowl, "No! That is impossible."

"But Laura has already prepared your testimony," her tone is slightly pleading. "I have all her notes and would use them."

Shaking my head firmly, "No…Laura was going to take my testimony," my throat chokes around the words, "Now that she is not able to do that, I will not testify. You will have to set that consideration aside."

"Alright, Erik, if that is what you wish," she softly concedes. "Then, we will only present one last witness, a rebuttal witness. You will need to be in court this Friday for that testimony, and only one other time when the jury gives it verdict. You do understand you must be present for those, don't you?"

"Yes." I understand, but in my heart, I really do not care. At the thought of going into court without Laura, a chill runs through me, and I try to conceal a shudder, but Counselor Sebbied sees it nonetheless.

"Laura oversaw the preparation for the rebuttal witness," she assures me. "Put your mind at rest, I won't let you…or Laura…down," and she looks at Laura with liquid, sad eyes, then reaches into her purse. I fear she is about to cry again and is in need of her handkerchief. But, to my surprise, she pulls out a book.

"Erik, the bailiffs found Laura's briefcase at the courthouse after the…uh…afterwards. I stopped there on the way to the hospital today and picked it up from the security guards. When I went through her briefcase looking at her files, I found this." She extends a small, thin volume with the worn edges of a treasure often read and well loved. "It is a book of poetry by a German poet named Rilke. I thought you might like to have this," she smiles, "since it obviously meant something special to Laura."

Marveling at the precious book, I look into her face with sincere gratitude before accepting it from her. "_Thank you_, Counselor Sebbied. Yes, I would like to keep this."

I feel her light touch on my shoulder. "I will see you in court then on Friday, Erik. Take care of yourself…please?" Then she slips quietly out of the room and is gone.

I stare at the small book in my hand. What a wondrous gift…something that belonged to Laura. I ponder when she may have first read it, and why she had the book in her briefcase. Opening the slim volume, I examine its contents searching for any clues that might answer my questions. Thumbing through the pages, I occasionally stop to read a poem, enjoying the elegance of the phrase and moving quality of the images painted in ink.

Halfway through the book I discover a single pink and white orchid pressed between the pages. I pick up the flower and recognize it as one that I gave to Laura. Tears stream down my cheeks, unchecked, as images of her holding my hand when we walked through the Japanese garden dance in my memory. Her dark, joyous eyes are suddenly before me. I look down at the book where wet drops from my face stain the paper, and my heart lurches as I discover dried spots on the page where Laura's own tears have been recorded.

In my soul I have no doubt that this poem was special to her, and that somehow she connected its meaning to me. Expectantly, I begin to read…

_How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples? _

_The myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses? _

_Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses, or only waiting to see us, once beautiful and brave. _

_Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us. _

_So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen, if a restiveness, like light and cloud shadows passes over your hands and over all you do…_

"Oh, Laura, was this how you felt?" As I look up at her and say these words aloud, I hope, somehow, some part of her can hear. "Were you as sad…as bereft at our being separated as I felt? Was that the shadow passing over your life? Our not being together?" Tears fill my eyes as I caress her soft hand. "Laura, I was not going to let that happen. We were to be married, my love. I was never going to let us be parted…" As I try to read the final passages of Rilke's poem, my tears blur the printed page.

_You must think that something is happening with you,  
That life has not forgotten you,  
That it holds you in its hand,  
It will not let you fall._

Gazing at Laura's still body, I try to understand. "So, you took comfort in this, perhaps? You hoped that something might happen? You had faith...that somehow we could still be together? Oh, I pray that is what you thought, what you believed. These words are true. Life does hold you in its hand...and _so do I_."

I lay the book down on the bedside table and take her small, pale hand gently in my two large ones. "I will always hold you carefully in my hands, Laura...I will not let you fall. I promise you... I _will_ find a _way_."

At that, I hear a cough behind me and turn to see Horatio, Phen, and an elderly couple standing in the doorway. Realizing they have just overheard me speaking to Laura, I turn my face...to wipe away the tears. Judging from the look in Horatio's eyes, they have heard everything. So, now he knows that I intended to marry Laura.

I rise to my feet, shaken.

"Erik, these are Laura's parents, Mary and Brian Counselor. Just arrived from Ireland," Horatio says uneasily.

I do not know what to do. Laura's parents. I have never been confronted with such a situation. What must they think, having overheard the words I just spoke to Laura? How must they feel, knowing that an infamous man accused of so many horrible acts, has such affection—and such intentions—for their only beloved daughter? I am suspended between shock and embarrassment...and dismay.

I find myself gazing at Laura's mother. Her eyes, dark and beautiful, seem so familiar, looking into mine with kindness and understanding. I know I am not moving, yet the distance between us is closing. Before I can comprehend what is happening, she is next to me, wrapping her arms around my waist, holding me tenderly to her, as Laura would. The cold stiffness inside me softens when her warmth passes through me. As I gently return her embrace, my tears course down my cheek into her soft, graying hair. I look over her shoulder and encounter an anguished expression on the face of Laura's father. He wordlessly acknowledges the sorrow we share with a small nod of his head. After a few minutes, Laura's mother moves aside, and her father walks over to me. I am shaken to my core when he puts his arms around my shoulders and embraces me.

Then Laura's parents stand beside her bed, looking into her face, clinging together for solace. In deference, and for the very first time, I step back from Laura's bed. Fading into the shadows in the corner of the room, I allow them their silent communion with their daughter. I lose all concept of time watching Laura's bereaved parents comfort each other.

Eventually their exhaustion and trauma overcome them. Laura's mother turns to me and says, "We have not slept in over two days, and the long flight has taken its toll. We are going to our hotel and will return early in the morning." Then looking back at Laura's still form, she adds, "We entrust her to your care."

_Phen's POV:_

Horatio and I drive Laura's parents to their hotel not far from the hospital and make sure they are settled in comfortably. Explaining that he must attend a meeting tonight at the Admiral's house, Horatio takes me back to the hospital, returning me to Joe's watchful care. Joe and I find Freuda in the hospital cafeteria, finishing a late dinner. I can't eat, but I fix a cup coffee, and we all return to Laura's room to check on Erik.

It is after 9:00 p.m., and the hospital corridors have dimmed lighting to allow the patients their rest. Most visitors are gone for the day, and the nurses tend to their business in hushed voices, moving noiselessly in and out of the patients' rooms. When we arrive at Laura's room, we open the door and enter quietly. As we had hoped, Erik is on the cot, asleep. He collapsed on top of the bedding, as he did earlier today, stretched out and lying on his back. Freuda walks over to the bedside table and checks the cup of tea she left for Erik, smiling when she finds it empty. "Goot," she says.

Erik's peaceful sleep is quite a contrast to the raging argument he had with Marek only hours ago. My mind goes into gear, still trying to figure out what Erik's meeting with Marek was all about. What are Erik's intentions? How can he help Laura by NOT doing something? How would that make any difference? Why did that push Marek's button and enrage him so much?

While brooding over these questions, I stand next to Laura's bed and study her face, praying that somehow she will open her eyes, talk to us, and this will all be over. Then I notice a small, elegant antique crystal vase with two creamy roses, tinged with pink, on her bedside table. Next to it is a small black velvet box. Looking over at Erik, to confirm he is still sleeping, I walk around Freuda and pick up the box. I open it and discover a delicate necklace inside. An exquisite gold pendant in the shape of two roses is embedded with pink crystals for the petals and green emeralds for the leaves. A black ribbon around the flowers is traced by tiny obsidian. I remember that Laura's favorite jewelry was necklaces, usually an ornate pendant suspended from a golden chain.

My heart breaks for Erik. I ask Freuda, "Do you know when Erik planned to give this to her?"

Freuda slowly nods her head, "Erik ordered it after de veekend dey vent sailink. He showed me his design, and I know he sent it to a jeweler to be made accordink to his instructions. De jeweler's master designer iss an old man who vas on a trip in Europe and only returned a couple veeks ago, so Erik didn't receive de necklace until last veek. I know he vas goink to give it to Laura dis veekend. I could also tell from his attitude dis last veek dat somethink else vas up…He had been plannink somethink. He vas happier dan I have ever seen him. Den…_dis_…" she sighs and looks back at Laura.

I shake my head. "Erik never seems to get a break, does he?" As I study the beautiful design and detail of the gold pendant, I can guess what had made Erik so happy. Horatio and I overheard what he said to Laura when we brought her parents into the room. He said they were to be married. Was he going to try and take Laura back with him to France? I knew they were very much in love, and clearly he had plans…

Suddenly I am crying again. Reaching for a tissue from the box on the bedside stand, I look over at Erik's sleeping form.

_He is not alone._

I wipe my eyes, but the figure next to him doesn't disappear. I blink several times. I have had the gift of seeing spirits ever since I nearly drowned as a child and became connected in a special way to the other side of the veil.

And….there…sitting on the edge of the bed is Laura's spirit. Dressed in her white suit, she sits next to Erik's arm that rests on his chest, which is rising and falling with his deep slumbering breaths. Soft light emanates from her glimmering figure, and her aura embraces him in its gentle light. I am almost unable to breathe as this scene unfolds before me. I watch as Laura leans over and gently places her hands on each side of Erik's face, caressing the uncovered side as well as the side with the white mask. As he sleeps in peace, she holds his face tenderly, gazing down at him with boundless love. My heart pounds as a surge of hope runs through me. _Laura's spirit is here...and_ _giving comfort to Erik._

* * *

Kudos for the fine editing of KFC and Phanna! 


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Reality is setting in, and all are preparing in their own way for what is to come…**

* * *

**Chapter 38 Thorns, Part 1, by Phanfan, Phanna,+ & KFC++**

_Friday, October 7, 2005_

_Seattle, Washington_

_Zoe's POV:+_

The autumn leaves are beautiful today in the early morning sun even though they are predicting rain later this morning. It's hard to believe that Mother Nature can be so stunning with her glorious colors when there is such sorrow and pain in the world. I see it all the time though, especially when I worked with the Peace Corps and have learned it is part of life. The beauty of nature, juxtaposed with the trials and sadness of the world.

My feet are hurrying me along the hospital corridors toward the cafeteria as they have done each day this week. Joe has been meeting me there whenever he is off duty, and we have enjoyed many meals together.

Joe. Now there is an interesting man. I recognize that he's a natural flirt and probably likes women too much for my taste. I really don't like men who act like bumble bees, going from flower to flower. But there is something special about Joe. Underneath all that bravado façade, I sense vulnerability and that unexpected combination appeals to me. I want to know the true nature of a person, and what is in their heart. Besides, I am beginning to like him as a friend.

When I arrive at the cafeteria, I look around, but am disappointed not to see Joe anywhere. We had planned to meet for breakfast a little early because he will be escorting Counselor Brown to the courthouse for M Phantom's trial later this morning. I recognized her the first time that I saw her in the chapel. Joe finally admitted to me that he is her personal bodyguard.

It seems so strange that the trial is continuing today. Partly because Ms Counselor will not be there, but instead is fighting for her life, here in the hospital. Partly because I will not be there to watch it unfold. However, the remainder of M Phantom's trial will be closed to the public due to the heightened security after the shooting last week. In fact, not even the media is being allowed inside the courthouse or anywhere on the courthouse grounds. I understand the necessity of this, but will miss attending and not being able to lend my support to M Phantom, if only by being there.

Anxiously, I look back at the cafeteria entrance, but still no Joe. I chuckle when I remember the night I hit Joe with the chapel door. We had gone to the cafeteria and talked for a long time afterward. When he had to go back on duty, he turned his charming smile on me, "Zoe...I really enjoy your company."

A bit hesitantly, I replied, "Well, I enjoy yours, too, Joe." But I meant it.

He cleared his throat and continued, "The point I'm trying to make is that I would like to spend more time with you. Unfortunately, it will have to be here at the hospital because of my job right now. Would you join me for breakfast in the cafeteria tomorrow morning?" He was studying me closely, waiting for my answer.

Did I want to join him for breakfast? I really liked talking to him and found him to be surprisingly good company with an endless stream of funny or unusual stories about his adventures in the military. We both have traveled extensively and enjoyed talking about the places we have been. He even appeared interested in my stories about the Peace Corps.

After a pause to consider what I might be getting myself into, I had said 'yes.' So, we spent at least two meals a day talking to each other in the hospital cafeteria, which was truly a surreal place to date someone, and that seems to be what was happening…these were dates.

Finally, he began to loosen up about his work a little. He didn't go into details, but I can tell that he enjoys his job. Even though he doesn't take many things seriously, he most certainly feels that way about his job. He seems very dedicated, and I like that. Sadly, he told me yesterday that he has accepted a long term assignment overseas, and that he will be leaving soon. So I am just enjoying his friendship while he is here and believe he feels the same.

I pay for my breakfast and pick up my tray, deep in thought and still trying to sort out what I feel about Joe. His upcoming departure has been going through my mind, and I wonder if I will miss him. As I turn away from the counter, trays collide. I am barely able to hold on to mine, but the other tray isn't so lucky, and it proceeds to upturn all over the front of…Joe.

Our eyes meet, and I break into laughter. I just can't help it. The look on his face is priceless. After all, he does have his breakfast sliding down the front of him, and I bet that glass of juice is cold as it drenches the front of his clothes all the way down the front of his slacks.

"Do we have to meet _like this _so often?" He looks quite irritated at me, and I'm pretty sure he isn't keen about this kind of 'meeting.'

"Well… no." In my defense I add, "This is _only_ the second time something like this has happened!" It's really tough not to break into laughter again but I can't stop a smile.

Placing my tray on the counter, I grab a handful of napkins. "Let me help you." And I start walking toward him.

He takes a step back almost defensively every time I step forward and finally holds his hands in front of him beseeching me to stop. "No, please. I _really_ don't need your help." But I notice his lips are beginning to curl upwards, and I know he's going to start laughing any second now.

I chuckle, "Joe, I'm so sorry," And then I take a deep breath. "I seem to have this habit of running into you, and I mean _literally_."

There's that wonderful grin again that I love. "Yes, we really have to find a way to eliminate this part of our meetings!" And he suddenly breaks out in rolling laugher.

With my handful of napkins, I start to wipe some of the food off of his shirt. However, when I reach his belt, I realize what I'm doing…and where…and begin to blush, suddenly aware that he is watching me with that twinkle in his eyes. Embarrassed, I step back.

"No, please don't stop. You're doing a fine job." With that comment my blush deepens.

Clearing my throat, I make matters worse, "Well, umm, I think you're going to need to change."

"I think you're right. Would you like to help?" he says with a devilish grin.

"Nooo…I think I'll pass on that one." We both chuckle and by this time, someone from the cafeteria staff is here to help clean up the mess

Joe picks up my tray, carries it over to one of the tables and then sits down with me. I'm surprised that he hasn't left right away to change instead of staying to chat, so I share my breakfast with him. I can feel him watching me sometimes and wonder what he's thinking. Well, that is, other than I'm a klutz around him. He doesn't have much time this morning to stay and talk though, because he does have to change before he takes Counselor Brown to the trial.

We agree to meet tonight for dinner, and on the way to the chapel, I find myself looking forward to seeing Joe…again. +

_Matt's POV:++_

Providence Hospital has been my home this past week. Technically I am still Laura's bodyguard. Although I am not bound to the hospital around the clock, I just can't face the prospect of returning to Laura's condo without her. Every time I imagine walking through the door of her home and finding it quiet, empty and dark...my heart breaks.

Last year I was a resident here at Providence so I know many of the staff, especially the surgical staff. Sleeping in the call rooms and wearing scrubs is second nature to me. But what doesn't seem real is that the one who is in my care... I can do nothing for.

When I heard what Dr. Kerns told us after Laura's surgery, I knew then what the prognosis was—she probably would not survive. I watched the others trying to remain calm and supportive for each other…and for Erik. But all I could do was sit there in silence and think…think about never hearing Laura's voice again, never seeing her dark, brilliant eyes again, never having a chance to comfort her when Erik returned to France. I sat there, my stomach clenched so tight that I couldn't take it anymore and finally, in the bathroom, I lost it.

Dr. Kerns was honest with me when I talked to him later in private. We discussed Laura's injuries in detail, and that confirmed what I already felt. But hearing it again caused my throat to constrict and speech became impossible. Dr. Kearns went over in detail everything that had happened. Laura had suffered massive blood loss from an injury to the artery to one of her kidneys. They had to reinflate her lungs in the ER, and she suffered profound shock from the blood loss, with accompanying hypoxia. He reminded me that the kidney was smashed by the bullet and had to be removed, leaving her only one kidney to do twice the work, but because of the trauma to her body, that was simply too much strain and renal failure was already beginning. He reminded me that although everything had been done in surgery to try to repair the internal damage caused by the bullet, the kidney problem would lead to other organ systems also failing, one by one. Dr. Kearns put his hand on my shoulder when he said what I already feared, "There is little else we can do."

Attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction, Dr Kearns then talked about what had been happening at the hospital, and eventually he came back to the question that always came up in our discussions. "You've only got, what...a little over a year of residency left to go? You should come back to Providence. You were tops...you could do a lot of good here. Why don't you consider it?"

I felt the hot sting of tears in the back of my eyes as I thought about how I had planned to do just that before Laura was shot. We talked a little longer and arranged to meet in a few days for an update on Laura, and I left.

Several times a day I check on Laura, and Erik is constantly by her side. I feel so lost. My duty has been wrested from me...my hands tied. I'm so accustomed to having her within _my_ care, every hour of every day. Now I am powerless to help her, and it's driving me insane.

I sit in my usual place, on a bench outside her room. This infernal wall... That cursed door... Shutting me out and keeping me away. There is nothing to do but sit and wait, enduring the endless hours of knowing she's right on the other side...so close, but I can't reach her. Nothing to think about but the memories...as her last hours fleetingly slip away...

Reflecting back on the morning before the shooting, I remember Laura and I were getting ready to go to the courthouse. I made the coffee as usual, and she had made toast. It was Friday, and Laura was happy because she was going to see Erik. She did not try to hide her excitement at that prospect, but I also knew she was hurting. They didn't have much time left. Suddenly my heart skips a beat as I realize that thought was prophetic.

During the drive to court that morning, Laura was completely preoccupied with her book of poetry, and I'm sure she didn't hear the song that was playing in the car. I'd heard that particular song a thousand times, but until that morning, I'd never truly felt the meaning of those words.

_There's no love like your love_

_And no other could give more love_

_There's nowhere unless you're there_

_All the time...all the way_

_You can't tell me it's not worth trying for_

_I can't help it...there's nothing I want more_

_I would fight for you_

_I'd lie for you...walk the wire for you_

_I'd die for you..._

When we arrived at the courthouse, I escorted her to the conference room and waited outside while she was alone with Erik. She came out of the room smiling, and I spoke my last words to her, "I'll be back for you, Laura."

Then I went to the beach to sort out my thoughts and feelings...to decide whether I felt I could ever really belong in Laura's world...in her heart. I wasn't assuming anything about how our relationship would evolve, but I decided to stay and not go with the Team to France.

The words of that song I heard on the way to court made my decision that day, and now the same words leave me lost.

Laura, "there's nowhere...unless you're there."

Damn those hours she was out of my sight! The unimaginable happened in an instant, and I missed my chance...by four flights of stairs. I wasn't there to lay down my life for her, as she had done for Erik.

I look down at my watch. It's 8:45 a.m., Friday. It's finally time. I get off the bench, knock lightly on Laura's door, and Erik turns toward me when I open it. Standing in the doorway, I sense _her_ familiar presence in the room...I feel the air she breathes. It seems as though I have been suffocating without it and can finally breathe again.

I notice Erik has lost weight, and although his face is gaunt and shoulders slope with weariness, his eyes are focused like those of a man driven by a relentless inner force. He acknowledges me, and I take that as permission to enter this sacred space. The room is small, and Laura's parents are standing beside the bed. Their tired faces show the strain of sleepless nights and difficult decisions. I tilt my head to them in silent greeting and stand unobtrusively near the wall.

Erik knows that I have come to watch over Laura while he's in court today. He turns briefly back to Laura and, loathe to leave her, sighs raggedly as he places her hand on the bed next to her.

Erik walks over and stands next to me. "Mary and Brian," he says. "I do not believe you have been formally introduced to Matt McBrighton...Laura's bodyguard."

Pain darts through my chest, and I look nervously into their faces. Will they blame me for not being there to protect their daughter? I can't speak as I reach out to take Mary's extended hand, but Erik continues. "Matt is an excellent medic. He was there for Laura and saved her life in the elevator." I swallow at the knowing look on Erik's face.

Brian now offers his hand to me in appreciation, and I take it with gratitude. Erik looks over at me, and our eyes meet for a brief second. In that flicker of an instant he acknowledges my deep love for Laura.

Then Jeremy steps into the room and tells Erik it is time to leave for the courthouse. Silently Erik gathers his cloak and wraps it around his shoulders in a now familiar gesture. He turns back, takes one rose from a vase near Laura's bed, kisses her hand gently and slips out the door.

After he leaves, the room is quiet. I had not yet looked at Laura, and now my glance at her still form is fleeting. I will myself to put my feelings on hold because Laura's parents are here. Mary invites me to sit down and begins to ask me questions that are on her mind.

"Matt, how long have you known Laura?" she asks.

As I lower myself into one of the chairs at the foot of the bed, I reply, "I met her four months ago when I was assigned to be her bodyguard during Erik's trial."

Mary and Brian ask me questions about the details of their daughter's life, and I oblige by sharing my personal recollections of Laura with them. I begin by telling them how she works so hard for every client...and how she put together an incredible defense for Erik. Then I share more personal recollections about how she was always so organized and meticulous in everything she did or took interest in. I can't help smiling as I relay my memories: her giving me grief over eating junk food, or how she loved her plants so much and doted on them."

"Yes," Mary says. "Laura has always had an affinity for plants and the environment. A rather strange interest for a young woman who was always so bookish."

I smile. "She always got excited when she read a good book, and would want to discuss it with me. We got into some heated debates," I confess, "and she often used her lawyer skills to win those...in fact, I don't think I ever won any."

Mary laughs and Brian nods his head knowingly. As I realize I'm speaking about things that Laura and I have shared together, loss overwhelms me, and I fall silent and stare at the floor. When I raise my head I find Mary looking at me thoughtfully, with understanding eyes.

"Well Brian," she sighs as she turns to her husband. "I think we need to go downstairs and try to eat something." She quietly gathers her sweater and purse and takes her husband's hand, nudging him toward the door. "Then I think we will make a phone call or two." Mary smiles kindly at me as they leave, "We won't be back for about an hour."

Anticipation and relief run through me as the door closes slowly behind them. Suddenly I feel self-conscious, being alone in the room with Laura. It almost seems like the first time again. But I'm overcome with the realization that this no doubt will be the last time...the very last.

My heart is aching as I approach her motionless form on the bed. A clear breathing tube rests across her upper lip, replacing the ventilator since she was moved into this intermediate ICU room last Monday. I study her beautiful face, thinking how vibrant and alive she always was, with such an open heart. Now I stand and listen to the dripping of the IV liquids and the steady hum of the pumps. It hardly seems possible that her body is so damaged that it is beyond repair.

"Oh Laura..." Tears blur my vision. "I'm so sorry...I wasn't there." I can't escape the thought that it was my responsibility to guard her. There is no one on the earth I wanted to protect more than Laura... "If only it had been me instead of you."

Her eyes are closed, and her full dark lashes lie on her cheeks, like butterflies perched on a pale flower. _You are still so beautiful... _I say wordlessly_...even lying here silently in a coma, looking like a princess waiting for love's first kiss. I wonder if I reach over to kiss you...would you awaken? _

With my gaze, I caress her delicate skin, tracing the outline of her arm to where Erik's kiss lies undisturbed on her hand...the hand I never held.

_I have wanted to touch you so many times_. _Every time you accidentally brushed against me, how I wished I could turn and caress you..._

My hand reaches out, and I allow my fingers to brush against her hair. I pick up a strand, running it between my fingers. It is soft and luxurious. I bend down and bring her silken lock to my lips, inhaling the scent of her hair.

"Laura..." I whisper. "I wanted to be here for you until the end. But I have an even greater...and deeper desire. To honor you the only way I know how...with my life.

I've decided to go back with the Team to France. I'll do everything in my power to see Erik through. And everything I do...will be done for you."

"This is goodbye, Laura…"

I want to say more...to bare my heart to her...but the words won't come. Her hair slips from my fingers, and I lower myself into the chair, letting the sorrow overtake me. As I hold my face in my hands, I feel an exquisite sensation of warmth surround me, and I can no longer hold back as sobs wrack my body. ++

_Jeremy's POV:_

Today while walking down the corridor of the hospital to Laura's room, I had steeled myself. Everyone was glad to see me back on duty because that meant I got the unenviable and thorny job of telling Erik that he had to leave for court. Delivering that announcement just now is bad enough, but watching him take his leave of Laura is heartbreaking.

This is the first time since Laura's surgery that Erik will be away from her, and anguish at the separation is embedded in every fatigue-ridden line of his face. I wonder if he's slept much at all this last week. He certainly hasn't eaten adequately. He's lost noticeable weight, his face is thinner now and more angular from lack of food and sleep, all of which is made more apparent from the dark circles beneath weary eyes.

Erik pauses and gives a resigned sigh, then takes a rose from the vase by her bed, gently kisses Laura's motionless hand and turns to me, nodding his head that he is ready. Stopping briefly at the door to look back one last time, Erik follows me into the hallway where four SEAL guards meet us and form a phalanx of protection around him as we travel quickly through the hospital hallways.

Erik had asked that we use the enclosed stairwell instead of the elevator. None of us—Matt, Russ, or I—like to get into elevators. We understand all too well Erik's reason for that request and walk down the five stories to the ground floor and out the back service door of the hospital, which exits into an underground parking area that can be easily secured. Three vehicles await our entourage. Russ is in the first SUV with two other SEAL guards. Erik, two SEALs and I travel in the second vehicle, an enclosed van, and Joe is driving the third van with Phen and two more SEALs. The vehicles in the front and back give a buffer to the van carrying Erik, and we are all relieved this is a short trip of only two miles to the courthouse

Erik and I sit in the enclosed back end of the van, left to our thoughts during the silent journey. There is nothing really to see on this gloomy day. The overcast grey skies threaten to open up and pour again, and a cold October wind chills through to the bone. I shift my left arm into as comfortable a position as I can, and stifle a groan at a stab of pain. My wound is healing well, but I still need a sling to support it. I have been up and walking around since Sunday, trying to get my strength back and ready for court today. With the injured left arm, I am not really up to full capacity, but I can still use my right hand and fire a gun, if need be. More importantly, I just wanted to be here, to give moral support to Erik since he seems to trust me. .

Horatio overheard Erik's comments to Laura on Sunday night when he and Phen brought her parents to the hospital, so he knows that Erik planned to marry Laura. He grilled me about it on Monday, but I refused to disclose anything that I knew. So, Horatio doesn't know the details or that Erik and Laura may have been married by last Tuesday. I had stayed tightlipped about whatever I knew, and Horatio could tell. He chewed my tail considerably, but I got off with only a reprimand. As far as I am concerned, that was the easiest part of what I had to deal with. The toughest part was going to Laura's room on Tuesday morning to talk with Erik.

It was just before 6:00 a.m. last Tuesday morning when I got to the hospital, wanting to talk to Erik before Laura's parents arrived for the day. Erik was sitting on his cot with his head in his hands, already showered, shaved and dressed for the day. He looked up when I entered, surprised to see me for the first time since the shooting. Rising and walking around the foot of the bed, he extended his hand, telling me of his deep appreciation for what I had done, protecting him, taking the bullet. We stood and looked into each other's eyes and wordlessly communicated our feelings and our grief. I had not yet looked at Laura. Somehow I felt that if I didn't see her body there, inert, lifeless, then it couldn't have _really_ happened. I swallowed hard, and after releasing Erik's hand, I forced myself to turn and look.

I could hardly believe my eyes. Seeing Laura there in the ghostly white sheets was almost unreal. She was so still, and yet her face was so peaceful and beautiful, her black hair arrayed around her head and her long black lashes resting on marble-white cheeks… almost as if she were a statue, perfectly carved and frozen in eternity.

After a few moments of breathless staring, Erik put his hand on my shoulder and told me to sit in the large arm chair at the side of her bed, behind the door. I shook my head and said he should take that chair, clearly the only comfortable one in the room, but he insisted. As I sat in the chair, so close beside Laura, Erik pulled up a small chair, moving it from the foot of her bed over to the side so he could look into her face.

As we travel now to the courthouse, I remember how I had watched Erik for some time last Tuesday morning, studying his face. I had heard the stories from Matt, from Phen, from Horatio, from everyone. The stories of his not sleeping for two days, of his unending vigil and of his argument with Marek, which was causing much speculation among the SEALs. Erik had managed to push Marek, the most easy-going and unflappable of men, into a tantrum. In the pit of my stomach I had no doubt that Erik had pulled out the stops. I wondered what devil's bargain he was proposing, but could only conjecture. I had no doubt that it was the cause of the furor we were all witnessing at the Admiral's home.

There had been late night meetings ever since, as well as changed schedules, and then, a few days ago Russ had been called into a private meeting with Horatio and Marek. When Russ came out, he was tight-lipped and tense. His eyes showed a resolve, but there was something else too—a deep uneasiness. Ever since, he has not been allowed to guard Erik personally, and today, he was assigned to a different car when transporting Erik to court. Yet, we all knew he was not being singled out for blame for the shooting because it was announced today that he would take Ben's place on the Team going back to France with Erik. All very strange…

But, my mind continues to return to last Tuesday morning, when I went to see Erik for a very specific reason. I alone knew that was the day he believed Laura and he would wed. I had dreaded going to the hospital, and yet I knew I had to be there with Erik so that he could talk with the one person who _knew, who understood what that day meant to him. _

I hadn't been there very long before Erik brought up the subject.

"Today is Tuesday, Jeremy," he began obliquely.

"Yes, Erik. I am sorry. It should have turned out differently." I answered as best I could, still struggling to deal with this unforeseen turn of events. "How could anyone have known it would be like this?"

"The doctors try to be tactful, but it is clear she will not live long, Jeremy," Erik's eyebrow rises in disbelief of this unavoidable fact. But I can also read something else there…his eyes disclose an iron will, one that will not accept Laura's fate.

"But Erik, what can you do? If modern medicine can't…"

I didn't finish my sentence before Erik blurted out, "Jeremy, when I went on my little excursion around the courthouse that day six weeks ago, creating ripples wherever I went, Laura took me aside when I got back to the conference room. She explained in her calm, understanding, but, of course, very firm way," and a slight grin twitched at the corner of his mouth for a second, "…well she said many things to me, about how everything that happened would be exploited and used against The Program. She told me that many people were trying to help me, and that I had to make a commitment to help them, to work with them."

Then looking up with pained eyes, he actually opened up and told me what had been said between them, "Jeremy, I could not believe people would want to help me…it was not in my experience, so I asked her that…I asked her why people would want to help a _monster_. Do you know what she said?" Erik then shook his head and looked at her in the hospital bed with deepest love, "Laura told me she did not think I was a monster, but what had been done to me by others had been monstrous. She said the Team believed in me…and that she believed in me and wanted to bring out the truth and vindicate me!"

"Well, Laura was telling you the truth, Erik," I had confirmed, "We all do support you. The abuse you suffered, the way you had to live, was unacceptable. And, you are a brilliant man. I have heard your music, and it deserves to be heard, to be shared. Now with your status as a Count, you can do much good. We all support you, and we all know the consequences of the project's failure."

I remember how I was taken aback at Erik's bitter, conflicted eyes. His response still haunts me, "But, sometimes we have to give up something to gain something, Jeremy."

Feeling totally confused, "I don't understand," was my only response,

He had paused then and considered his words, "I promised Laura on that day she could trust me…that I would _not_ fail her. Laura looked at me when I made that promise and said, _'I will hold you to your word._' And, Jeremy, I intend to keep my word _to_ _Laura, above all else_!"

Something in Erik's words and tone had sent a chill down my spine. I have been puzzling ever since Tuesday trying to figure out what Erik has done, what threat he has made in the name of his devotion to Laura. My gut feeling tells me that this could turn out very badly. I remember when he said those words to me, my throat went dry, and I could not think of any way to respond, so we sat in silent commiseration, just like now in this van.

I had hoped to comfort Erik last Tuesday, but had ended up being completely discomfited myself. I'd been sitting there in the hospital room trying to figure out this conundrum—what Erik's words portended—when a hand knocked on the door, then could be seen clutching the edge of the door, tentatively opening it. Erik immediately rose and turned to the visitor. I didn't recognize the voice, but knew that anyone who wasn't authorized or approved could not get past the SEAL guards.

The voice of a woman could be heard behind the door, "I'm Terese. We spoke yesterday on the phone. I'm sorry I couldn't arrive until this morning. I took the night flight from New York and arrived only an hour ago. I got here as soon as I could."

Erik nodded his head but didn't respond, only looked nervously sideways at me. For a brief moment I saw the woman's profile. She was a breathtaking, blonde-haired beauty, but she didn't see me, sitting in the small cramped area behind the door.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir, and I look forward to working with you," the female voice said hopefully, trying to overcome the awkwardness of the situation.

But Erik didn't help.

"Well, you may change your mind on both accounts, Mademoiselle, before this is over!" Erik gruffly responded, and with that, he gave me a nod, walked toward the door and motioned the woman out into the corridor. I heard their footsteps going down the hall, presumably to a room where they could talk in private. Deep in thought, I sat in Laura's room until her parents arrived, then respectfully turned over the vigil to them. I never saw the young woman again, but heard about her from the other SEALs. She had met with Erik at the hospital several times each day for the rest of the week and apparently returned to New York this morning.

As I now sit next to Erik in the van, I again study him and wonder: _what the devil is he up to? _


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Despite Erik's personal sorrows, the trial must proceed, and roses take on a new meaning, forever.**

**Thank You! To each of you who writes such heartfelt, thoughtful reviews and comments. But, please continue to keep a handy stock of tissues...**

* * *

**Chapter 39, Thorns, Pt 2, by Phanfan & Barbkesq+**

_Friday, October 7, 2005_

_Courthouse, Seattle, Washington_

_Jeremy's POV:_

When we arrive at the courthouse, I am still deep in thought about Erik—his actions, and his intentions. I don't know how this will turn out, but I sometimes feel as if it's beyond my control…that all I can do is go along for the ride, protect him, and pray for the best. As soon as we park, all the other guards get out and survey the surrounding area before opening the van's door and quickly moving Erik into the service entrance. We escort him through the basement and up the back stairwell which has been locked on all levels so no one can enter it as long as he's in the building. Then we take him along a back hallway that leads to the private corridor where the conference room is located. Security is so tight no one is allowed in any of these areas for the entire time that Erik will be in the courthouse.

The bailiff soon knocks on the door of our private conference room and announces it's time to go into the courtroom. I walk ahead of Erik as we enter and can feel a difference in the very atmosphere of the court. No spectators or media will be allowed for the remaining two days of the trial. Only the jury, sitting in quiet expectation, the Judge and court personnel, and the attorneys and bodyguards will be present. Compared to the busy movement and noisy rumble of the usual court day, today is tomblike in its stillness.

Instead of standing at the sides of the room, two bodyguards will closely flank each side of the defense table today, as approved by the Judge. I stand in the central aisle, closest to Erik who walks toward his usual seat, and Counselor Sebbied and Grace take their customary seats to his right. That, of course, leaves Laura's chair adjacent to the center aisle noticeably empty. Erik stands briefly behind the chair, then reaches into his cloak and pulls out the rose I saw him remove from the bedside vase. He lays it on the table in front of Laura's seat, pauses, then lowers himself wearily into his chair. All eyes in the courtroom are fixed on Erik and sympathetically watch his gesture of respect.

Suddenly, the scraping of a chair on the wood floor draws my attention, and I look over at the prosecution table as S Luzano stands up. He walks deliberately over to the defense table, and with a formal bow to Erik, says, "I wish to extend my deepest sympathy to you, Vicomte." Erik looks up, startled, but he rises and extends his hand to S Luzano and without any further words between them, the two men shake hands and exchange looks of mutual respect. S Luzano returns to his chair and the moment of armistice between the opposing sides is over. Mr. Broadbent snorts his disapproval at S Luzano who pointedly ignores him. M DeVere fidgets and takes out his handkerchief to mop his damp forehead.

Then the bailiff calls the court to order, and as all stand, the judge enters with solemn dignity. When she takes the bench, she looks down and notices the cream-colored rose in front of Laura's place. Her eyes look over to Erik, full of compassion, and she shakes her head, "The tragic events of last Friday are unconscionable. I extend my sympathies and hope that Ms Counselor will recover and return to her work here. She is a respected member of the Bar and of this court. In the meantime, she will be missed." Looking over at Erik, I see him clenching his jaw, keeping his emotions in check. I can only hope the testimony goes quickly today.

The bailiff calls the witness, and Russ enters through the front door of the courtroom. He quickly takes the witness chair and is sworn in. Counselor Sebbied gets up, but before she walks around the table to stand next to the witness, she puts a hand gently on Erik's shoulder. He nods, but does not look up, his gaze fixed on his folded hands.

Counselor Sebbied walks across the courtroom with an uncharacteristically calm demeanor. Even her simple black suit is unusual and denotes the somberness of this final day of the trial.

I look over at Grace who is also attired in black. She insisted on being present today and sitting at the defense table. The trumped up charges against her and Horatio were dropped only yesterday, too late for her to participate in the trial. While the charges were pending, her license had been suspended. I can tell from the obvious dismay on her face that she is upset at not being able to lead the defense case today. Sitting on the sidelines is not her style, but as I reflect back on what has happened since this trial began, undoubtedly each of us has been dealt hands we didn't expect.

"Please state your name for the jury."

"Russell Carpenter."

"What is your profession?"

"I was trained as a Navy SEAL, but left the service over a year ago. Currently I am employed as a bodyguard and on security duty here at the courthouse during this trial." I can see that Russ' right arm is still uncomfortable for him as he surreptitiously tries to adjust it.

"Have you served in any other capacity related to this trial?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"I was part of the team that went back to 1871 France."

"What was the reason a team was sent back in time?"

"The court ordered The Program to use their time travel technology to return to 187l France and obtain evidence requested by the prosecution."

"You are referring to the prosecution's request for production of documents motion?" Counselor Sebbied turns to the prosecutors table as she asks Russ this question.

"Yes, I believe that is what it was called. All I know is that I was on the team that went back to obtain a required list of items for the prosecution."

"Did you obtain those items?"

"Yes."

"Did you also obtain documents or evidence for the defense?"

"Yes."

"Did your team obtain the contracts of employment between M Phantom and M Firmin and M Andre?"

Russ nods his head, "Yes, we did."

"What other evidence did you obtain?"

"Well, we found a number of documents that were on a list provided by Ms Counselor."

"Did you obtain any other kind of evidence?" Counselor Sebbied turns and focuses on the jury this time.

"Yes, we also took a video camera with us and videotaped the inside of the building."

"Did that include the theater and stage area?"

"Yes."

"What condition did you find the theater and stage area to be in?"

"Well, it was dirty and there had been vandalism by the Communards, but there was very little fire damage."

"What do you mean by "very little" fire damage?"

"The fire only occurred to the front floor of the stage, a small part of the proscenium and some of the surrounding curtains. The fire did not spread beyond that area."

"Were any of the audience seats burned?" I glance over at Erik, but he's just staring at his hands, his head lowered, and I wonder if he's even listening.

"No, none of the seats or boxes surrounding the stage had any fire damage. There was even very little damage done to the orchestra pit, which was just in front of the stage."

"Did you videotape anything else?"

"Yes, I did. Ms Counselor gave a list of things to check out and bring back, if possible. One thing on her list was to verify that there was no connecting doors or passageways between the dome over the audience and the backstage area that leads to the flies."

"Did you check that?"

"Yes, I did."

"What did you find?"

"The way the building was designed, the dome over the audience part of the theater only lead to the rooftop, and we had to cross the entire roof and go into a door on the opposite end to get back into the building. From there we had to go down several corridors and flights of stairs to get to the back stage area, and only then could we climb up into the flies."

"Did you time how long that took?"

"Well, not exactly."

"What do you mean "not exactly?"

"I didn't actually time how long it took to go between the points. But, I did video tape the trip, moving as fast as I could. And, I am an ex-SEAL. I can move very, very fast." Russ smiles as he emphasizes this.

"Do you have that video tape, Mr. Carpenter?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," then reaching into his coat jacket, Russ takes out a video tape. Turning around to the court, Counselor Sebbied asks the Judge, "Your Honor, I request that we be allowed to play this tape for the jury."

"Granted," the Judge immediately responds.

Bailiff George takes the tape and walks dramatically across the courtroom, apparently pleased to perform this important act. The lights are dimmed, and all eyes expectantly watch the large television screen above the Judge's bench.

The first shot seen on the videotape is apparently from the dome's walkway. The camera is pointed down from a bird's eye view toward the stage, seen above a balustrade. Russ' comments about the fire damage are verified. Only the front edge of the stage and some of the curtains are burned. The chandelier did not hit any of the seats or boxes and the fire did not get that far, either.

After a long, steady shot of that angle, suddenly the camera turns around to a door in the side of the dome. Then a hand is seen opening the door when the camera begins to more forward. The motion of the camera becomes jerky as it travels rapidly out of a small adjacent room, then up several cramped, spiral stairwells, finally going through an undersized doorway, which opens to the rooftop.

The picture becomes jerky as it moves quickly across a large rooftop, winding his way between large statues, fireplace flues and air ducts. Finally, a door can be seen on a protruding wall, and the disembodied hand again opens the door and enters a darkened anteroom. Several corridors in labyrinthine complexity appear in front of the rapidly moving camera lens, and then a staircase is seen ahead. That becomes the first of many stairwells and hallways that are traversed as the racing man descends lower and lower into the bowels of the theater.

At last, the camera arrives at a balcony which overlooks the stage. Going down a final flight of steps, the camera crosses behind a huge hanging stage scrim that is suspended, crooked and torn, above an empty, bleak stage. At the far end of the stage, the camera travels upward several flights of winding stairs until finally the camera angle is from high in the flies and pointed directly down on the stage below. All eyes in the courtroom turn to the large clock on the wall behind the Judge. Thirteen minutes. Clearly moving as fast as possible, it took 13 minutes to make the trip from the dome to the flies in the _real_ Opera Populaire.

Turning from the television, back to the witness, Counselor Sebbied asks, "Mr. Carpenter, do you testify that you personally took this film in the Opera Populaire?"

"Yes."

"While filming and traveling from the dome and flies were you moving as quickly as you could?"

"Yes."

"And, moving as quickly as you could between those two points, the trip took 13 minutes?"

"Yes!"

"No further questions."

When Counselor Sebbied takes her seat next to Erik, he looks over and subtly nods his approval, and she smiles with relief.

Mr. Broadbent grunts slightly as he hoists his bulk up out of his chair, then saunters around the prosecution table and approaches Russ with an air of authority. I suppress a smile as I realize that Broadbent's bluster will do little to intimidate Russ who is one of the toughest, by-the-book SEALs around. +

"Mr. Carpenter, you took this video of the Opera Populaire several months after the chandelier crashed and subsequent vandalism by the Communard soldiers, correct?"

"Yes, when the team was there, it was late in the summer of 1871."

"You just testified that the theater and stage areas were vandalized by the Communards. Did you observe that they infiltrated and occupied many other parts of the Opera Populaire, like the back stage areas, the hallways, or dressing rooms?"

"Yes, I did."

"As you went about the Opera House retrieving the evidence the prosecution requested, didn't you encounter a lot of destruction caused by the soldiers all through the Opera House?"

"Yes. I saw that there were a lot of broken props, sets and costumes just torn apart and thrown about in many areas. Most of the dressing rooms were completely destroyed." I notice Erik's back becomes rigid when he hears this information, and he glances over at Russ with a look of disbelief.

"Well, you surely must have encountered much of the same destruction strewn around the areas that you traveled to get from the dome to the flies, which would have slowed you down, correct?"

"No. There was no damage or destruction to the rooftop of the Opera House. The stairways and hallways had some dirt and minor debris on the floor. Some areas were dark, so I could not tell if there was any damage. But there were no major obstacles or objects in my way that would stop me from moving from the dome to the flies at a very fast speed."

"Did you personally time how long it took you to travel from the dome to the flies with a watch?"

"No, I didn't."

"And there is nothing on this video which shows a beginning time and ending time for the recording, is that correct?"

"No, but it's obvious that the videotape clip shown here lasted for about 13 minutes."

"Exactly!" Broadbent smacks the railing on the witness stand for emphasis. "So doesn't that 13 minutes also include the time you were recording the rather lengthy panoramic view of the Opera Populaire stage and seating area?" Now he is smiling, pleased with himself.

"No, what I mean is that if you watch the video again and actually clock it, from the time I started running from the dome to the time I reached the flies above the stage area, that is clearly about 13 minutes."

"At any point in this video, did you stop momentarily or break your running stride in your trip from the dome to the flies?" I chuckle to myself when the enthusiasm Broadbent was showing moments before now seems to be already dissipating.

"No, I ran continuously as fast as I could from the time I left the dome, crossed the roof, traveled down the corridors and flights of stairs to finally get to the flies."

"We saw that the video was shaking somewhat. Were you concentrating very hard to keep the camera steady while you were running?"

"Well, yes, I wanted to make sure I took a good video of the areas I had to travel."

Expectantly Broadbent asks, "But wouldn't you have been able to move and maneuver much faster if you did not have to keep a video camera steady?"

"No, I had no difficulty maneuvering from the dome to the flies, even with the video camera. I had no problems keeping the camera steady. As a SEAL, I'm trained to move very fast and carry a lot of equipment, even through dark areas or places with a lot of obstacles. Holding the camera was easy in comparison to what I'm trained to handle, and so it had no impact on my ability to move from the dome to the flies."

"Was this the only video you took of the route you traveled from the dome to the flies?"

"Yes, it was."

"When you arrived in 1871 France pursuant to the court order, was that your first time traveling back in time to the Opera Populaire?"

"No, it wasn't. I had been there before on one occasion."

"But you had never traveled the points that you videoed between the dome and the flies prior to going back to 1871 France for the evidence retrieval?"

"No, I had not."

"As someone who had never traveled the route from the dome to the flies before, it would have taken you much longer to travel the same distances than a person who had traveled between those two points many time for many years, would it not?"

"That would be true except for the fact that before I shot the video, I familiarized myself completely with the route between the dome and the flies, and every passageway and corridor along the way. I did several test runs, traveling the route from the dome to the flies noting all the twists and turns to see how fast I could go. Even though I didn't time myself, as I continued to repeat the run, I found I had improved my speed each time. I decided to finally shoot the video when I felt I could travel between the two points at the fastest time, and that turned out to be about 13 minutes."

Broadbent shakes his head, his face beginning to redden, and runs his hand through his thinning, grey hair. He looks down, obviously trying to think of a way around Russ' testimony. Finally, beaten, he lets out a loud sigh, and looking up at the Judge, he pronounces the throwing in of the towel. "I have no further questions, Your Honor." +

The Judge looks over at Counselor Sebbied and asks, "Any redirect questions, Counselor?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Are you calling any further witnesses, Counselor Sebbied?" the Judge pursues.

"No, Your Honor, the defense rests."

"Do I understand correctly that both the defense and prosecution are waiving any closing statements?" The Judge directs her attention first to the defense table.

Counselor Sebbied responds, "Yes, the defense waives closing statements because of security concerns."

Then, looking at Broadbent, the Judge asks, "And, the prosecution also waives closing arguments?"

Broadbent rises from his chair with effort and puffs out briefly, "Yes, Your Honor. We are satisfied to submit the issues to the jury at this time."

Then, the Judge turns and addresses the jury, "Before I read the jury instructions, and you go into deliberations, I have a list of charges to dismiss and remove from your consideration."

Erik scrutinizes the Judge's face, hardly able to grasp that she will be dismissing some of the charges against him. The courtroom goes deathly still as the Judge clears her throat, picks up a page and begins to read her prepared list.

"The following civil actions are dismissed:"

"**6) Negligent infliction of emotional distress to ballet company, dancers, stage hands and audience." **

"No evidence was presented regarding any emotional distress suffered by any of the afore-mentioned people."

"**9) Negligent infliction of emotional distress on M Andre and M Firmin such that they experienced high costs of medical treatment to deal with the trauma and stress caused by the fire damage to their main source of income, the building once housing the Opera Populaire**."

"No evidence was presented by the prosecution that M Andre or M Firmin had any medical treatment for any trauma or stress they may have allegedly experienced."

"**11) Misrepresentation, Monsieur Phantom having represented himself on numerous occasions as an Opera Ghost, Angel of Music, or Father to orphans."**

"The portion of this allegation regarding misrepresentation as 'Father to orphans,' is dismissed because no evidence was presented on that point."

I look over at Erik who is listening attentively, clearly surprised at this these dismissals. The Judge picks up a second page and continues, "The following criminal charges are also hereby dismissed."

**  
"2) Unlawful use of resources and miscellaneous building materials which were used to construct his so-called "lair" in the fifth cellar underneath the Opera Populaire."**

"No evidence was presented that any resources were misappropriated or used. Indeed, the testimony of Mme Giry was that defendant did nothing to expand the living quarters, he merely cleaned it or improved it with materials he purchased, so this is dismissed."

"**5) Regarding several murder charges, the one concerning Count Phillipe, **is hereby dismissed for lack of any evidence presented which would support such an allegation."

"**The charge relating to an unknown number of audience members who failed to escape safely after the crash of the chandelier and the subsequent fire of the theater **is hereby dismissed. The evidence presented was that members of the audience were injured when they tried to leave the theater, but the only testimony alleging deaths was from M Andre and M Firmin, which was retracted, and they subsequently admitted that in fact no deaths of audience members had occurred during that incident."

"**Murder of unknown numbers of people while Defendant was alleged to be residing somewhere in Persia, **is dismissed for total lack of evidence. The testimony was uncontroverted that M Phantom never left the Opera Populaire for an extended period of time, which would have been required to make a trip to Persia. The testimony was that he was seen at no less than three day intervals by Mme Giry during a twenty five year period."

"When dismissing the above murder charges, I noticed a clear pattern that the vivid imaginations of various novelists have created a mythology surrounding this enigmatic man, which became the basis for these charges to be filed and unjustly laid at his doorstep."

"With this comment, I see Erik's back suddenly straighten. It is as if new energy flows through him, and his look of amazement is a pleasure to see after all that he has suffered over this past week."

"**6) Fraud for representing himself as an Opera Ghost, an Angel of Music and the Father of an orphaned child. **

"The portion of this charge relating to fraud for representation as "father of the orphaned child," is dismissed based on lack of any supporting evidence."

"**11) Contributing to the delinquency of a minor by bringing Mlle Daae to the 5th level of the Opera House and keeping her there past curfew." **

"This is dismissed because Mlle Daae testified she consented to go with M Phantom after her debut performance, and Mme Giry further testified she gave her consent and made an exception to the curfew."

Turning to the jury, the Judge then states, "You are charged with reviewing all other charges and must take into consideration the following issues in deciding your verdict." The Judge covers each of the remaining charges and explains the elements under the law that the jury must assess and decide in arriving at a verdict. Meticulously, she points out that they must take into account regarding the civil matters any contributory actions by others, such as M Firmin and M Andre plotting to capture M Phantom by locking the exit doors and permitting armed gendarmes in the theater. She also directs that they can consider whether his actions were a necessary or reasonable reaction to prevent greater harm from the gendarmes shooting their guns in a crowded theater. She carefully goes over the legal definition of "temporary insanity," and clarifies that to sustain either a civil or criminal verdict against Erik, the jury must be unanimous.

Watching the jurors throughout the trial, I now closely scrutinize their expressions. This jury does not appear to want to convict Erik. They have gotten a picture of the facts clearly painted by Laura and the defense attorneys and have heard the persuasive testimony of Mme Giry and Freuda. I feel that Erik's cruel exposure in the gypsy tent, as well as his living in an underground chamber, shunted away from normal human society for 25 years will be more than sufficient punishment in their minds to counterbalance any of the minor charges that he may have committed. The evidence was certainly strong enough to acquit him on the remaining three murder charges. I closely apprise the faces of the jury as they file out the side door, and from their final glances back at Erik, I feel confident in my assessment.

The Judge announces that the court is adjourned until the reading of the verdict whenever it is received, bangs her gavel, and all rise while she leaves the courtroom. The stinging significance of those final words suddenly hits me. It dawns on me that when the verdict is read, if Erik is acquitted, The Program will return him immediately to France…and he will have to leave Laura. I look into Erik's face, and judging by the pain in his eyes, he, too is thinking about the finality of that day--he will have to go from the courthouse to the hospital for a final goodbye to Laura. My stomach churns at the thought that I will have to be there to guard Erik…and witness it.

_Erik's POV:_

Utterly transfixed at the many dismissals of charges that the Judge announces, I feel that perhaps justice will be done here, in this court, in this century. I feel vindicated that she dismissed so many of the murder charges that seem to have been created around the aura of the Phantom of the Opera as time passed, but anyone who could commit such acts would be nothing less than amoral. I shake my head that others could have painted me with such a broad and violent brush.

As I stand and watch the Judge leave the courtroom, everything that has happened in the past week floods over me. The realization overcomes me that I have only as many days here with Laura as it takes for those twelve people to decide my fate. A wave of exhaustion and grief overwhelms me, and my knees give in. Falling back down into my chair, I rest my forehead on my palms.

Counselor Sebbied and Phen are speaking to me, trying to reassure me that the verdict will go well and not to worry. How do I tell them it is not the verdict that I dread? I look up at them and shake my head, but do not speak. Jeremy suggests they give me a few minutes alone to sort out what has happened, and they both nod and say they will come later today to the hospital. I thank them, and soon the room is empty, with only Jeremy standing beside me, since he has kindly sent the other bodyguards to wait for us in the corridor.

I look over at the creamy-white rose and pick it up, holding the velvety soft petals in one hand and the stem with its protective claw-like thorns resting in the other. I examine it carefully and think about its name, 'Peace,' which is comforting, but the color of the flower also brings to mind the white sheets which enclose Laura like a shroud. White should have been the color she wore when we wed, but instead, it was the color she wore when the bullet tore into her body, turning it red….

White…red…my mind keeps racing, contemplating colors that become symbols and have so much meaning. White combined with red creates pink, which represents unconditional love and happiness. I always connected those with Laura, and that is why I chose pink for the orchids I gave her. Ironically, touches of pink edge these roses, which arrive every day in her hospital room.

My thoughts are interrupted by the irritating sound of Jeremy's cell phone ringing. I look up at him, wondering why he is receiving a call at court. The look on his face tells me something has happened. Something is very wrong.

When he closes the phone, his eyes search mine, trying to choose his words. "Laura had some seizures a few minutes ago. We should get back right away."

Reflexively my hands clench into a fist. I do not feel the thorns tearing into my flesh. It is only when I look down a few seconds later that I see the blood. Opening my hand, I perceive the trails of red flowing across my palm, puddling on the lines that the gypsy woman had studied to discern my fate. Did she see this future? Why did she not forewarn me? Why did she not tell me how this would end?

I reach into my pocket and bring out a handkerchief. I wince as I notice the "LC" embroidered on its corner, then wrap it around my bleeding hand. Gathering my wits about me, I jump to my feet and stride quickly toward the front door of the courtroom, with Jeremy rushing to catch up. My only thought is, "Laura, you must hold on! You _must stay_ _here_ for a little while longer, my love…"

* * *

Profuse Thank yous to editors, Phanna and KFC! 


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Now Erik's plan begins to unfold…**

**Thank you to each of you who posts your review and expresses such care and concern!!**

* * *

**Chapter 40 An Unknown Country, Home, by Phanfan, Phanna+ & Phangirl++**

_  
Friday, October 7, 2005  
Seattle, Washington _

_The Courthouse and Hospital _

_Jeremy's POV:_

It happened so fast. One moment Erik was frozen, looking down at the blood on his palm where the thorns had lacerated his flesh. He seemed transfixed, gazing at Laura's initials on his handkerchief. Then, the next moment he flashed past me so fast, he was at the door before I could even blink and realize what had happened.

Erik threw open the door to the corridor and nearly ran into the two guards waiting on the other side. He slammed past them, not slowing down and the three of us were hard pressed to keep up with him as he raced down the hallways and many flights of stairs to the basement and out the service door.

I've never seen anyone move as quickly and silently as Erik. Even with his tall frame, he can move without making any noise, running somehow to even cushion his footfalls. Fortunately, Grace, Joe and the other guards had preceded us and were waiting in the vehicles, so we were able to leave for the hospital without losing a second.

During the tense trip to the hospital, I sit next to Erik in the enclosed van, watching him. He's totally absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes wild with worry. His expression discloses a man driven by inner conflicts and contradictions. These last several months he'd become trusting of those around him, relaxing his innate guard and formal reserve. Often he'd even smiled and laughed…until Laura was shot. In hind-sight, it is clear that the changes in his mood and behavior had directly corresponded to his deepening relationship with Laura. She'd been the catalyst for that transformation. With her no longer providing her balancing, calming guidance, he'd reverted. Now we were all witnessing the Phantom who had lived as a loner, surviving by his wits and cunning.

Listening to Russ' testimony today, I had no doubt Russ told only the truth. That he'd run the path between the Opera Populaire's dome and the flies over the stage. That he'd run it as fast as he could when he videotaped it. That as a SEAL he was fast and trained to maneuver around obstacles.

But, I've never seen anyone move as swiftly as Erik…and I couldn't get rid of the thought that Erik knew the theater like the back of his hand. Had he set up the scenario with Buquet? Is that why he blatantly showed himself in the dome, even interrupting Carlotta's performance? So that no one would think it possible for him to go from the dome to the flies in such a short time? Had he intentionally paused and peered down from the flies at the performers on stage because he didn't have time to change his clothing, so he made it appear as if someone were dressing like him and trying to implicate him? He's certainly that clever. And, the timing was not necessarily correct. Mme Giry might be off by a few minutes. Perhaps Buquet was killed seven or eight minutes after Erik was in the dome. That meant Erik needed to better Russ' time by only about five minutes, and something…my gut…told me Erik could do that!

However, I don't believe Erik killed the gypsy, after all I believe Mme Giry's testimony that she saw him alive as she was running from the tent. And, we have the original copy of the coroner's report proving that Piangi died of a heart attack. But Buquet? Was he a danger to Erik? Betraying the whereabouts of Erik's lair or his movements around the opera house? Or was Buquet, who was known as a lecher, a danger to Christine and the other women at the Opera? Was Buquet someone who was such a threat that Erik felt he had to remove him?

Surreptitiously studying Erik, I wonder just what he's capable of doing when backed into a corner. His words to me last Tuesday keep going through my mind, "You have to give up something to gain something." What bargain—or was it blackmail—did Erik propose to Marek and The Program to somehow help Laura? How far had Erik gone? Just how far is he willing to go?

Then I shudder involuntarily as I consider the possible consequences. If Laura dies and isn't in France with Erik, what will Erik become? Which Erik will our Team be dealing with? The man we've come to know and respect over the last five months, or an elusive, dangerous Phantom? My mind skips back to Russ' private meeting with Marek and Horatio, and his unexpected assignment to go back with us to France. Russ has been withdrawn ever since. Just what's his real mission?

When we arrive at the hospital, Erik is out of the van before any of the guards or I can react, rushing up the stairwell ahead of us. He travels the entire distance to Laura's room without any of the bodyguards near him, totally disregarding the danger. As I race to catch up to Erik, I pass Matt in the hallway. He's leaning against the wall outside Laura's room, his hands jammed into his pockets, looking down, exhausted. His mind seems to be in another world, so he doesn't look up as I run by him. I find Erik next to Laura's bed, holding her hand to his cheek. One look at Laura tells me her condition. A ventilator tube is now helping her breathe. For the last few days she'd only worn a clear plastic tube to her nose for oxygen.

I stand silently at the foot of the bed, listening to Laura's parents share with Erik what had happened. It began with Laura's body convulsing in small seizures. Matt had immediately turned her onto her side, then rushed out to get the nurses who came immediately and checked her oximeter and vital signs. The nurses explained that her oxygenation had dropped significantly, so they put her back on the ventilator to help her breathe. They had also commented that Laura was "posturing," clenching her fists, which also indicated decreasing brain function.

Laura's parents tell Erik that Matt's turning Laura onto her side was to keep her from aspirating fluid into her lungs, and his rapid response again probably saved Laura. I watch Erik closely as he hears this bit of information and see the wave of relief flash across his face before he resumes his mask-like façade.

Afterward, the doctor had arrived and further explained to Laura's parents that the seizure and her deteriorating condition was a consequence of the severe hypoxia she suffered at the time of the original injury. He explained that the lab tests indicate Laura's remaining kidney is beginning to fail, and her liver function is decreasing as well. He confirmed that there is nothing more that can be done except to make her comfortable.

Erik clenches his jaw as he listens to these undeniable facts, but his only reaction is a resolute look into Laura's face. As he holds her hand, it's as if he wills her to use his seemingly inexhaustible energy to go on living.

_Wednesday, October 12, 2005  
The Hospital and Courthouse _

_Jeremy's POV, continued: _

For the last four days I have either sat at the foot of Laura's bed, watching Erik, or walked up and down the corridor outside her room, pacing and waiting…waiting for whichever will occur first, the jury's verdict, or Laura's passing. Except for Laura's parents and the doctors, Erik doesn't speak with anyone now, not even Freuda or me. He keeps vigil by Laura's bed, never letting go of her hand.

So, when I just now got the phone call from Horatio, I actually breathe a sigh of relief. The jury has completed deliberations, and we're to go to the courthouse within an hour. Horatio informs me that the verdicts will be announced at 1:30, immediately after the luncheon recess, and if Erik is acquitted, the Team will leave at 6:00 p.m. tonight.

I knock on the door of Laura's room and hear Mary's tired voice, "Yes, come in."

Entering as unobtrusively as possible, I announce that the jury's verdict is in, and that we must go to court. Laura's parents walk over to Erik who's seated on the other side of the bed.

Mary puts her arms around his shoulders, giving him a motherly hug. "Erik, I feel it will turn out well. I think the jury will acquit you," then Mary says with a half smile, "after all, you had very good attorneys." Erik looks up at her with desolate, weary eyes. I know what he's thinking, and it isn't the verdict that worries him. He knows that now, today, he will probably return to France…and leave Laura.

I tell Erik I'll wait outside the door for him, and that we must leave in about forty-five minutes. Erik asks me to find Matt and bring him back to watch over Laura while he's gone. When I track down Matt and pass on Erik's request, he looks at me with a dazed expression. I don't understand his reaction, but wonder if he's surprised that Erik is entrusting Laura into his care when he's away from her. Matt goes into Laura's room immediately, but I remain in the hallway, waiting. I knock on the door when it's time to leave. Moments later Erik comes out, wraps his cloak around his thinning body and walks without protest in the middle of the bodyguards.

When we get to the courthouse, Counselor Sebbied is waiting for us in the private conference room, and she tries to lighten the mood and reassures Erik not to worry about the verdict. He simply turns and begins pacing between the conference table and the window he had escaped through what now seems like a lifetime ago. Soon Horatio and Grace arrive, and they take seats like the rest of us and watch as Erik paces. The silence in the room is deafening.

Then, unexpectedly, Marek arrives. The grim set of his jaw tells us that something is up. He asks everyone to leave the room so that he can have a private meeting with Erik. Walking toward the door, I observe that Erik has stopped in front of the window and is looking out, his back intentionally to Marek. Well, I think to myself, that's a good way to begin an amicable conversation. But the body language of these two men tells me this isn't going to be friendly.

Horatio, Grace, Counselor Sebbied and I stand outside the doorway, not speaking so that we can listen and possibly hear what's being said on the other side of that door which is made of thick, old oak. Only muted voices can be heard for some time, then the pitch escalates until Marek's burr can be heard, but not the exact words he's speaking.

At last, the door opens abruptly and Marek emerges, red-faced and steaming. He shakes his head "no" to Horatio and says only that he'll wait in the bailiff's office for the jury's verdicts. Horatio frowns and shakes his head disappointedly, and we all watch Marek storm off down the corridor. I propose that only I go into the room to wait with Erik, and no one argues the point. Not wanting to interrupt Erik, who's in deep contemplation, I enter the room and quietly pull up a chair. Erik still stands and gazes out the window. Surprisingly, he doesn't share Marek's angry mood. Instead, he seems to be calm and resigned to whatever course he's set for himself.

Soon the bailiff opens the door and announces that court is about to begin. Erik turns from the window, and for the first time looks at me and speaks, "Jeremy, whatever happens, I want to thank you for all you have done for me. You have always been loyal." Taken aback, I can only manage to say what's preoccupying me, "Erik, I just hope that whatever you are doing, it works out for you…and everyone."

As we pass by the prosecution table, I look at each of the prosecutors. Broadbent and DeVere wear unabashedly glum expressions, but S Luzano seems relaxed. The jurors also seem very calm. As I scrutinize their faces, I don't see any furtive, nervous looks at Erik. They seem quite at ease with their verdict, and I interpret that in Erik's favor. Positioning myself as I did in court last Friday in the aisle between the prosecution and defense tables, this time I step back a little to observe the reactions of the prosecutors as the verdicts are read.

The Judge soon enters and all stand, giving her the respect which she has so clearly earned. She's been a fair judge and kept control of the proceedings during a very emotional trial. No doubt she's also relieved that it is over now.

When everyone is seated, she does something that's outside usual court protocol. Looking down at Erik, she says, "Considering the events of this past week and the extraordinary stresses to which you have been subjected, I waive the usual practice of having the defendant stand to listen to the verdicts. Monsieur Phantom, you may remain seated."

Erik's responds in a polite monotone, "Thank you, Madame Judge. You are very kind."

The Judge turns to the jury, and says, "Will the jury foreperson please stand and read each of the verdicts first on the civil actions, then on the criminal charges."

The jury foreperson, a young woman whose face has gone ghostly white, stands up nervously. Her hand, which holds many papers that no doubt contain the jury's decisions on the numerous charges, shakes visibly as she begins to read. The first civil action is read, and the jury finds for Erik. Then, the same with the next and the next. As each verdict is read and each one in Erik's favor, I look over at him. His face is controlled and totally expressionless. He looks steadily at the young woman reading off the verdicts, and his gaze doesn't waiver.

I quickly glance over at the prosecution table, and find that the reactions there are a bit more easily read. Broadbent's face reflects indignation, and M DeVere is again fidgeting in his chair. S Luzano's response is more like Erik's. He keeps any reaction from registering on his face.

Then the jury foreperson pauses and announces the beginning of the criminal charges. She begins with the minor charges, and as she reads each one, she also pronounces, "not guilty." I watch Erik's face and still, no emotion shows, but the prosecutors are getting more agitated, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. They see the direction these verdicts are going and are already getting the idea how the most serious charges will be decided.

Finally, the murder charges are read, one by one.

"Murder of anonymous gypsy man in carnival, _not guilty_."

"Murder of S Piangi, _not guilty_."

"Murder of M Buquet, _not guilty_."

I can't help breaking out into a huge grin. Erik has been acquitted on all charges! But all he does is continue to sit impassively, his only reaction a dignified, small nod of his head to the jurors in acknowledgement of their decision.

The Judge looks down at Erik and brings the trial to a conclusion, "M Phantom, the verdicts have been read, and you have been acquitted on all criminal charges. You are free to go."

But the Judge doesn't adjourn the court as expected. Instead she continues, "As the presiding judge in this case, I have the right to add my own personal comment." Then, her eyes sweep over the small group of jurors, attorneys, bailiffs and bodyguards present in the courtroom, "This has been a most unusual case with a tremendous amount of public scrutiny and speculation. There has even been an attempt on your life," now she looks only at Erik, "which occurred here in this building—a place that is intended to maintain justice. That tragedy had a terrible consequence for an innocent person," at this Erik winces, "who was a respected woman. She will be missed, but she will also be remembered for honoring and upholding the law and always fighting for justice." Erik takes a deep breath, and his body sways forward as if these words have pierced through his shield of control over his emotions.

The Judge's voice becomes more compassionate as she continues to direct her words to Erik, "It is clear from the examination of your previous life that it was difficult and full of cruelties, with little justice or compassion. Your time here in our modern time has also contained a cruel event, but I hope you have a different memory of this courtroom. I hope you will look back on it as a place where you experienced those very things, justice and compassion. I personally hope that the remainder of your life contains peace and that you can find happiness and fulfill your tremendous genius and gifts. Go with God, M Phantom." With that she gazes kindly at Erik and bangs her gavel, adjourning the court. Then as she rises and walks down the steps from her bench, all stand again in respect of her. Erik places his hand over his heart and bows slightly in a silent salute to her as she looks over at him one last time. She smiles and nods her head, disappearing into the door of her chambers.

The bailiff directs the jury to leave through their private doorway. While they file out, Erik remains standing, watching them and nodding politely at any juror who turns to look back at him before going through the door.

Broadbent angrily grabs his briefcase and rushes past Erik, giving him a look of disgust. I'm relieved that he's now permanently out of all our lives.

M DeVere fastidiously walks up to Erik and nods to him, giving his final acknowledgement, "Monsieur, congratulations. I, too, extend my sympathy concerning Ms Counselor. She was a fine attorney. I agree with the Judge. May you use this opportunity to fulfill your abilities. Good luck, Monsieur." I'm shocked when he actually extends his hand, and Erik takes it graciously, but pointedly says nothing in return. I suspect Erik's remembering the grilling M DeVere gave to Mme Giry.

Then S Luzano, who plainly had been waiting to leave last, walks up to the defense table and gives Erik a knowing, concerned gaze. "M Phantom, I know how difficult it must be to now return to your time with Ms Counselor…here…in the current situation. I hope you will honor what she has done by the choices you make in your life. Make them wisely," he says with a knowing look. I'm always amazed at the insight of this man. It's is as if he already suspects Erik will do something desperate concerning Laura. Then, holding out his hand, which Erik takes with sincerity, he concludes, "I extend to you my best wishes for your future." Erik replies for the first time with a "Thank you," and S Luzano takes his briefcase and leaves, shaking his head as if he knows things are far from settled for Erik.

Erik turns around to Counselor Sebbied and Grace. They are both smiling, but say nothing. They know that Erik's concerns are now only for Laura and the fact that he must leave her. Erik extends his hand to Counselor Sebbied first, "I thank you for your fine work representing me. I will forever be indebted." She responds and says, "It's been an honor."

Turning next to Grace, Erik again extends his hand, and when she shakes it, he lowers his voice and says with deep feeling, "You have been through so much, representing me. Please know that I will never forget what you have suffered on my behalf."

Grace looks at Erik, and I can tell she is struggling to keep back the tears. She responds with a Grace-style retort, "I would do it again, if called on, Erik! And, I look forward to working with you in France."

Erik responds with a sincere, "Thank you."

Uncomfortable with the implied praise, Grace characteristically changes the subject. "Horatio and I are going back now to the Admiral's house to prepare…and say goodbye. We'll meet you at the hospital later this afternoon, Erik."

"I'll also be at the hospital until you leave, Erik," Counselor Sebbied adds as Grace and she gather their briefcases and walk away from the defense table.

Soon only Erik, the other three bodyguards and I are left in the courtroom. Erik turns to me, his face once again controlled and impassive. Suddenly—I know why. He'll now be returning to the hospital and seeing Laura for the last time, then he leaves for France within hours. He has no choice, and he knows it. So, he's falling back on the coping mechanism that all men use when facing situations like this. He's disconnected from his feelings. If he's going to get through the next hours, he has to do that. When his eyes meet mine, there is no joy in the victory he has just been handed. He only says, "Well, it is over…." I understand the many meanings…the many things…he includes in that one simple statement. But there's nothing left to do except turn and follow him out of the courtroom for the last time.

_Zoe's POV+_

This morning, Joe stepped into the chapel to let me know the jury has ended their deliberations, and the verdict is in. He'll stop at the chapel as soon as he returns from court to tell me the outcome.

I spent the entire morning thinking about M Phantom and the quandary he's in. If the jury finds him not guilty he'll be returning to France immediately. How will he be able to leave Ms Counselor? Joe has told me it's just a matter of time for Ms Counselor. He said that the doctors have done all they can. I'm heartbroken for M Phantom, and I wonder if the Program will allow him to remain with her until the end. Surely they wouldn't take him away at this time.

As I'm thinking about this dilemma, Joe enters the chapel quietly, and sits next to me on the bench. He reaches out and takes my hand in his, telling me that the jury has acquitted M Phantom of all charges. My first reaction is happiness to hear this good news, and then I think about how M Phantom must be feeling, having to leave Ms. Counselor. I can no longer hold back the questions I have.

"Joe, will the Program allow him to stay with Ms Counselor until the end?" I voice what I have been thinking about all morning.

"No, Erik must leave very soon." His voice is sympathetic, but firm.

"But it's so unfair that they're going to make him leave now. Why can't they wait?"

"It's more complicated than that Zoe. There are many factors that must be considered. For starters, The Program made a public statement that Erik would be sent back the day he was acquitted. They did that to counter all the bad publicity they've been getting for bringing him here in the first place. But, now with the assassination attempt, Erik's security is another reason for the haste to return him to his own time. We just can't take the chance that they'll succeed the next time. Erik is too important to let that happen." Joe turns my hand over and stares at it. I wonder what he means by M Phantom being "too important." I thought they were just returning him to his past life.

But I sense there is something more. "What is it Joe? Is there something else that you aren't telling me? Is it about M Phantom?"

Joe raises his head and looks straight into my eyes. I see a seriousness there that isn't typical of him.

"Joe?"

"Zoe…there isn't an easy way to say this, but I'll be leaving very soon also." Joe's eyes implore me to understand.

"_How soon?! _Where are you going?" I can't believe my ears. He's going too?

"I can't give you any details. That information is classified. But I'm leaving today for my new assignment."

"You mean that you're going overseas? _Today?_ Is this the long term assignment that you've told me about?" He nods his head, and I realize how much I'm going to miss him. "I thought we'd have more time together. Why didn't you tell me that it was going to be today?" I look at him accusingly. I met him only a week ago, but I enjoy his company and am not ready for him to leave yet.

"I wasn't sure when I'd be leaving, and I didn't want the time we spent together to have the deadline hanging over our heads."

"Oh, Joe," my voice is soft as I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm going to miss you. I've enjoyed our time together—our chats—even if it's just been for a short time." I close my eyes and wonder how I got so attached to him this quickly?

"Come, Zoe." Joe stands up and holds his hand out to me. "I was also sent down here to escort you up to Ms Counselor's room. Erik has asked that you come so that he can have a few words with you before he goes." I'm honored that M Phantom wants to see me personally, but I'm also upset that Joe, apparently, isn't as affected as I am by our impending separation.

As we ride the elevator we are both quiet, lost in our thoughts. We reach Ms Counselor's floor and turn toward her room. Suddenly Joe clasps my hand and tugs me sideways into a storage room. He shuts the door behind us and turns to me. I don't have a chance to say anything before he steps forward, and I see something different in his eyes. When he pulls me against him, my mind and body are lost in sensation. His strong arms are holding me tightly as soft, warm lips are leading me down that path into temptation. My arms find their way to his strong, muscular back as I inhale his aftershave and the warm smell of his skin. Just as my legs start to turn to silly putty, his lips retreat slightly, and he gazes into my eyes.

"Zoe…I'm going to miss you too. I've really enjoyed our time together…you have become someone special to me." He looks a little astonished as he says these words to me.

I feel relief at the fact that he's also going to miss our friendship…..well, maybe not friendship now. Maybe just that one step beyond.

"I've committed to a five year assignment. I know that's a long time, but may I get in touch with you when I return?" He waits for my answer which I give quickly.

"Yes, of course, Joe. I'd like that very much." I give him my Meme's number and tell him he can always reach me through her. "But can't we write or call each other sometimes during those five years?"

"Uh, no, I won't be able to do that," he responds cryptically.

This seems very strange, and I'm about to comment that he must be going to a very remote place if he can't even write a letter. Then it dawns on me! _So remote he can't send a letter!_ Oh my God…is Joe going back to France with M. Phantom? I want to ask the question, but know he can't tell me if that's the case, and so I bite my tongue and just smile back at him.

He kisses me again…and again, saying our final goodbyes in this delightful way. I feel warm and flushed. I hope there's enough time for my face to return to its normal color before we reach Ms Counselor's room, but unfortunately it's still flushed when we get there. Joe gives my hand a final squeeze behind his back then pauses to speak with the guards on each side of the door. As I wait to be escorted into the room, I notice Dr Freuda and Counselor Sebbied sitting in a waiting area outside the room. I'd not met either of them personally, but recognize them from the trial. Although they talk quietly to each other, I can hear their words. I overhear Counselor Sebbied say to Dr Freuda, "So Horatio and Grace went to Horatio's to change and say their goodbyes to the Admiral. Will they be coming back here or are they going directly to the place where they will be sent back…"

That confirms my suspicions, and I stare at Joe. This sounds like there is a group of people going back with M Phantom, and Joe must be one of them. It's no use to ask though. I know Joe well enough that he won't reveal any facts that are confidential, and the expression on his face verifies that. Joe stands by the door, opening it for me, but he remains in the hallway.

When I enter the room, the first person I notice is M Phantom. Oh my God! He looks awful. I wish I could tell him that everything is going to be ok. But it isn't. Ms Counselor is dying, and there's no way to change that.

Two other people are in the room, and I know instantly they're Ms Counselor's parents. Her mother is an older version of Ms Counselor, and her father has the same beautiful black hair. I glance at Ms Counselor lying in her bed, pale and tiny in the middle of so many tubes and machines. I can feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes. M Phantom is holding Ms Counselor's hand, which he gently places on the bed, then turns to me.

He introduces me to Laura's parents, and shaking hands, I convey my profound sorrow. M Phantom leads me to the side of the room.

In his deep, resonant voice filled with weariness, he begins, "Zoe, the jury has found me innocent of all charges. I will be returning to France in a very short while. But I want to extend my appreciation to you for all that you have done." He looks directly into my eyes.

"By bringing my mother's box to me, you have changed the path of my life, and I will forever be grateful." I blush. Then he continues. "Your thoughtfulness in having the roses sent each day to Laura has not gone unnoticed. This also has touched me, that you care enough to do this for her." His voice is gruff with emotion. "The white color in the rose signifies friendship, as I am sure you are aware. My life has been enriched by your friendship and kindness." I'm left speechless; I don't know how to respond. M Phantom seems to understand though, gives a small nod and closes his eyes for a moment.

"So this is goodbye. I am grateful to have met you." With those words he takes my hand, kisses it gently and attempts a small smile.

My voice quavers as I speak to him. "I feel honored to have met you. It's my pleasure to have been the one to deliver those important documents into your hands. I'll never forget you. You will remain in my prayers, as well as my family's, for all time." I look up at him feeling tears hovering in my eyes, truly meaning these heartfelt words. As I walk to the door, M Phantom reaches around to open it for me. I turn, thank him and take one last look at the most charismatic man I have ever had the pleasure to know. +

_Erik's POV:_

Since the reading of the verdicts, I have been numb. I should feel happy to be vindicated, but instead, there is only an aching emptiness inside, knowing that _time_ has run out. The trip back to the hospital was deathly silent, but putting my hand on the door knob, the realization it was the last time to be with Laura was overwhelming. For a moment my strength gave way, and I leaned on the door before opening it. I had to gather myself together before facing these remaining hours with her. Finally I moved forward, holding onto the hope that my plans will be successful. Forcing myself to focus on that one thought, I entered the room.

Matt was sitting on the cot. He immediately stood, excused himself and began to leave the room. But, as he walked past me, I took his hand, shook it and said, "Matt, thank you for all you have done for Laura."

He only responded, "I would do anything for her."

"I understand." We exchanged knowing looks, then he walked to the door. I watched as he paused, turned around and took one last look at Laura, and left.

Mary and Brian had heard the news, and they walked excitedly around from their side of Laura's bed and hugged me in congratulations. Mary just kept repeating, "I knew. I just knew!" I suspected that she was happy not only because I was acquitted, but also was feeling a mother's pride that Laura had succeeded one last time in the work to which she had devoted her life.

I had asked Joe to bring Zoe to the room so that I could speak with her. When she left, Freud and Counselor Sebbied came into the room, and we talked, reflecting on all that had happened.

As always, Freuda tried to be positive, "Erik, I know dat you don't feel dis vay now, but you haff your life ahead of you, and so much promise. I haff a feelink you vill find happiness. You, of all people, most certainly deserve it!" She had given me a hug. All I could say in response was I appreciated everything she had done for me.

Considering the bargain I had made with The Program, if it failed, I knew the consequences of my actions. The life I had ahead of me would be short, and happiness would be no part of it. The deal I have struck for Laura's life is an all-or-nothing gamble, and I would never share that with Freuda…or anyone. Now, only time will tell.

After they left, I sat for a couple hours next to Laura, holding her hand, studying her face. Why, I kept thinking over and over, why did it have to happen this way? Why was she the one who was shot? Why did she give her life to save mine? Why had I not told her I love her until she was in my arms in the elevator, _probably already beyond hearing my words?_ Why must she die, and why must I leave her now? In a lifetime of cruelties that I had learned to accept, these were unimaginable.

A soft rapping on the door announces Marek who enters the room apprehensively. I know he is here to tell me it is time to leave. Laura's parents stand up and walk around the bed to give me their final words. Mary looks up at me and says, "Erik, now our only hope is your happiness!" I understand her meaning, as she gives me a final embrace.

Brian is clearly trying to hold in his emotions, so he just extends his hand for a shake and says, "You have my blessing, son." I shake his hand. The words he has spoken are the most meaningful ones he could have given me.

Mary says that they will wait outside while I have a few minutes alone with Laura. Before Marek turns to follow them, he says to me, "Erik, I'll do everythin' tha' can be done t' keep our bargain."

Looking into Marek's eyes with cold calculation, I respond pointedly, "Well, you can be assured that if you do not keep your promise, then I most certainly _will keep mine_." Marek glares back, but he fully comprehends my meaning, as I intended.

When the door closes behind them, I turn back to Laura, walk slowly to her bedside and pick up her hand for the last time.

Today the Judge and Freuda wished me peace and happiness. Their words brought back to my mind a letter I once read that was written by Fra Giovanni, who lived in the 16th century. Throughout my life, I have reflected on writings that I found to be special or unique. I consider his letter to be a beautiful piece of prose and deeply profound, but it had always puzzled me. I could not understand what he was describing, and I have been thinking about it ever since the Judge and Freuda spoke those words.

I look into Laura's beautiful, sleeping face. My voice is thick with anguish as I speak to her soul, which I know is here…which I have felt touching me in the early hours of the morning when I am poised between sleep and wakefulness. "My love, I must take my leave. But, I want to share some words with you that now have meaning to me," I take a deep breath and recite from memory,

_I am your friend and my love for you goes deep….  
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take Peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach is joy.  
There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see we have only to look. _

_Life is so generous a giver, but we judging its gifts by their covering,  
cast them away as ugly or heavy or hard. Remove the covering and you will  
find beneath it a living splendour, woven of love, by wisdom, with power.  
Welcome it, grasp it, and you touch the angel's hand that brings it to you.  
Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me, that angel's  
hand is there; the gift is there, and the wonder of an over-shadowing  
Presence._

_Our joys too: be not content with them as joys. They too, conceal diviner  
gifts. Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty, beneath  
its covering, that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then  
to claim it: that is all! But courage you have, and the knowledge that we  
are pilgrims together, wending through an unknown country, home. _

Holding her hand between both of mine, seeking to intensify my connection with her and hoping she will hear what I say, I begin, "Laura, in all my years of solitude, I read hundreds of books by the great masters and poets. This passage by Fra Giovanni was one that seemed beyond my reach. I was never able to truly understand, to actually feel, these emotions—the intimate feelings they describe. I was well acquainted with passion, anger, revenge, but until you came into my life, I could only dream of the things he wrote about—heaven, joy, peace."

"You, darling Laura have shown me, taught me what they are, how they feel." I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it gently. "When I came here, this was truly an unknown country, but because of you, it became home. Now, I must return to my own time. To you, that is unknown country, but if you were there, I would make it home for you." Bending over I kiss her cheek, then her forehead and whisper my last words, my deepest wish, "So, now, my love, _come to me_…"

Then, I turn and leave quickly, while I am still able to will myself to go….

_Friday, December 15, 1871  
Outside Paris, France _

_Horatio's POV: _

"Mlle Chamberlain, tea is served."

"Thank you, Henri," Grace turns away from the parlor window that overlooks the Seine and smiles at us.

Watching Grace walk across the room and seat herself on the edge of a delicate settee in a very feminine flurry of skirts, I laugh to myself. Grace has turned out to be a good actress. We're in the parlor having tea with a Prussian officer, and she's put on her best simpering female façade for his benefit. We met Colonel Kraus last week at a ball where Erik and his "guests" were introduced to the local nobility, gentry and self-important politicians.

The manor house we now call home had been empty for several years when its elderly owner died without leaving heirs, and apparently no one was wealthy enough to take on the required renovations to bring it up to even 19th century standards. The Program, however, had both the money and the need for such an estate containing extensive property, which gives our Team the privacy and insulation from prying neighbors that we will require. As soon as The Program made the decision to fund one of its projects around Erik, a specially trained team of army engineers and French architects was sent back. They arrived in early September 1871, after the Commune chaos had ended and things were settling down somewhat. For one month they scouted possible estates to purchase and decided on this property, which had reverted to the state. The government officials were only too glad to take the money proffered after the expenses of putting down the Commune rebellion and fighting the war against the Prussians.

This ancient manor house was chosen for more reasons than its expansive property. At the heart of the jumble of architectural styles is a small fortress built at the end of the medieval period, during the Hundred Years' War. The feudal period was not yet dead when the main section was constructed, and the homes of the nobility and gentry had to serve not only the function of providing housing, but also protection from attack by marauding armies. After all, the English still fought on French soil, trying to regain their ancient Plantagenet holdings in the Aquitaine and other French provinces.

The original section of the manor was built of large, quarried stone blocks, and originally had very small windows, providing maximum protection. Centuries later, larger windows were installed that have stained glass panels in the top. These gave the more peaceful gentry magnificent views of the surrounding fields, forests and river. The main floor is still dominated by the huge great room with an enormous fireplace at one end that was intended to heat the entire space. However, later generations added a smaller fireplace at the opposite end of the hall, which has an ornately carved surround, in elegant contrast to the original one that was plain, but imposing. Also, in recent centuries, several wings were added to the austere stronghold. These rooms, such as a large dining room, several sitting rooms, a conservatory and spacious kitchen, were made of a more informal brick and featured tall, graceful windows, letting in both light and beautiful vistas.

Adjacent to the grand hall is a stone, spiraling stairwell leading to the upper floors, which contain the many bedrooms. The second floor has four spacious bedrooms, each with a sitting room. Grace settled into one of these, and my bedroom is across the hall from hers. Down the hall from our rooms, which are adjacent to the stairwell, is the master suite, encompassing half of the floor and sprawling out in a u-shape. The suite consists of a huge central sitting room with views in three directions, and a bedroom off each side at right angles to it. These are the rooms that Erik occupies.

After all, we've spread the story that this is his manor house. Everyone is being told Erik has spent the last ten years in America where he has many relatives and made his fortune, returning to France to settle in his beloved homeland. The members of the Team, therefore, can conveniently be introduced as his American family and friends, so this explains why we're here. We all speak French with different levels of fluency and have American accents we can't disguise.

At the present, Erik is using an assumed name, Monsieur Mercier, until he can travel to Spain early in the spring to speak with his mother about his birth documentation and formally claim his title. We know from historical records that his parents fled to his mother's ancestral home in Spain when the Commune uprising occurred in Paris in May of 1871, and that the Comte deChagny, Erik's father, suffered a heart attack during the flight and never recovered his health, dying in November of 1871.

The third floor contains eight bedrooms. Jeremy, Matt, Russ and Joe have settled there, and other SEALs may be added to the Team in the near future. The fourth floor has been converted into a grand ball room. A hidden stairwell goes from the fourth floor down past two bedrooms on the third floor, the master bedroom on the second floor and ends under the main hall in a hidden underground chamber that only the Team knows about. We are keeping emergency medical supplies in that room and soon equipment will be installed which will help us communicate more easily with the future. A tunnel extends underground from those chambers for almost a half mile and surfaces in a dense forest. This was originally an escape tunnel constructed for the benefit of the feudal lords in case all other defenses failed. And, who knows, it may come in handy for our Team. The army engineer sent by The Program who discovered the hidden stairwell, chambers and tunnel recommended this manor for security reasons.

The Program developed a method to transport gold bullion through the time machine, which was then deposited in various banks and used to purchase the estate and refurbish it in Erik's name. Since then a small army of stone masons, carpenters, glaziers and seamstresses commutes daily to repair and renovate the estate. By the time we arrived on the first of December 1871, the manor was at least habitable, and Erik immediately took over the task of directing the workmen on all the projects. He works tirelessly, attending to everything from the design of windows and architectural details, to choosing the material for curtains, upholstery and bed coverings. He seems to pay special attention to the second bedroom of his suite…the one he is _not_ occupying. I went into his rooms one day to check on him, and found him directing the proper installation of some elegant bed curtains, unequivocally feminine in style and detail. I didn't ask Erik, but it was clear he's preparing the room for Laura.

_Laura._ A very interesting subject that Erik never mentions. Nor does he ever speak her name. In fact, he rarely speaks at all. At meal time in the large, formal dining room, Erik never joins in the conversation. He sits sullenly, clearly absorbed in his own thoughts and eats very little, mostly moving the food around on his plate. The one occasion that Joe mentioned Laura, Erik sent him a warning stare. Of course, that could have been because of what Joe said. While shopping in Paris the third day after our arrival, Grace stopped at a dress maker to order some clothes, and Erik accompanied her. It probably wasn't wise for Joe to point out at dinner that Erik chose several bolts of fabric and ordered three dresses to be made. Joe made particular note of Erik's giving the exact measurements for the dresses, and then he had tactlessly commented that Erik certainly seemed to know Laura's measurements…_precisely_. Erik had sent Joe a look that gave him unequivocal warning to go no further with his comments lest he end up with serious bodily injury. Joe got the point and remained silent for the rest of the meal.

In addition to expending efforts fixing up a bedroom for Laura in the main house, Erik also spends time each day at the gamekeeper's cottage, which is about a half mile from the main house at the edge of the forest. The small one-room stone cottage had been abandoned and neglected for many years, but Erik immediately began pouring his attention into its renovation. He sent stone masons to repair the walls and carpenters to replace the windows and restore the roof. It was scrubbed and painted inside, and brightly colored shutters added to the exterior. By the end of the first week a procession of carts taking furniture from the manor made it clear that the cottage was going to be furnished in elegant style. Erik even assigned two of the seamstresses to make curtains, quilts and bed clothing for the large four poster bed. I finally asked him why he was putting so much time and energy into the gamekeeper's cottage. Erik gave me a piercing glance, and that told me everything.

The man was nothing if not meticulous. Eventually, he explained to me that when Laura came back, she'd be in modern clothing and would need a place to change into her 19th century dress before being taken to the main manor house where she'd be seen by the French servants and workers. Other than that one reference to Laura, Erik never mentioned her again. But we knew. By now all the Team knew. _Laura may be coming back._ It depended on whether the plan succeeded. And, if the plan _did not succeed_, I have instructions to carry out, indeed the most horrific ones I have ever been given. I also have no doubt that Erik suspects…_no doubt knows _what my orders are regarding him. But Erik occupies himself tirelessly as if it were certain that Laura will come. The man is utterly driven… ++

"Colonel, shall we?" I hear Grace ask in a polite tone as she waves her hand to indicate the chairs we should occupy for the ritual of serving tea to our unexpected company. As we take our seats, she begins pouring the tea. Grace has made many adjustments since arriving in this century and some of them annoy her. This is one 'womanly' duty she's required to do that falls in that category.

Colonel Kraus, a portly man with thinning blonde hair and a walrus moustache, sits with difficulty and places his brandy glass down on the small table beside his chair.

"What a lovely home this is, M McKenzie," Colonel Kraus addresses me by my assumed name, initiating polite, but clearly probing conversation, "M Mercier must enjoy the fact that these estates are removed a bit from the confines and clutter of Paris. I, myself, consider this setting most beautiful and very peaceful. This view of the Seine is exquisite. And if I'm not mistaken, one could very likely see the Marne from your tower."

"Yes, indeed, you can see the Marne on a clear day." I tell him as I take the proffered cup of tea from Grace and notice the glint of irritation in her eyes.

"Tell me, is your home in America half as lovely?" The Colonel continues.

"Yes, it's a very fine home. It also overlooks a body of water. I find that I quite enjoy being on the ocean. Don't you Grace?"

Grace lifts her lovely face and responds, "Yes, actually I do love the ocean. I especially like it when there's a storm and the waves crash on the rocks along the beach."

The Colonel smiles dismissively at Grace, then turns to me and asks, "Will M Mercier be joining us today?" I know he would love to ask me a multitude of questions. No doubt he's here to gather as much information on Erik as he possibly can, but of course we've all been deliberately vague. Grace and I are posing as brother and sister, as well as Erik's cousins. The rest of the Team has been introduced as friends of M Mercier from America.

"No, M Mercier is indisposed today." Now that's the understatement of the year. Erik has been absolutely unbearable these past two weeks, and his disposition has gotten more disagreeable with each passing day. Other than his constant attention to the refurbishing, a black mood has settled on him and everyone, except for Jeremy, avoids him like the plague.

Grace charmingly offers us a tray filled with assorted pastries, cakes and croissants. She isn't very keen on the idea of staying more or less in the background as ladies do in this century other than to make polite conversation. Extremely vocal about this particular requirement of women whenever we're alone, she obligingly conforms to the role she must play when we have visitors. We need to fit in, and the Colonel might have connections that will prove invaluable.

"You have come to France in time to witness the aftermath of war," The Colonel says with a sympathetic shake of his head. "I'm sorry you're seeing Paris in such a state."

"America has gone through wars also and not been left untouched."

"Yes M McKenzie. I've read much of your country's history." Colonel Kraus takes a bite of pastry and a sip of tea before continuing, "But the damage left after the Commune is terrible. The French destroyed their own city and killed each other with perfect savagery."

"Ah, yes, the Commune," I commiserate. "That was unfortunate. However, order is restored, and since your army still has garrisons here in Paris, I'm sure there will be no further incidents of savagery."

The Colonel nods and in turn asks about the American Civil War. We spend a few minutes answering his questions, and I begin to get anxious about the passage of time.

I'm relieved when there's a knock on the parlor door. Russ enters and bows stiffly. "Pardon me, Horatio, but an urgent message has come for you."

"Thank you," I say as I reach for the small envelope in his hand. "Would you excuse me for a moment, Colonel?"

"Certainly, Monsieur."

This interruption has been arranged in case our guest stayed longer than we'd anticipated. I felt this was a polite way to justify our departure, and I walk over to the window, pretending to read the note. I look up at the clock, shocked. How did time get away so quickly? We must leave _now_.

Turning to the Colonel, I say, "I'm afraid we have to go see a friend who's in need of our help. It's most urgent. We must leave immediately. I hope that you'll forgive us, Sir, for our hasty departure."

"Yes, of course. Please be assured that it is quite alright. I have another appointment myself that I must keep. But before I go, I want to deliver this invitation for M Mercier and his guests to a masked ball on New Year's Evening at Chateau Delanney hosted by Count Delanney. It will be a very grand affair, comprised of the finest of Paris society." He hands me an elegant, hand-written invitation. "Present this at the door upon your arrival."

"This is very kind of you, Colonel. On behalf of our cousin, M Mercier, we thank you for the invitation."

We say "Au revoir," and as one of the male servant escorts the Colonel to the door, I turn to Grace and anxiously say, "Grace, we've got to hurry. It's getting late, and you know what will happen if we aren't on time!"

"Yes," Grace sighs. "Erik is no doubt waiting and fuming downstairs right now. Poor Jeremy, Matt and Russ. Let's hurry!"

We rush along a corridor and then down an ancient stairwell to the lower level. This side of the manor is on a sloping hill, and the lower level is on the back side of the building, facing the stables. ++

When we reach Erik in one of the rooms by the back door, he is pacing. And his mood matches his clothing. He's dressed in black from head to foot with the tiniest white peak of his collar and the stark white of his mask being the only things to break the darkness. Since Laura's shooting, Erik hasn't worn any of the colorful vests he sported the last couple months of the trial. His clothing, like his mood, is entirely black. Since returning to France, to this time period, the old ghosts of darkness and despair seem to have returned to haunt him.

As we enter the room, Erik spins on his heel toward us, his black cloak flaring around him. With eyes barely containing their fury and burning with angry warning, he hisses out, "You are _late_…"

* * *

PROFUSE THANK YOUS!! To EUROCENTRIC for her invaluable medical information!!

Kudos for our editors, KFC and Phanna!


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Remember that rollercoaster? Well, the suspense has been building and building. We are now at the top of the highest crest, and the only thing left now, is down. The biggest plunge right ahead, straight down. Seatbelts fastened?**

* * *

**Chapter 41 Conundrums of Time, Part 1, by Phanfan, Phanna, and KFC**

_Friday, December 15, 1871 __  
__Outside Paris, France _

_Horatio's POV: _

_As we enter the room, Erik looks up, his eyes barely containing their fury. "You are late!"_

"The carriage ride takes half an hour to the transport spot. It is now 11:35 a.m., and Laura can come anytime between noon and 2:00 p.m.! What if she arrives, and we are not there? She would be alone. What if she is injured?" His anger pours off him, directed scathingly at us. I exchange knowing glances with Russ.

I try to calm him down. "Erik, we're sorry, but we had an unexpected visitor we couldn't ignore. We sent him away as soon as we could."

Erik says nothing, just shakes his head as the thunder clouds in his eyes set the mood for these next hours. He gets into the carriage with Jeremy and Grace, as Matt climbs into the driver's seat and takes up the reins. Mounting my horse, I ride next to Russ, who's also on horseback. I don't envy Grace and Jeremy having to share the coach with Erik. There will be no pleasant chitchat during this ride.

After all, the point of no return has finally arrived. Today we will know if Laura is arriving from the future. I sincerely hope that the Program has been successful in fulfilling their part of the bargain. Marek told us that if Laura came, it would be within a two hour period, between noon and 2 p.m., on _this_ day. If she doesn't come now, at the appointed time, they were not successful in their attempt to send her back.

And what if Laura never comes? In that case, Erik's threat would be all that remains…on the one hand for him to carry out, and on the other hand, for us—Russ and me—to attempt to prevent. This threat Erik has made to the Program is constantly on my mind. The gauntlet Erik threw down is unequivocal and no doubt meant as his ultimate leverage to insure that The Program would do everything possible to carry out its part of the bargain…finding a way to bring Laura, alive and well, back to 1871 France.

During these past months I've developed a deep respect for Erik, even a friendship. But now I have orders that will be set in motion if the unthinkable occurs today—if Laura doesn't arrive. I pray that I won't have to give that order, but the Program can't take the chance Erik will thwart its plans at a critical juncture.

As I ride alongside the carriage, my mind is preoccupied with the possibilities of what could happen in the next couple hours. It's no longer just a matter of saving Laura. Erik's life is now in the balance, too, and, ironically, Laura is his lifeline. Glancing at the carriage, I see Erik stare out the window, deep in thought, preoccupied with his own problems.

No doubt Erik knows the consequence of his threat. But I also have no doubt that he has his own plans in place to protect himself and to escape. He won't be easily caught or found. But, should the worst case occur, then everything we worked for in the trial is gone. My orders are that he's not to leave the field today—alive—if Laura doesn't appear. And, I haven't been able to sleep well ever since receiving this order, the most difficult one of my life.

A half mile from the manor, I tell Matt to stop the carriage at the ancient gamekeeper's cottage located at the edge of the forest. This cottage is to be the place we bring Laura to change into her 19th century clothing before she's introduced at the manor. I dismount, open the carriage door and lift my hand to help Grace out. She gives me an indignant look and makes her last plea to go with us to the field where Laura is to arrive.

"Horatio, I want to be with you when Laura arrives! Why must I stay here in the cottage like a pampered little lady?" she says with a disgruntled and most unladylike tone.

"Grace, it's cold today, and we may be sitting for the entire two hours before Laura arrives. It's best if you wait here where the fire is in full blaze and the cottage is warm. We'll be bringing Laura back as soon as she arrives, and you'll be with her all you want after that! Please, do this one thing that I ask." My eyes catch Erik's knowing glare. Grace hasn't figured out the real reason I don't want her at the clearing, but Erik has. He fully suspects what we're planning, and my wanting to leave Grace at the gamekeeper's cottage is probably confirmation to him. I hate signaling our intention, but I don't want Grace to be there…if the worst case happens. With a few more exclamations of indignity for being treated like a "delicate" woman, Grace loudly closes the door to the cottage, and the carriage hurries on. Matt, who's driving the carriage, urges the horses to top speed so we won't be late.

My gut is beginning to knot uncontrollably as I think about the duty that's been given to Russ…to make certain Erik doesn't leave the clearing alive if Laura fails to come back. I must back him up, if necessary. Jeremy and Matt know nothing of these orders. Admiral Brooks and I felt they had personal attachments with Erik and Laura which precluded them from effectively being able to carry out such orders. That's why Russ and I are on horseback. We know Erik will make a run for it…to the forest, and that he's a faster runner than any of us. But, he can't outrun a horse. I look over at the window of the carriage again and observe the grim set of Erik's jaw as he gazes out the window, clearly preparing himself for whatever fate lies ahead.

_Erik's POV:_

Halting near the door that exits to the stables, I pull out my pocket watch. It is 11:33 a.m. Where in damnation are Grace and Horatio? Why are they not here? They know we have to leave at 11:30 to get to the arrival area by noon. What if Laura arrives before we do? What if she is confused? Fearful? What if she cannot see the small dirt road? What if she goes into the forest? What if she gets lost? What if she arrives and is injured? My mind reels with the possible dire consequences if she arrives, and we are not present to meet her.

To meet her. That has been at the back of my mind every minute of every day since we arrived back in France. The moment when she would arrive here, healthy, whole, and I can take her in my arms and tell her that I love her. That is the one thought that I have focused on that has gotten me through these last, seemingly interminable fifteen days. Every minute I was directing the workmen or seamstresses, I was thinking about Laura…that I was creating a home for her…for us.

And, knowing that if she did not come, there was nothing left but for me to survive…to carry out my threat. I am pondering this when Horatio and Grace rush into the room, breaking my thoughts. I spill out my anger at their tardiness. Horatio is apologetic, and to lose no more time, I make nothing further of it, but get into the carriage with Grace and Jeremy so that we can leave with all haste. As the carriage lurches forward, I make note that Russ and Horatio are riding horses and surmise why they are doing so. My suspicions are confirmed when Horatio calls for the carriage to stop, and he makes Grace wait at the gamekeeper's cottage. I no longer doubt what Horatio's orders are…what he intends to do if Laura does not come through. But that was to be expected. I always knew the consequence of the threat that I had given The Program. And, I am prepared to defend myself.

After all, The Program has always had the upper hand. It controlled the time machine and made clear that I would be sent back the same day I was acquitted. That reality was an unavoidable fact. However, that same time travel capability was the one tool which could be used to rescue Laura from her unavoidable fate—her death. But, if I were to ask The Program to use the time travel for such a purpose, how could I insure they would take me seriously and do everything in their power to find a way? I had to make a threat that would compel them to pursue a solution to this problem and make it a priority. I had to do for Laura the same thing that Freuda said Laura had done for me….I had to be willing to give something up, in order to gain something else.

It occurred to me that my only leverage was my value to The Program. They wanted to use my status as a Comte to infiltrate the political system to guide it in the direction of their choosing over the next 30 to 40 years and avoid some of the catastrophes of the early 20th century. They put significant time and money into defending me at the trial, and now that we had the proof which established me as the senior heir—a Comte of an influential French family—they would not want to jeopardize that. And, that is what I put on the line. That was all the leverage I had, so that was what I used. I told Marek that if they succeeded in sending Laura back to 1871 France, whole and healthy, I would serve The Program in every way I could to further their mission. But, if they failed, not only would I not cooperate with them, I would actively intervene and interfere with any of their projects in France for the rest of my life. The only way to insure the Program's full cooperation with me…especially after I had been returned to 1871 France…was to make a threat of this magnitude. And I did so, knowing that if they were not able to send Laura back, they would probably try to eliminate me. That was a logical and expected reaction on their part.

The carriage jolts as it hits a rut in the road, pulling me back to the present, and I find Jeremy studying me intently. Something tells me that Jeremy is not part of Horatio's plan should Laura not arrive.

I glance out the carriage window at Horatio and Russ riding alongside. Horatio undoubtedly left Grace at the gamekeeper's cottage so that she would not witness what was to occur if Laura does not arrive, and they are on horses so that they can catch me if I run for the cover of the forest. My eyes scrutinize the rifles they each carry on their saddles. I recognize them as the newer repeating Vetterli rifles used by the Swiss army—good for shooting targets at a distance. _All as I expected_. When Horatio turns and glances back at the carriage, we exchange knowing looks. Our courses are now set, and only time will tell.

As for me, I have my Punjab lasso hidden in my cloak and two hunting knives, one in each boot. The Punjab lasso was stolen from a Pakistani rug dealer while shopping in Paris. I had created a diversion, asking the merchant to explain to Jeremy the mythology behind the figures that were depicted in an oriental tapestry. While Jeremy was engrossed in the tale, I surreptitiously slipped the lasso into my cloak pocket. To compensate for my larceny, I overpaid for two rugs purchased from the merchant.

The knives were found in the gamekeeper's cottage the first day we began to clean out the debris. I sharpened them at night in my room, and they are quite ready for use. I sewed a scabbard into each of my boots to hold them so they would be easily accessible. If Laura does not come, I am prepared to survive and carry out my revenge. Indeed, that will be the only reason for me to live. I reflect with bitter, black irony that if I do not survive, at least I will be with Laura.

When we arrive at the clearing where we are to wait for Laura, I pull out my watch and check the time. It is noon. Matt has succeeded in getting us here on time.

As I rise and shove the carriage door open, bounding out to face whatever fate awaits, Jeremy follows on my heels. "Erik, she will be here," he says with hopeful encouragement. "I know Marek will do everything possible."

"Yes, indeed," is my only response.

My vigil begins as I walk up and down the road, pacing from the carriage toward the forest which borders the clearing. Constantly scanning the length of the field, I watch and wait, ignoring the damp, slicing cold of the winter air. Time passes slowly. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. A half hour. Then, an hour, and an hour and a half. Laura does not come.

Now the minutes seem to extend interminably. Time seems to have stopped, each moment an eternity. I glance down at my watch once again. It is 1:57 p.m. Only three minutes remain in the two hour window in which Laura is to appear, and she is not here.

Each time I pace, I have walked closer to the forest at that end of my path. Whenever my pacing takes me toward the carriage, I watch Horatio and Russ closely. For the past hour they have been silently standing on the ground near the carriage, with Matt and Jeremy. Just as I turn to begin my pacing toward the forest, I catch the quick nod that Horatio gives Russ for them to mount their horses. This time, as I head toward the trees, I know that I will not be turning back toward the carriage.

Only two minutes remain, and Laura has not arrived. I have no choice now. Knowing that the ultimate gamble I could contrive has failed—for Laura…and for me—I quicken my pace toward the forest and steel myself for the inevitable. Scanning the forest edge, I pick up speed and search for an appropriate tree. I will need to climb quickly and take refuge in overhanging branches, then position myself to use my lasso and knives when Horatio and Russ overtake me on their horses.

Now, timing is my _only_ chance…

_Friday, October 14, 2005 __  
__Seattle, Washington, Hospital _

_Brian Counselor's POV:_

It happens so suddenly. We're sitting in the chairs next to Laura, and she begins to have a seizure, worse than the ones she had before. Following Matt's example, I jump to my feet and quickly turn Laura over on her side to keep her from aspirating into her lungs until help can get here. I rush out into the hallway, desperately explaining what has happened. The nurse runs into the room, but within the few seconds I was gone, Laura's seizure stopped. The nurse confirms my greatest fear…she checks Laura's pulse and says that there is none as she calls a Code Blue. The team arrives immediately and tries to start Laura's heart. Mary and I stand out of the way, at the foot of the bed, watching as they work diligently over Laura's body. But in our hearts we fear that they won't be successful.

When they finally stop their efforts, they don't need to tell us. _We know._ Our beloved daughter has gone. Each of them expresses words of regret, sympathy and understanding, then quietly leaves us. It takes Mary and me some time before we're able to walk over beside Laura and lift her hand to hold as we say our goodbyes. We aren't able to cry yet. It's too new for us to fully grasp.

Then, my cell phone rings. I always value having its convenience, but now, at this moment, it's the worst possible intrusion. Thrusting my hand angrily into my pocket, I pull it out and look at the phone number, but don't recognize it. How could someone have such horrible timing as to call now, of all times? I turn off my cell phone and shove it back into my pocket.

Then, Mary and I hold each other for a very long time, gazing at Laura's peaceful, beautiful, still face.

_Friday, September 30, 2005 __  
__Seattle, Washington __  
__Courthouse _

_Laura's POV: _

_Since the other bodyguards have gone ahead to inspect the corridors, only Jeremy, Russ, Erik and I are left in the courtroom as I put all my papers and notes into my brief case. Erik gathers up his cloak from the back of his chair and seems particularly excited, almost happy. I look into his face and cannot contain a laugh at his devilish smile, which seems to be reflecting some private joke. I would never have expected him to be in this mood after Christine's testimony, but I am greatly relieved to see that this time it has passed uneventfully._

_As we walk toward the door at the front of the courtroom, I ask, "Alright, Erik. Just what is going on? I have never seen you this happy after listening to a day of court testimony!"_

_He looks down at me and the edges of his mouth curl up in that self-satisfied manner he occasionally cannot control. "I do have something special planned for your Saturday visit tomorrow, Laura. So, I would be most honored if you would come prior to your normal 2:00 p.m. appointment. Would you be able to come several hours earlier so that we can have lunch together?"_

"_Really?" I am surprised at this, and decide to kid him a bit before agreeing, "Well, I don't know…I have some housecleaning and laundry to do….I always do that Saturday morning, you know!"_

_The look on his face immediately becomes distressed, "Laura, you cannot be serious?"_

"_Yes, I am quite serious, Saturday morning is when I always do my housecleaning!" I can hardly suppress a grin at his reaction._

"_Laura, perhaps on this one occasion you could postpone your housekeeping duties to Sunday?" He says with impatience, and his eyebrow flattens disapprovingly across his uncovered eye._

"_Well, perhaps I could change my schedule….if you tell me what this is all about!" I cajole him mercilessly._

_"No, I really want it to be special...a surprise! You will know soon enough!" He answers with a laugh, and his beautiful sea green eyes darken and sparkle._

_"Well, I warn you. I am an attorney. I may pry the information out of you between here and the parking lot!" I reply with an impish grin._

_By now we are at the doorway to the corridor, and Erik opens the door for me. As I pass by him, he reaches out and takes my heavy brief case. "Here, let me carry this for you."_

_"Oh, my knight in shining armor...carrying my shield!" I say with a laugh, not resisting and letting him take it from my hand._

Erik and I are about ten feet down the hall walking toward the elevator when we hear the soft sushing of the courtroom door as it opens behind us. We're startled and swing around. When we left the courtroom there was no one inside! Jeremy and Russ, on the alert, immediately pivot toward the door and pull out their guns. Marek steps through the doorway and puts his finger to his lips in a signal to keep silent, then motions us to come back.

I'm shocked to see Marek. What on earth is he doing here? I can't imagine why he's appeared out of thin air, but obviously we're to return as quietly and hastily as possible. Russ goes first and quickly looks through the doorway, scanning the courtroom to verify it's safe. He motions that it's alright for us to come. Jeremy, who is behind us and watching over his shoulder, moves in close to Erik and me, propelling us back into the courtroom. A chill fear sweeps over me, but I feel Erik's protective hand on my waist as we rush back.

As soon as we're inside, Marek shuts the door behind us and checks the door knob. "Damn, it locks with a key!" He turns to Jeremy and Russ and points at the huge prosecutor's table, "Help me push tha' against the door!" Jeremy and Russ immediately get on the other side of the heavy oak table, and the three men push it in front of the courtroom door.

"The other doors t' the courtroom—we have t' bar those as well!" Marek orders Jeremy and Russ to follow him, and they race to the front double doors of the courtroom where the spectators enter. When Marek gets to those doors, he checks them and announces, "They've been locked by the bailiffs! Good!" I watch as Marek double checks both doors to assure they're securely bolted.

Erik and I stand in the front of the court room, stunned, and exchange concerned glances, watching Marek catch his breath while walking back toward us. He orders Jeremy and Russ to remain near the doors until he tells them otherwise. Then Marek turns and walks toward us, avoiding eye contact.

"Marek, what on earth is going on?" I ask. There's no doubt in my mind that Marek's behavior is connected with some danger to Erik's life. Obviously Marek has information about a threat and is here to protect Erik. Surely, now that we're locked securely in the courtroom, everything will be alright. After all, Erik is safe, and the security team will be able to do whatever is necessary to deal with the situation. All we have to do is wait here until we get the signal that the intruder or intruders are captured. That seems to be the logical reason for Marek's behavior. Just stay here in the secured room for a little while and remain calm—it will soon be over.

"Laura, Erik, I've somethin' t' explain t' you," Surprisingly, Marek stops in front of me, not Erik. Deep turmoil clouds Marek's eyes as he nervously appraises me and runs a hand through his thick mane of hair. My stomach clenches, and my mouth goes dry.

"What is going on here, Marek?" Erik demands.

Marek pauses before speaking, searching my face as if probing into my mind. The intensity of his gaze now gives me a queasy, gut-churning feeling. I wonder what's coming next. "Laura, Erik, this is going t' be very difficult for both of you t' hear, but I've come from a point in time abo't two weeks in the future. 'Tis a future tha' canna be changed, and in the future, Laura is dyin' from the gunshot wound of an assassin."

_Suddenly I can't breathe. _

"NO!" Erik roars. He moves closer to me, and his hand reaches over and takes mine, holding it so tightly it almost hurts. But right now I am numb to any pain. I can not even wrap my mind around what Marek just said.

_"I'm dying? And that can't be changed?"_ Those are the only words I can force out my constricted throat.

My knees give out, and as I feel myself sinking down, Erik's arms enfold me and lift me up. He carries me to my chair at the defense table and sits me down gently, then stands next to me, his hand still grasping mine.

I can't speak, but Erik is clearly wondering the same thing, "Marek," he blurts out, "what is this really about? What is happening? You cannot really mean what you are saying!"

Marek speaks slowly and decisively as he answers Erik's questions, his eyes falling on Erik's hand holding mine, rather than meeting our gaze. "Well, when you got on the elevator at the end o' tha' hallway, Laura turned around t' push the elevator button, and when she did tha', she saw the assassin. The reason he got into the courthouse was because he's been workin' here for several months as a janitor. He'd been put in place t' get rid o' you, Erik, if the trial was no' going in the direction tha' the PTB wanted…which is you bein' proven guilty o' heinous crimes so tha' the Program could be totally discredited for bringin' you t' the present. You know the PTB are tryin' t' swing public support against The Program so tha' they're forced t' turn over the time travel technology. And, we've reason t' believe tha' they've infiltrated the Program and have informed the PTB abo't your becomin' one o' the projects in the past t' change the timeline. The PTB have gotten desperate, so, Erik, they gave their embedded assassin the go ahead t' kill you."

Then Marek directs his attention to me and explains, "Laura, you saw him step in t' the hallway, raise his gun and aim. Erik was behind you in the middle o' the elevator and you turned and threw yourself at him, shovin' him out o' the way. But, the bullet hit you in the abdomen and caused terrible damage." He pauses and looks at us, gauging our reactions. I'm stunned, but deep inside know that what he's telling us must be the truth or Marek would not be here.

I look up at Erik, and his eyes register that he, too, believes what we're being told. I turn back, blink at Marek and finally find my voice, _"Continue."_

Marek speaks softly to me, "Well, Laura, you actually died there in the elevator, but Matt got t' you very quickly. He resuscitated you and you were stabilized after a long surgery, but you've been in a coma ever since. In the future I just came from, you're in the hospital and everythin' tha' modern medicine can do has been done, but 'tis only a matter o' time and very little o' tha', t' be truthful…." He stops again, allowing me to comprehend this shocking information.

I study Marek's face, my mind in a fog. "And Erik? He wasn't wounded, I hope?" I can't look at Erik now, but I hear his sharp intake of breath and his hand tightens around mine.

"No, Laura, Erik was no' hit at all. You shoved him out o' the way, and the bullet hit you instead."

I shake my head in confusion, "So, if I'm dying in the future that's already occurred, and you say that cannot be changed, why are you here?"

Marek frowns and looks soberly at Erik. "Erik is why I'm here." Hearing those words, I turn and look into Erik's face. He's staring at Marek with rapt attention.

"Laura, I willna' discuss the details with you at this time, but Erik made us an offer tha' we couldna refuse." A gasp escapes me. Erik doesn't understand that the phrase implies an inescapable and deadly threat which is veiled on the surface by a velvet glove—but I do. Understanding that I'm not to push that issue right now, I resolve to find out what Erik has done. It's clear to me that the Opera Ghost in some way used his latent talents of blackmail to drive a bargain that The Program had to deal with—and ultimately accept.

"So, Marek, what did Erik bargain for?" I had a pretty good idea what the answer will be.

"Your life, Laura." Marek's eyes study me gravely, "Your future is set, you're dyin' and no' even the finest medical care can change tha'."

Frightened and alarmed, I gaze up at Erik. We stare at one another, each with questions flooding our minds. I don't know what to ask first.

Erik now speaks in a commanding voice, "So, Marek what is the plan _I_ have developed?"

Marek gives Erik a wry smile, then turns and looks directly at me. "Well, you see, Laura, there _is __a bit o' a problem_. By comin' here, now, as I have, we've created a time conundrum. The timeline where you're wounded and in the hospital has already occurred. Tha' is the primary timeline and it has evolved too far for us t' change. You will die in the main timeline. By stoppin' you from being shot NOW, we've created a secondary timeline. We've never done anythin' like this before, and we've now also created a time paradox. You see, in abo't a week and a half, when Erik returns t' France _and the two timelines merge_, there will be two o' you, Laura—one walkin' around healthy and another dyin' in the hospital. And, well, tha' creates an anomaly which The Program will no' permit," he eyes me pointedly. "So, basically, we canna allow you t' leave this room." Marek's face is somber as he pauses to let the full reality of this situation sink in.

Iron determination is written on Erik's face. He must know where all this is leading, but I'm in a quandary. "Marek, if I will die in the main timeline, and I can't leave this room without creating a time anomaly, what are you proposing?"

"Well, Laura, there's only one place left for you t' go now. The only way you can continue t' live out the remainder o' your natural life is t' take you back t' the past."

Looking from Marek to Erik, I begin to get the picture. "So, the only place I can go from this room is to the past. I can no longer live in the present…or the future?"

"Yes, Laura, tha' sums up the situation," Marek says with sympathy in his eyes. Then, he adds apologetically, "I would like t' give you a choice o' where t' go. A choice o' what time period in the past, or what place you would like t' live. I wish we could give you a free will choice, but I'm afraid tha' circumstances have evolved where we are no' able t' offer you tha'. The situation is this," Marek glances quickly at Erik, "you will be transported in the time machine t' 1871, France. I'm sorry, _but you have no say in the matter_."

My mind tries to grasp all these facts, this reality of my existence. I study Marek's eyes. There is something else in them, something indefinable, which seems most closely to connect with fear. My intuition tells me there is more…he has not told me everything.

"Marek. Is that all? What else should I know?" My voice quavers, not certain I want to hear the answer to this question.

"Well, Laura, as I said, we've never done a time travel like this before. It had many distinct problems, most of which we've worked out…" then he pauses and gives a nervous, unconscious, cough, "but it was no' possible to be certain o' _all _the variables concernin' this time anomaly. So, there are certain problems, possible outcomes, we canna absolutely predict."

I don't need a translator for Marek's double-talk. He's implying that for some reason, which he's reluctant to tell me, my time travel may not work. I don't even want to think about what will happen in that event.

Suddenly, all Marek's words hit me full force. Tears begin to stream down my face. My life…this life…is over. I look up at Erik and realize that what's happening has been done because of his machinations, his desire to give me a life. He has clearly blackmailed The Program, and I'm being given no choice. All that for a gamble that has an unknown, uncertain outcome.

I turn to Marek, "I presume the assassin is still down there in that hallway waiting for us?"

"Yes, tha's right."

"So, I don't have a lot of time, do I?"

"No. You do no'," Marek shakes his head sadly.

"How much time can you give me to think this through?" I ask, still in shock.

Marek looks at his watch. "Five minutes at the outside."

"I'll take it, Marek!"

I look up into Erik's questioning eyes and silently implore him to understand, "Please, I just need some time." Gently I pull my hand from between his, stand shakily, then turn and walk directly to a courtroom window that overlooks the world I'm about to leave...forever.

My mind is whirring, exploding in many directions simultaneously. I calculate my remaining time in this life: 5 minutes, each of which contains 60 seconds. That means I have 300 seconds—moments—left. After that, whatever happens, my life will never be the same. But then I think about the shooting in the elevator and realize that in that timeline I had only a moment…a single moment…before that bullet hit to make a decision and act. Three hundred seems a luxury in comparison.

Placing my hand on the window pane, I look out onto the world I've always known. Below are the manicured lawns and beyond, the parking lot for the court personnel and lawyers. My gaze settles for the last time on my black Corvette. I will never sit in it again, speeding along the coast highway, taking in the beautiful Pacific Ocean. I gloried in the complete freedom and tranquility of those drives. Whether the road took me along the vast, ever-changing blues and greys of the ocean, or through the deep green shadows of the forests, the natural beauty that surrounded me was always enhanced by the music I listened to…and loved. But never again. No cars in l871 France. No planes. Only horses, carriages, buggies. And, no cds. In fact, much of the music I love would not yet exist. I will never hear it again.

I gaze out beyond the parking lot to the adjacent restaurant. Elegant neon signs break through the darkening twilight to announce its cuisine to comfortably dressed customers entering through two carved wood doors. Neon signs...electricity...1871 France...no such things. Only candles and oil lamps and, at most, gas lights. My grandmother told me about having to constantly clean the globes over oil lamps—always getting charred with the black soot.

And clothes. I look at the people entering the restaurant with entirely new eyes. They're wearing casual, comfortable styles. I didn't realize until this very moment how we take that for granted. In 1871 women wear corsets and bustles and god-only-knows how many additional layers. Surely I wouldn't need to wear a corset, being only a size 6 and having no Scarlett O'Hara ego that requires a waist strangled down to 18 inches. Certainly I will be able to forego corsets. But what about bustles? Would I have to wear such contraptions?

It suddenly goes through my mind that this is ridiculous. I can't really be standing here thinking these thoughts. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately! That's it! I must be daydreaming...This isn't happening in the real world, in my real life!! So, if I turn around and look again, surely there will be only the usual people here in the courtroom—the bailiffs, the jurors and the prosecutors. I swivel quickly around on my heel, but, instead, I see Erik standing next to Marek, both of them staring at me. Marek's face reflects his empathy with the decision that I have to make, and Erik's face discloses deep conflict. His eyes tell me he, too, is caught between the hope of my joining him in France and the fear of the uncertainty in the time travel anomaly that Marek referred to. _Oh, God! This is real_! I turn back to the window, bewildered, and consider my fate.

So, when I go back to 1871 France, what will I do? I can not use my doctorate in law. It was granted over a hundred years after that date, and in American law, not French Napoleonic law, so it's patently unusable...irrelevant. And, I'm too old to return to college for another degree, if they would even allow women to enter law school in France during that period! My education, my profession, my training is all worthless.

But, if I go back to 1871 France, Erik will be there. He clearly has done whatever he could to give me a chance to live out my natural lifetime. Under the circumstances, that can only happen in a past time. I know my feelings toward Erik. I love him deeply and have told him so. But I don't know how he feels about me. Today in court, Christine testified that he told her he loved her. He has never said that to me. Back in France, cleared of the shadows over him, restored to his title, free to compose and perform his music, won't he return to the person who shares that love and gift of music with him? Won't he return to Christine? No matter what my feelings are toward Erik, I can't be sure if he will choose me. I can't count on his always being in my life. That thought pierces my heart…the same stab I've have been dealing with for weeks, every time I think about Erik returning to France. Well, at least if I go back to the past with him, we'll be able to see if there _is_ a future for _us_.

That is, of course, if I survive this time travel problem that Marek alluded to. What did he say? My situation was the first of its kind? That there were "problems," "possible outcomes," they could not "absolutely predict." Reading between those lines, that most likely means they do _not_ know if I will survive the time travel. Something in Marek's voice…and his eyes…tell me nothing is assured here.

Standing at the window and looking at my world for the last time, I begin to come to an acceptance of my situation. It seems I have no choice. After all, in the primary timeline, in the future I was born to, I'm dying and nothing can be done to save me. I can't choose to remain in this secondary timeline, as Marek has made abundantly clear. And, ironically, if I go back with Erik to 1871, by now that lifetime is over as well...so technically I'm dead in that lifetime, too. If I don't make it through the time travel procedure I will be dead also. I shake my head with the realization that no matter which way I slice this situation...I'm basically dead...so...what do I have to lose?

"Laura!" Marek's insistent voice cuts through my thoughts like a sharp knife severing me from my life. "'Tis time."

As I turn and walk back toward Erik and Marek, the thought occurs to me that I've been forced into a choiceless choice like Christine. No, I decide. Not this time. Unlike Christine, I freely choose Erik, whatever the outcome, I must at least try to fulfill his wish that I join him in France…if only to keep whatever threat he has made to give me a life from backfiring on him. I can't let that happen, I love him too much.

"Alright," I say softly, as I reach the two men, "France. 1871. So, how do we do this?"

_

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Profound Thank Yous!! to EUROCENTRIC for all her medical advice and information!!


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: It is still Valentine's Day here on the West Coast. So…this is our Valentine's gift to you!!**

**Just remember in every ending, there is a beginning!**

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**Chapter 42 Conundrums of Time, Part 2 by Phanfan, Phanna, KFC **

_Friday, September 30, 2005 __  
__Seattle, Washington __  
__Courthouse _

_Laura's POV: _

_"Alright," I say softly, as I reach the two men, "France. 1871. So, how do we do this?"_

Erik cannot contain his nervous energy as he steps toward me, slides his arm around my waist and draws me to him. His eyes explode with a myriad of emotions: relief, joy, doubt and fear. Erik's arm remains around my waist as I turn toward Marek, "What happens now?"

"Well, the plan…" Marek turns to Russ and Jeremy, motioning them to come over. Then Marek takes a pair of gloves out of his pocket and hands them to Russ, "Put these gloves on, Russ, so you dinna get your fingerprints all over Laura's briefcase and purse. Laura, Russ will put your purse and briefcase in the ladies' room down the hallway. Where do you normally place them? On the floor or the counter?"

"On the counter," I respond, confused.

"Russ will leave right away, go t' the ladies' room and plant these there, then stand outside 'til the SEAL security guards come up t' look for the assassin. Jeremy, as soon as we leave, you are to place the call t' the team and tell them tha' when you escorted Erik t' the elevator, you saw the man dressed in black. Tell them where he's standin' and inform them tha' you have taken Erik back in t' the courtroom and barricaded him in there 'til they take care o' the intruder.

Then Marek turns back to Erik, "You just remain here 'til the assassin is caught. Once the capture is confirmed, Russ will go in t' the ladies' room, only t' discover tha' Laura is no' there…tha' she's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" I'm startled. "Why?"

"Because Laura, you have t' disappear from the secondary timeline. And, there has t' be a logical cause which can be announced t' the world as the reason for your disappearance. Tha' way, when the secondary timeline melds in t' the primary timeline…there's only one o' you, the one who's dyin' now in the hospital."

"What can I do, Marek?" Erik's voice discloses anguish as if not quite trusting what's about to happen.

"You'll remain here in the courtroom, Erik. The security team will come t' this floor and find the assassin, take care o' him, and discover you and Jeremy here in the courtroom. You'll continue t' live through the last week and a half o' the trial and the verdict—which goes very well, by the way. Laura, on the other hand, will have disappeared, and it will be assumed that she was kidnapped by a second intruder who got away. She'll never be found, o' course, and presumed dead. Tha' will be the only significant difference created in the secondary timeline. The only other difference, o' course, is tha' Russ and Jeremy are no' injured, as they were originally, but that causes no ripple effect at all. And, we take Laura in healthy form, back t' the past...out o' the secondary timeline."

I'm speechless. Only the tears in my eyes reveal my thoughts. Erik pulls me to his chest, and I lean into his strength.

"Is that all, Marek?" Erik asks with incredulity edging his voice.

"That's all for now. Laura and I need t' go as soon as possible."

Erik reaches his hand up to my chin and lifts it gently. Aware that we aren't alone, we look into each other's eyes, communicating through them our hopes and fears. Then his lips gently touch mine in a bittersweet good-bye kiss. My arms find their way around his neck and suddenly I am overwhelmed with the feeling that I don't want to leave the warmth of his body or security of his embrace. Finally, knowing that everyone is waiting for me, I reluctantly pull back and study his face.

My heart pounds with concern for his safety during the remainder of the time he'll spend in the present. I whisper softly as I gauge his reactions. "Erik, please promise me that you will be careful."

"I will."

"And that you will listen to Jeremy and any other bodyguards."

"I will."

"Please make sure that Jeremy is always near."

"I will. And, Laura...I will be waiting for you to come to me." His eyes convey a multitude of emotions, and I wish we were alone—I wish there were more time—I wish simply to hold him.

Placing my arms again around his neck, I gently pull him down for one last kiss and whisper next to his ear, "I will be there!"

"Alright, we have t' go!" Marek's voice calls out, and reluctantly I step back from Erik whose conflicted expression conveys confidence to me, but turns to apprehension when he glances over at Marek.

"By the way, Laura, I need t' explain something." Marek turns me toward the open area at the front of the courtroom. "We canna transport from one external location t' another external location. We can only transport in t' and out o' the lab, so you'll go first t' the central transport arena." Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out a small ceramic square and presses his thumb to it. Suddenly two flashes of light appear in the empty center of the courtroom, between the attorney's desks and the judge's bench. Out of the brilliant light, two tall, narrow, translucent pods take form and hang suspended above the floor.

I inhale sharply. This is really happening. Now I can no longer deny what Marek has told me, or what's about to happen. I look at Marek for direction, and he indicates that I'm to approach the larger of the two machines.

"Laura, you'll be using this transport pod which is a specially designed model, in fact, the only one like it. Before you're transported through the time travel process, it's necessary t' do a scan o' your body t' record all your physical dimensions and data, sort o' like an MRI! In the transport laboratory, this is done in a separate machine, but we sometimes need t' transport people the first time from external points—like when we brought Erik from the past—and so this machine can perform both functions—scannin' and transport. We've come a long way in this technology!"

"Just tell me what I have to do, Marek," responding with resignation.

"Step up in t' the pod, then turn and face forward. Stand with your feet entirely within the circle on the floor."

Surprisingly, a door swings open from what appeared to be a solid, crystalline surface of the module, and I follow Marek's instructions. Once inside the door swings closed, and I have a feeling of being shut off from the world…of finality.

"Laura, please stand still!" Marek directs loudly from outside the machine. "The scannin' sequence is beginnin', and the lasers are coming on. Please look straight ahead, not up."

That is when everything begins to turn a brilliant, glowing blue, and I hear Marek explaining, "Those lights are the lasers polarizing the xenon gas."

Xenon gas? I'm breathing in xenon gas? Are they trying to transport me or kill me? But, I know I must not move, so I force myself to remain calm.

"The xenon has reached concentration level, so now, Laura, when I give the order, take a deep breath and hold it for thirty seconds! Once you do that, remain steady and do no' move the entire time." Marek then instructs, "OK! Take a deep breath, hold it and look forward, keepin' your eyes open, beginnin', NOW!"

Listening to him count down from thirty seems endless as I feel pulsating energy moving all around my body. Finally Marek is down to "3, 2, l! Scan over, Laura!" The blue light goes off, and I hear the sound of air blowing into the chamber. "Oxygen is replacin' the xenon, Laura. We will transport out now!"

I watch as Marek gets into his glass-like chamber, and its door shuts. Now I can hear his voice over the intercom speaker inside my pod. "Alright, Laura, just follow these directions. I'll send the signal for both o' us, and when I tell you tha' I've done tha', stand still, keep your eyes open, and take a deep breath." The crystal walls allow me to clearly see Marek's expression, which lacks the cockiness that I'm so accustomed to. Instead a tense grimace passes over his usually smiling face as he asks, "Any questions?"

"No. Let's just get this over with." My mind is racing, wondering just what questions I should be asking…feeling that somehow there are important facts I should know and haven't been told. But…it's too late now. I begin to feel the apparatus vibrating around me, and look back at Erik's expression that discloses unabated fear. Looking deeply into his eyes, I mouth the words, "I love you," just as I hear Marek's voice, "Now!! Stand still, eyes open, deep breath!"

Automatically following Marek's orders, I watch as the room in front of me begins to disappear. I'm struck with the irony that the last look at my world is of a courtroom…and Erik…

A ring of light descends from the top of the pod, down to my feet, and brilliant flashes from every direction announce that the transport has begun. Everything is silent, as if I'm already separated from this reality. After a sequence of patterned flashes, I feel as if I'm sinking into darkness, with lights coming and going around me. Finally, nothing, just blackness and a sensation of falling. I feel alone, desperate to know where I am, how long this will last--maybe a moment...maybe eternity--whether I even still exist.

Then, below me a black, murky ocean appears, and the pod settles into the surface, where a blue bubble is forming. It feels as if I'm headed for that one blue bubble, and I hear a piercing sound as the pod enters it. Now, only silence and darkness, finally followed by light, growing larger, getting closer, gaining speed. Then, I feel as if my body is reattaching, and I can feel its weight and bulk. After one pulse of pain, I'm surrounded by purple light…then bright white lights…real lights, coming from modern electrical canisters mounted on a ceiling…a real ceiling…a real room. But, I remain frozen, afraid to move until Marek gives a signal.

"'Tis alright t' move now, Laura." I hear Marek's excited voice nearby, as the pod door swings open.

Wobbling from the disorientation of the time travel, I stagger as I step out of the machine and suddenly find myself in a bear hug, as Marek swings me in an exuberant circle. "How do you feel, Laura? Are you alright?"

"I'm a little dazed…but I'm here," looking down at my body, I sigh in relief, "…and apparently all in one piece."

"Great!" he says as he puts his arm around my waist, "Fantastic!" I can't help but notice that Marek's mood has radically changed since we were in the courtroom.

The small circular room we stand in must be the main laboratory's transport arena. A door opens nearby in what had appeared to be a seamless wall. Marek hurries me through the door and down a short flight of steps to the main floor. The complex is bright, white and shiny from the sterility of its machinery. Electronic equipment and monitors are everywhere. This strikes me as a very different environment from the humanity and messiness of the courtroom I just left, with its aging oak wood tables and chairs.

At the foot of the steps we're greeted by a number of white-coated people. Marek introduces me to Terese, the transport lab's chief scientist. She looks to be in her mid-30's and has lovely blonde hair that curls wildly about her face. While I'm introduced to her assistants, her keen chestnut eyes penetrate mine as if she's assessing me. This group includes four or five scientists and technicians whose titles are amazingly detailed and specific to their expertise. Each one of them seems to be excited by my presence and extends a hand to be shaken. I oblige, giving each one a polite nod.

"Great pleasure to meet you, Ms Counselor," Terese says sincerely. "We've been working overtime on your case trying to solve the particular challenges of your transport."

My case? I smile again and manage a polite, "Thank you for all your efforts!" But a stab of unease shoots through me as I realize that many people I don't know have been making fateful decisions about my life.

"Laura, we canna leave right away," Marek says. When he sees my questioning expression, he explains, "There are some incomin' people who have priority now, and we will no' leave 'til they arrive. Also, we usually want a minimum o' a half hour between transports t' decrease the stress on the body."

"You can both wait in my office," Terese pleasantly offers, but an uneasy feeling comes over me because of the way she continues to study me. As a scientist, she's not good at hiding her curiosity, and I feel a bit like a lab animal under investigation.

"Thanks, Terese." Marek pats her on the shoulder. There's a casual easiness between Marek and Terese, and I assume they've developed a friendship because of his frequent time travels.

Then, having seen the infamous and problematic Ms Counselor who clearly has caused them extra headaches recently, all the scientists and technicians return to their stations, concentrating on their monitors and apparently preparing to receive the incoming people.

Terese escorts us into her office, which has a conference table, several comfortable chairs and a couch, as if she almost lives at her work. Tall bookshelves behind the desk are filled with technical manuals and neat stacks of papers, but files are scattered around the room. She motions us to take the two chairs in front of her desk which are adjacent to a window with a view of the transport arena.

Still standing in the doorway of her office, Terese asks, "Would you both like coffee?"

"Ach…you know I do." Marek turns to Terese and grins.

I realize for the first time that I haven't had anything to eat or drink since breakfast and respond appreciatively, "Yes, I would like some very much!"

"Well, I'll go find some.' Terese smiles and says, "I'll just be a minute!"

Turning to Marek, I'm no longer able to hold back what's disturbing me. Quickly I size him up. Will he be forthcoming with the information, or will I get evasive answers like that day in the restaurant when he asked me to represent Erik? Marek looks up and catches my intense gaze. "So, Laura, you have some questions? I've been expectin' them!" He gives me that killer smile of his, no doubt trying to placate me.

"Yes, of course I do! Many!"

"Go ahead. What are your twenty questions, then?" Marek beams with a knowing grin.

"First things first. Tell me about the shooting. What happened? What was my condition? What happened to Erik? How are Phen and Counselor Sebbied doing? What happened with the trial? What were the verdicts? How are my parents doing? And...what on God's green earth did Erik do to blackmail The Program into finding a way to bring a dying woman back to 1871 France?" I tick off my questions in one breath.

Marek smiles at my barrage, "Is tha' all?"

"No, I'm sure I'll think of others as we go." My eyes narrow as I study him, still suspecting there are many important facts I haven't been given.

"Takin' them in tha' order…." Marek goes systematically down my list and answers each with the detail of an anthropologist methodically dissecting a dig. Some of the things he says are very difficult for me to hear. Especially how Erik responded in the elevator…how he wouldn't let go of me when Matt tried to give me CPR…the blood everywhere…and then Erik's turmoil while everyone waited for the outcome of my surgery. Marek tells me how after my operation, Erik wouldn't leave my side except to go to court.

He explains that Phen and Counselor Sebbied were devastated by my shooting, but carried on with the trial, and that the verdicts were complete acquittals on all charges. Then he tells about Erik's first meeting with my parents, and from that day until Erik left for France, they sat vigil together, talking and sharing their remembrances of me. As Marek describes these scenes, I let the tears flow, just thinking about their pain.

"So Erik, Horatio and Phen are now in France?" I ask after this litany of information.

"Yes, they've been there for over two weeks. They arrived the first o' December, 1871. Jeremy, Matt, Russ and Joe are the support team tha' was sent with them. They're all waitin' for you, hopin' you'll come."

Astonished I ask, "Marek, are you telling me they don't know if I'll be coming?"

Shaking his head, his voice is now uncertain, "When they left, we were still workin' on the problems...it was no' definite yet tha' we could manage this."

"Oh, my God. So, they still aren't sure I'll make it?"

"No. We'd agreed t' a certain day for them t' be at a place in the countryside where no one will see you transport in. We've been usin' the same location for everyone's transport. So, we set a two hour window in which you're t' arrive."

I shake my head in disbelief. "They've all been through so much…and, Erik has been through, well...hell, hasn't he?"

"Yes, truly he has, but then, he has been spreadin' tha' around a wee bit, too!" Marek laughs grimly.

"So, Marek, what was Erik's threat...what was the 'offer' that The Program 'couldn't refuse?'" This is the question that's been gnawing at me since Marek's reference to the bargain Erik made with The Program.

"Well, you see Laura, the night after the shooting, there was an interestin' conversation between Erik, Freuda, Horatio and Phen. Everyone was waitin' for the outcome o' your surgery and somethin' was said abo't shields, warriors, 'mao dun' and paradoxes. Horatio told me abo't this discussion--he felt tha' was when Erik began developi' his plan. You will have t' get any more o' the details abo't it from him or Phen."

My eyebrows shoot up as I recognize 'mao dun' the Chinese characters for sword and shield, which combined create the word for 'contradiction' or 'paradox.' I'm perplexed by such an odd combination of subjects.

Marek explains, "Apparently Erik asked Freuda why you pushed him aside, savin' him, and when Freuda told him that sometimes a person has t' give somethin' up t' gain somethin', I think tha' put his desperate mind in t' gear. He really had no control over his, or your, situation because The Program controls the time machine. When the trial was over, they were sendin' him back t' France, period! Abandonin' you, dyin' there in the hospital was plainly no' an acceptable situation t' him—no' somethin' he could live with. So, bein' somewhat skilled in the art o' manipulation—dare we say blackmail," Marek chuckles and flashes me a long-suffering look, "he put tha' talent t' use."

A wry grin escapes me at the portrait he's painted of our dear Opera Ghost. I lean forward, anxious to hear where this is going.

"As you know, when the documents were delivered in t' Erik's hands, and it was verified tha' he was the senior heir t' the deChagny noble line, tha' put Erik in a position o' influence and wealth. It also made him a tremendous asset in The Program's plan t' change the timeline away from its current course. So, Erik decided those were his main bargainin' chips—his title, status and the influence tha' would create to help The Program carry out its agenda…and, well, he bet all o' them!"

My mind is now jumping ahead, surmising what Erik did, but wanting to hear all the details, "Good grief, Marek, what threat did he make?"

"He called me t' the hospital and gave The Program an ultimatum. Either they found a way t' intercede in the timeline in some manner and make you whole again—bring you back t' France, alive and well—or he would undermine the Program's plans in France. He would go along with us 'til some critical juncture and then he would do whatever it took t' betray our plans."

I feel stunned, all the consequences of Erik's threat are falling into place in my mind.

"We put our scientists t' studyin' the issues and realized there were problems, so tha' we may no' be able t' carry out the plan. I met with Erik again in the private conference room at court, just before the verdicts were t' be read, and told him we were no' sure we could do your transport…successfully." Marek shifts uneasily in his chair, and I feel as though he's considering his words carefully.

After a nervous pause, he says, "Unfortunately, Admiral Brooks had ordered Erik's…demise…if we were no' able t' bring you back t' France."

"WHAT?" My heart begins to pound in fear.

Marek reaches out and places his hand on my arm, trying to calm me while he attempts to explain, "The Program just couldna take the chance tha' Erik would interfere with its projects in the past. Horatio and I, o' course, knew abo't tha' order, and made a last ditch effort t' get Erik t' rescind his threat. I went t' court on the day the verdicts were announced and urged him t' reconsider. I told him that if he did, we would continue t' support him as originally planned, and bygones would be bygones. And, o' course, I promised tha' I would still do whatever I could t' bring you back."

"What was his response, Marek?" A feeling of dread grips me now.

"His response was scathing as he pointed out tha' The Program was forcin' him t' leave you tha' very day, if he were acquitted. Tha' meant he wouldna be able t' stay by your side 'til you either were sent back or passed away. He was livid tha' he was bein' forced t' leave you, t' walk away with you dyin' in a hospital. He said that once he was gone, there was no way t' insure tha' we would continue with our best efforts t' bring you back. Tha' we could simply inform him in a week or two tha' we were sorry, but no solution could be found, and tha' you had died. The only pressure he could continue t' exert after he left was the threat o' his defection from our side and his active underminin' o' our projects. He felt tha' only a threat such as this would insure our utmost efforts. As I stood there tryin' t' reason with him, he stared at me with the angriest eyes I have ever seen in a man, and said there was no way for him, once he was in France t' determine if we were doin' everythin' possible. So far as he was concerned, the only thing tha' mattered, the only evidence was…whether you came back, and for whatever reason, if you didna, he would carry out his threat!"

"Oh my God!" A chill panic runs through me as I consider this information, searching Marek's face in disbelief, "That gave you only one option, correct?"

"Absolutely correct. Erik put us in a very tight box. Either we find a way t' get you back—healthy—t' 1871 France, or when Erik hears you are no' comin', we have no doubt he will bide his time and carry out his threat. He's a dangerous, tickin' time bomb and our team will have t'...uh...eliminate him and abandon tha' part of The Program's plans if we couldna find a way. They willna allow him t' live and interfere at some critical juncture."

Panic is now rising in me and it is difficult to catch my breath, "But, Marek, you said I was to arrive within a two hour window. If I don't arrive in a timely manner, you're now telling me they have orders to kill Erik! Are you certain you can get me back within that exact time frame?"

"You see, when we send someone, we can only hit the target time within a plus or minus one hour window. So, we're calibratin' your arrival t' exactly the center o' that two hour time period. We canna control it any closer than tha'. All we can know is tha' you will arrive sometime within tha' window."

Staring blankly at Marek, terror strikes my heart making me unable to speak for a moment as I process this shocking information. "Are you absolutely certain that we will hit that window, Marek? What will happen if I am a few minutes late?" I glare angrily at him, "…Isn't that cutting it a little close?" I wonder if they took into consideration that to a scientist, give or take an hour is approximate, to a military man, well, they are used to carrying out orders on the exact minute. What if Horatio does because I have not yet arrived?

Marek swallows hard and stares at me, almost at a loss for words, "You're going t' have t' trust us, Laura. We're doin' everythin' we possibly can under the circumstances."

My stomach is now churning. I cannot get the image out of my mind of Erik waiting for me somewhere in France with men standing nearby, prepared to end his life, if I don't arrive within this critical window of time. "So, Erik put his life on the line just for the chance to save mine?" I ask, incredulous.

"Yes, indeed he did," Marek nods, "And, it was a very slim chance. But in doin' so, he forced us in t' a situation full o' very unpleasant possibilities. And frankly, I was fire breathin' angry over tha'!"

Trying to absorb all I have just learned, I cannot help but reflect that the Opera Ghost put me in Christine's shoes and placed Marek in Raoul's noose! History repeats itself! I shake my head in dismay.

Returning with two coffee cups, Terese apologizes for being held up by a colleague who needed help with a technical problem. "Laura, here's the latte for you. Sorry…yours has to be decaf, because of your up-coming time travel."

"Yours is a Breve, Marek." She hands him the cup with a quizzical look on her face, obviously having picked up on the palpable tension in the air.

"Thanks, darlin'," Marek takes a sip of his coffee and turns to me, "This is one o' the pleasures o' modern times. I canna get coffee back in the 14th century."

Terese sits down in her chair on the other side of the desk, as Marek continues our conversation, trying to regain my confidence, "Your bein' here, today, alive is truly an accomplishment! There were real problems t' solve!"

"You referred to problems. Just what were they?" I press.

"I think Terese would be the best one to answer those questions, Laura," Marek responds, taking another sip of his coffee and nodding toward Terese.

My attention shifts to Terese, who hesitates before beginning, "Well, first, we'd never dealt with such a situation. We couldn't transport the person who was in the primary timeline because of her medical condition," I shift in my chair, feeling strange that I'm being referred to in the third person. "However, we had no choice but to let events unfold as they had in the original, primary timeline. Then the goal was to keep to a minimum the number of variables that would occur when the secondary timeline was created to transport you at some point before you were…injured."

Seeming to carefully gather her thoughts, Terese hesitates before continuing. "We had researchers determine that your not being shot and hospitalized, and Jeremy and Russ not being injured, would cause no significant variables for the secondary timeline when it merged back into the main timeline."

"Then the question was when to intervene in the past and create this secondary timeline from which you _could _be transported in a _healthy condition_ to 1871 France. Several factors had to be considered in determining this. First we had to create the secondary timeline at a point in time that would have little or no ripple effect, that is, when your disappearance would have no significant effect to change the course of events as they occurred in the primary timeline."

Terese continues in a matter-of-fact tone, "You see, the secondary timeline is like a temporary detour in time. That timeline paralleled the main timeline for only a brief period and was different from the main timeline in only a few ways: you were not shot, and Jeremy and Russ were not injured. Everything else unfolded as before, with the trial, and all other events, continuing exactly as they did in the main timeline. We determined that removing you immediately after Christine's testimony, but just prior to your getting on the elevator would create no additional impact on the trial from how it unfolded the first time. That would be the perfect time to create the secondary timeline. However, we had to intercede at just that moment when you, Erik and the bodyguards were alone after court—with no other witnesses present—but before you got to the elevator. We had to hit the timing of that exactly…send Marek in at the right moment, and fortunately we were able to do that."

"You see, the closer in time that we travel, the easier to estimate when we arrive. The farther away in time, the greater the variability in calculating when we will arrive," Marek explains. "So, because I was going back only a couple weeks to intercept the assassin, we were able to calibrate my arrival to within a few minutes!"

"But why not just prevent the shooting," I ask, "capture the assassin and let events unfold as if it never happened?"

"Because, unfortunately, it did happen. You see, WE exist in this timeline, and in this timeline, you WERE shot, and you ARE dying. That cannot be changed. When we went back to the past and prevented that, we created only a temporary timeline. If we just let you continue to live in that timeline that would _not_ solve _our_ problem, in _this, the main timeline. _Here, you would still be dying, you wouldn't be able to join Erik in France, and, as I'm sure Marek has explained, that would mean that all the Program's hopes and plans for Erik would be destroyed! We had to effect a change in THIS timeline."

I sigh with dawning understanding, "So, that's why you told me I couldn't leave the courtroom and live in that timeline!"

"That's right." Terese replies gently.

Turning again to Marek, I try to clarify this point, "But, you said something about a paradox also possibly occurring if I remained in that timeline!"

Marek nods but again Terese answers. "Yes, Laura, that would have occurred! You see, the temporary timeline melded back into the main timeline at the end of the trial when Erik left for France. The problem then would be _two_ Laura's—one who was very healthy and one who was dying, or had already died in the hospital. A conundrum that The Program would've been hard pressed to explain!"

"And that's why you prevented me from continuing in that secondary timeline and created the story that I'd been kidnapped?"

"Yes, that would keep you out of the trial in the secondary timeline, just as you were absent from the trial in the main timeline, and all other things would continue as they had, not creating any other ripple effects."

"You made certain that Jeremy and Russ not being injured also didn't create a ripple effect?"

"Correct," Terese smiles and nods her head.

"There is one thing I think also needs t' be clarified…" Marek interrupts for the first time, rubbing his chin.

"Yes?" I'm trying to digest all this information and wonder what's coming next.

"Unlike Grace and Horatio and the others, you canna return t' the present. Do you understand tha', Laura?" Marek pauses to let that last sentence settle into my mind.

I swallow and nod my head. I had indeed assumed that was the case. I sigh deeply as the inevitability of my fate fully descends on me.

Just then in the adjacent laboratory, I see the reception arena in the center blazing with brilliant blue lights and sparks. Terese jumps up from her seat. "Yes…right on time!"

When the lights return to normal the door opens and a man, dressed in black from head to foot, and a woman, dressed in a white Armani suit identical to mine, emerge. The woman's hair is the same color as mine and arranged in the same style. I give Marek and Terese a questioning stare.

"Yes," Marek nods, "they're part o' the plan...decoys. At the same time I transported in t' the court house, so did they, only they went in t' the ladies' room, waitin' t' hear Jeremy tell the other SEALs about the intruder. As soon as they heard tha' message, _our_ man in black carried _our duplicate_ Ms Counselor out the window o' the ladies' room, across the ledge and down the fire escape t' the service parking area, and put her in a waiting van. We made sure our men knew about this and dinna shoot them, but also made sure other court personnel and guards were in position t' witness their exit."

"Why on earth stage a fake kidnapping?" I ask, bewildered at the complexity of the plan.

"Well, Erik came up with that idea!" Terese smiles.

"What?" I'm surprised at this news. "Erik was involved with the planning?"

"He most certainly was!" Terese smirks. "I flew to Seattle on the Tuesday after the shooting and was there for three days, discussing daily with Erik the time line conundrums we were dealing with. I explained to him the quantum physics behind the time travel technology, and how the system works. We did that partly to gain his help…after all he is a genius…but also, to make clear to him that we had real problems coming up with a workable plan. It was Erik who proposed the proper time to create the secondary timeline, so that there would be the fewest time anomalies created. When it came to figuring out how you were to disappear from the secondary time line, he was particularly helpful!"

"But why did you have to stage a kidnapping that was witnessed?" I'm trying to follow this elaborate set-up.

"Actually, having the fake kidnapping was Erik's proposal. He said that whenever a magician makes something disappear, first you have to show it to the audience!!" Terese shakes her head and laughs.

"You see, Laura, tha' meant there were people around t' see the kidnappin' who would later tell the news media all abo't it," Marek continues the explanation. "Erik had been studyin' our modern culture, and he noticed tha' the news media just interviews witnesses, then reports endlessly on whatever someone says they observed. He said we could be certain tha' the news reporters would never do any serious questionin' or investigation. Erik also commented tha' if a few witnesses saw it happen, then it would be believed, and the news reporters would just begin speculatin' about whether you would ever be seen again. Eventually, when you were never found, they'd report tha' you must have been killed, which would account fully for your disappearance in the secondary timeline. He even pointed out tha' it would be totally believed because Grace had so recently been kidnapped."

I am not surprised by Erik's dead-on analysis of the news media of our era. "I can even imagine their never-ending speculation on talk shows about sightings of me somewhere or the other!" I add with a bitter grin.

"Erik's caper o' climbing out tha' window in the conference room and going explorin' tha' day, meant tha' he knew there were ledges outside the windows tha' people could walk on t' get t' the fire escape stairwell. So, he proposed tha' as the means o' escape for the fake kidnapper and fake Ms Counselor. But, we dinna want the doubles t' be caught, so they drove t' a location two miles away, abandoned the van and were time-transported back here."

Marek watches the couple walk past the window and chuckles. "Tha' did create a few other _challenges_."

My eyes follow the couple as they exit out a door on the far end of the lab. "You didn't leave anything to chance, did you?"

"No, no' really," Marek chuckled.

Then the phone rings on Terese's desk, and she excuses the interruption as she answers it. Her expression is one of amazement as the conversation unfolds, and I hear her ask, "And just exactly WHEN did that occur?" She nods her head, looking up at the clock on the wall of her office. When she hangs up the phone, she looks at me and pauses, trying to find the right words. "That was a call from Admiral Brook's assistant. The Laura that was shot…has just died in the hospital. In fact, it happened at the same minute that you arrived here, in this time period."

My heart clenches in pain and grief at this news, and I can't speak for a few minutes. Then I need to know. "So, Terese, are you implying that my arrival here from the past is in some way connected to…or even prompted…my passing in this time line?"

"That appears to be exactly what happened. Actually, that's what I hypothesized would occur," Terese pauses, gives Marek a pointed look, and adds, "Laura, there are a few other things you should know."

Marek nods his head and looks at me sheepishly. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what they're going to tell me next.

"Laura," Terese continues, "You see, time travel isn't actually to a different time…it's to a different place…a different dimension. When the machine "moves" a person from one dimension to another, well, a copy is made of the person. You see, the process destroys a person in the one dimension, which we call a timeline, and recreates that person in the other dimension…the other timeline. The two are identical, but they are not the same. However, the two look the same, act the same, and remember the same things," Terese stops to let this information sink in.

With my nod of understanding, Terese continues. "But, that raises a question we hadn't been able to answer before. Why, if we're only destroying and recreating a physical body, does the person always feel that same way, think, act, and remember in the same way as before? Those are functions of personality, not physical attributes. If we're only dealing with the physical in the time transit process, why do we always transmit the entire person…even things that aren't physical?"

"Well, for a long time, I've felt that we move the physical body, but that the soul—that which is the real psyche and persona—follows along and goes with the body. That was the problem we had regarding your situation. If I was correct in my hypothesis, then when we went back and stopped you from being shot in the past, there was not yet a paradox…there was still only one Laura in that timeline. Here in the present, there was no paradox…there was only one Laura in the hospital. But, when we brought you from the secondary timeline to the present, suddenly, we have two Lauras. If I was correct in my theory about the soul, then when you arrived here, would that create a conundrum for your soul? Could it occupy only one body, one Laura at a time? And if so, would the soul decide…have the ability to choose which body to occupy, or would the soul be limited to the Laura that was already here?"

"In fact, it was because o' this problem tha' only I could go back t' warn you," Marek interrupts Terese unexpectedly. "After all, I was still in 14th century France on the day you were shot. So, my goin' t' the day o' your shootin' dinna create a duplicate Marek. Findin' the two who could go back and act as the decoys, pretendin' t' be the kidnapper and Ms Counselor, was a bit o' a problem. Luckily, there was a woman on the team tha' had gone back t' France t' purchase the estate tha' Erik and the Team are livin' on. I made a trip back t' 1871 France and got her and the tallest man on the team. Over the last week we have had her fitted in a custom-made Armani suit, just like yours, and a wig t' match your appearance as closely as possible. They had t' be taught a bit o' theatrics—how t' act out the kidnappin'. Tha' has been a bit o' a challenge considerin' they're both engineers!"

What I'm learning leaves me increasingly dumbfounded and the picture is very disturbing. Looking at Marek, I ask incredulously, "So, you didn't know when you brought me from the courtroom to the transport lab, what would happen to me?"

"No, we dinna," avoiding my gaze.

I turn to Terese, and trying to control the shaking which begins to spread throughout my body, I pursue my point, "Your theory was that the soul could be in only one of the two physical bodies, and you didn't know which body it would occupy, or whether it had a choice…is that what you are saying?"

"That's right, Laura. And, the fact that the Laura in the hospital died at exactly the same time you arrived proves my hypothesis. When we transport the physical body, the soul goes with it, and that's what maintains the individual's true persona and personality. The fact that the Laura in the hospital died when you arrived, seems to prove that the soul occupies the body, and it couldn't occupy two bodies in the same timeline."

My anger is rising, reflecting in my voice, "But, when you brought me here just now, you did not know WHICH body the soul would occupy…if it would remain in the Laura of the primary timeline, or switch to mine…coming in from the past…is that correct?"

"That's what I'm saying…"

This sends yet another shock wave through me. "So, you didn't know if I would survive the time travel from the courtroom to the present?"

"No, frankly, we didn't know…" Terese replies softly.

"I could have died upon arrival just now?" I ask indignantly, no longer able to contain my shaking.

"Yes, I'm afraid, that's true."

Spinning back toward Marek, I confront him, "Marek, you neglected to tell me that, didn't you?" anger edges my voice.

"Laura, I'm sorry. I had no choice…" As I stare accusingly at him, his regret is written in the furrow of his brows.

Then something Terese said comes back to me, and I quickly turn and demand, "You said you explained the time travel process to Erik…did you explain your hypothesis? Did he know about this?"

"Yes, he knew this….but, it was the only way…we had no other option."

Stunned to my very core, my voice quavers when I ask, "So, Marek, that's why Erik and the Team in France don't know if I will be coming. This was always uncertain…a huge gamble…wasn't it?"

"Yes, Laura, now you have the picture," Marek says apologetically.

"So, I _could have died_ just now…" The full realization of what they have done hits me, and I feel a cold numbness descend throughout my body.

"But, you didn't," Terese says excitedly. "Do you realize we have broken completely new ground here?! This is evidence that although we can transport the body, it's the soul inhabiting it that creates the person. So, now we have the first proof of that. Indeed, we have evidence that your soul, which exists outside of time, had free will to choose which Laura it would inhabit…and it chose the one that was healthy."

Trying to fathom these conundrums of time, it occurs to me that my parents are there, in the hospital, where my other "self" has just died. I look up at Marek and ask, "Do my parents know what Erik has done? What the Program has been trying to accomplish?"

With deep compassion in his voice, Marek answers, "Yes, Laura, they've known since the very first day. We needed their cooperation t' keep you alive 'til we could find a way t' send you t' the past,"

"My parents are in this timeline, and so am I…and they know what is trying to be accomplished. I want to place a call to them and say good-bye!"

Marek looks over at Terese who nods her head in agreement. Then Therese hands her desk phone to me, and I quickly dial my father's cell phone. It rings and rings and rings. There's no answer. Sadly, I realize that all I can do is leave a message.

"Dad, Mom...I'm going to be alright…I love you! I have been so blessed that you are my parents! Don't worry," My voice breaks with emotion and tears run down my cheeks. "I'll be with Erik…and you will always be in my heart." I place the phone back, wipe my tears, and hope that my message will help them somehow….

Just then a lab technician comes into the room and announces, "We're ready for you now, Ms Counselor." I hear those words with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

Turning to Terese, I tactfully say, "I appreciate your efforts, but it will take some time for me to adjust to what I have learned and have just been through."

"Laura, I understand…I know this has all been a shock to you. But, it's been an honor for me to try to find a resolution to this situation." Terese extends her hand, and I hesitate for a moment, then take it, but cannot manage a smile.

Walking slowly to the transport arena, I am aware of leaving my life as I know it, forever. Even though this room is cold and stark, filled only with machines and monitors, at least these are familiar, and I know I'll never see anything like them again.

Marek follows me, but before walking up the steps to the transport arena, I turn to him with my final words. "I know this has been difficult for everyone, Marek. I do thank you for everything you have done for me...and for Erik."

"I hope you still feel tha' way a year from now, Laura!" Marek says with a final attempt at humor to take the edge off the tension between us. "But I truly can understand what motivated Erik. I've been in those shoes myself. He was determined t' make his own history!" I nod my head, remembering that famous epithet from Marek's own clash of wills with a history that was supposed to be unchangeable.

"So, Marek, here I am. Alive and well, going back to 1871 France and not able to use the very degree, training and profession I have devoted my life to. I'll have to find a new life and path!"

"Ach, but knowin' you, Laura, you'll continue t' fight for justice and find ways t' help where it's most needed. I suspect you'll make your own history, too!"

"It won't be easy, being a woman in a feminine-challenged culture!" I smile wanly.

"As a matter o' fact, it most certainly will no' be easy. But, I suspect tha' will no' slow you down one bit! In fact, I think Erik will be kept quite busy gettin' you out o' trouble."

"Don't you mean 'keeping' me out of trouble?"

"No, Laura, I do no' think anyone will be able t' stop you from doin' what you believe in. You'll always be breakin' new ground wherever you go, and I suspect Erik will be kept very busy dealin' with the consequences o' your actions! I do no' know if he realizes it yet, but he has a tiger by the tail!" Marek finishes with a chuckle, and I manage a wry grin in response.

"Marek, where do you go from here? Do you get to return home to Claire now?"

"I won't be returning for a few more days. It's been a couple weeks now that I have been here helping train the team tha' accompanied Erik and also dealing with this no' so little 'glitch.' I'm anxious t' go home myself!"

"Will I ever see you again?"

"You never know. . . .The Program brings me back for special projects when I'm needed." then he pauses, rubs his chin again, gets a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and adds, "And, knowin' Erik. . . and you. . . I may just be needed!" Marek laughs, but the best I can manage is a smile. Then Marek wraps me in another bear hug.

All that remains for me is to walk up the steps and enter the chamber.

Standing where I'm directed by a faceless voice over the loudspeaker, I await the orders for the transport sequence. My final thought is of Erik. I'm still in shock from the enormity of what Erik has done and what he has risked. A question now comes to my mind, one which Marek couldn't answer…did Erik do this because he loves me, or because he's repaying a debt for my saving his life?

Then I hear the orders for me to freeze as I had done before and brace myself for that strange pressure which comes very quickly. Existence once again melts into suspended eternity full of bizarre combinations of blazing, streaking lights and blackness.

_Erik:_

I am pacing, assessing what exact second will be the right one to run into the forest. Will Horatio and Russ wait until exactly 2 o'clock to spur their horses in pursuit? Or will they begin to track me down a minute before? When should I begin my race into the woods? How close will they allow me to get to the forest before coming after me? How long will it take for me to climb into the branches of a tree to position myself? Can they take aim with their rifles and hit me before I can reach the cover of the thick branches and leaves?

Calculating all these possibilities, suddenly I hear a hissing noise across the field, and turn toward the electrical sparks as they flash and spew out. I cannot believe what I am seeing…a shimmering fog appears, and the brilliant blue light begins to coalesce. It is the machine that is transporting Laura. I stand frozen, watching the increasingly bright flashes of light until one final luminescent flare announces that she has entered fully into this reality. I am transfixed as Laura's form slowly emerges from the pod-like device, which quickly disappears into infinity, abandoning her at the far edge of the field.

_Laura:_

This time when the light begins to coalesce and flash, and the purple light surrounds me, I feel my feet on solid ground as cold air hits my skin, startling me. I open my eyes and unexpectedly find myself in a clearing. Directly ahead, circling around to my left is a forest of silvery leafless trees, dressed in the frozen mist of winter. Small lavender shrubs cover the ground still giving off their sweet scent despite the chill.

Still disoriented and disbelieving, I don't move while struggling to get my bearings. This is a forest glade, which could be anywhere and anytime, even in the year 2005. How can I know this is 1871? Then I hear a voice behind me.

_"LAURA!"_

I swivel around, toward the deep voice. There he is. Erik, so achingly familiar in his black cloak that's caught in the wind, flying around him as he runs toward me across a large, open field.

_"LAURA!" _His resonant, almost desperate voice, calls out… _"YOU HAVE COME BACK TO ME!" _

Both the sight of Erik and the possibility that I'm actually in 1871 overwhelm me so that my legs can't move, and I'm only able to stand and watch, as if paralyzed. Behind Erik, at the far side of the field is a dirt road. My eyes quickly scan the landscape and detect no power lines or telephone poles. All I see is a large enclosed carriage pulled by four horses. Two men on horseback reign in their horses near the carriage, and two men stand near them. They're too far away to recognize, but there's no longer any doubt in my mind. It's true….I really am back there.

_Erik:_

My legs begin pumping under me, trying to eliminate any space between us, as if fearing that she may disappear back into the ethers. My voice calls out to her. When she turns around and sees me, her face becomes luminescent, like a light beaming through the darkness of my existence and banishing my fears back to the shadows. Then I reach her and crush her to me in a desperate embrace, trying to meld our bodies into one, kissing her as I have wanted to, have imagined, have hoped, for too many sleepless nights.

_Laura:_

Amazingly Erik is now in front of me, panting heavily, his face flushed from running. I have no opportunity to collect my thoughts, since Erik doesn't hesitate. His strong arms wrap around me, as he grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him with such force that my breath is expelled from my lungs, and his warm lips press to mine in an all-consuming kiss.

When we part, his beloved face—half masked, half exposed—is only inches from mine as he holds me tightly against him. His intense, darkening eyes of sea green stare into mine, as if also disbelieving that I am here, that I am real. The sallow color of his gaunt face and the deep lines of concern etched across it cause my heart to plunge as I begin to perceive there the agonies he's been through. As I look back into his endless gaze, I lose myself to it. Then I feel a dizziness as the world seems to swirl around. My knees begin to weaken and give way underneath me….

_Erik:_

Leaning back from our kiss, I search her face, examining her to assure myself that she is real and not an apparition. I study her beautiful features, reveling especially in her eyes that are filled with vibrant, sparkling life and glowing with unbounded love. I glory in the caress of her warm, moist breath on my cheek, and the yielding response of her body to mine. We have been gazing into each other's eyes for only moments when I feel her knees give way and begin to collapse. I sweep my hand under her legs and lift her into my arms, suddenly fearful that something might be amiss. Was she harmed in some manner by the time travel?

"Laura, what is it?" My mouth goes dry with panic as I turn my back to the group of men at the edge of the field, seeking some privacy, "How do you fare?"

She looks up at me, trying to focus and confirm where she is, what is happening. Her soft brown eyes comfort me even before she speaks, "Erik, I am alright…now. Just hold me."

_Jeremy's POV:_

Seeing Laura standing there...alive...is like nothing I have ever experienced. Erik seems to fly across the field toward her, his long legs covering the distance rapidly. Ever since I was informed of the possibility that Laura may be brought back to this time period and that the scientists were working on this problem and trying to find a way…I have known that Erik was behind this. That this was the cause of those hellacious arguments with Marek.

Anxiously I glance at Matt who stands beside me, staring across the distance at Laura, his face a strange mixture of relief and desolation. I'm at a loss and realize there is nothing I can say to Matt. Erik and Laura's kiss finally ends, and they seem to be staring into each other's eyes. Then Laura sways on her feet and seems to collapse.

Suddenly Matt bolts forward, headed for Laura.

"No, Matt!" Horatio calls from astride his horse. "Don't interfere right now."

But Matt ignores Horatio's command and continues in Laura's direction, driven with fear for her life.

Horatio turns his horse into Matt's path, attempting to block him. But as Matt maneuvers around the horse, I rush up behind him and grab him by the shoulder. "Matt, wait until he brings her!" I urge. "You don't want to get between Erik and Laura right now." Under my grasp, Matt halts, his body tense.

My hand still on his shoulder, I turn back to observe the scene unfolding in the field. Erik doesn't call out for help, but lovingly gathers Laura's body in his arms. With his head tilted down as if he's gazing into her face, Erik pivots away from us until we see only the back of his cape, blowing wildly in the wind.

That's when I hear Horatio's order quietly directed at Russ, "It's alright. You can stand down now."

Startled, I whirl and look up at Horatio's stony face, and then over at Russ whose expression is cold and grim.

"Horatio! What did you mean by that?" I insist.

He does not answer me.

"What order is Russ standing down from?" My voice has a demanding edge. "What was going to happen if Laura didn't come back?"

Unwavering, Horatio returns my gaze, and I struggle to comprehend the nature of this order from a man whom I hold in highest regard...whose judgment I respect…whose leadership I've followed implicitly for years.

I press the question, "What was going to happen to Erik, Horatio?"

He shakes his head and shifts his gaze out over the field. Suddenly it dawns on me that Erik wasn't to escape from this field, to survive, if Laura didn't come back. My stomach clenches as waves of conflicting thoughts and feelings sweep through me.

I turn back to Matt, who's still staring at Erik and Laura unable to tear his eyes away from them, oblivious to the scene that's playing out beside him. In all the years I've known Matt, I've never seen him so torn. and say to him so that only he can hear, "Matt…you have to let her go…you have to let Erik take care of Laura now."

My eyes are drawn back to Erik who continues to stand motionless in the middle of the field, cradling Laura. Finally, he turns and walks slowly toward us with Laura's white form draped in his arms, the wind billowing his cloak, wing-like above him, looking fully the angel in black.

_Erik:_

In a state of amazement, energy pulsing through me, I feel as if suspended, moving slowly through a waking dream. I walk toward the carriage, aware of everything and everyone around me, caused by the overwhelming realization that I am alive…and that Laura is in my arms.

The four men stand by the carriage, watching us. Horatio and Russ are on their horses, but they are not moving. Nor are they racing toward me with rifles aimed, which is what only minutes ago, every nerve, every muscle in my body had been anticipating, in readiness to counter. I had lost hope that Laura would come, certain that she had died or that Marek's attempt to send her had failed. I was preparing myself to carry out what was necessary to survive…to defend myself from those two men on horseback. I thought it had come to an inevitable, unavoidable impasse, with the only outcome being death…most likely mine.

For the first time I breathe a sigh of relief with the knowledge that what seemed inescapable moments ago had been rewritten by the hand of fate. Laura is safely here, and I hope I can again trust these men…and they can trust me to carry out my part of the bargain. I owe a debt to Marek for giving Laura back her life…and sending her to me. And, I will repay it.

I pull her tighter against me and close my eyes, breathing in the smell of her hair, caressing her forehead with my lips. I feel her hand reaching up and her fingers entwining through the hair at the nape of my neck…then her mouth…tracing along my throat, pressing small kisses as she had done when we were on the island. A shiver flows through me of utter ecstasy. Our lips meet for another deep, lingering kiss, then her head rests back on my shoulder

As I carry Laura slowly across the field, the world appears vivid in stark color and contrast as I feel every sensation from the chill coldness on my face to the warm, solid roundness of Laura's body in my arms. Perhaps an acute awareness is triggered in a person's mind and soul when preparing to meet death.

Now, as we cross the field, I look down into Laura's upturned, rapturous face. Although I know I am walking, it feels as if I am floating, trying to comprehend this miracle in my arms. "Laura…I have so longed to tell you…" She looks up at me, and I breathe the words that can no longer be held inside... _"I love you."_ And, as I gaze into her beautiful, cherished eyes, their depths well with tears.

* * *

**_A time for us, some day there'll be _****_  
_****_When chains are torn by courage born of a love that's free _****_  
_****_A time when dreams so long denied can flourish _****_  
_****_As we unveil the love we now must hide _******

**_A time for us, at last to see _****_  
_****_A life worthwhile for you and me _******

**_And with our love, through tears and thorns _****_  
_****_We will endure as we pass surely through every storm _****_  
_****_A time for us, some day there'll be a new world _****_  
_****_A world of shining hope for you and me++_**

**End of PART ONE of THE EPIC CASE OF THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA-**

**PART TWO OF THE EPIC CASE WILL CONTINUE WITH CHAPTER 43, RIGHT HERE…**

**THE ADVENTURES OF ERIK AND LAURA ARE JUST BEGINNING!!!**

_

* * *

__++Music by Nino Rota, Larry Kusik and Eddie Snyder, for the Franco Zefferelli movie, Romeo and Juliet, nominated in 1968 for Best Picture Oscar; hit song sung by Johnny Mathis. Suggested listening, Josh Groban's new cd, AWAKE, has this song performed in Italian with beautiful instrumentation._


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Well, after a short hiatus, The Epic Case continues and will post regularly again! Thank you to each of you who posted such wonderful, thoughtful, and heartfelt reviews!! We writers not only appreciate your reviewing, but need your feedback to improve our writing!**

**Well…Laura has arrived in 1871 and is with Erik. Her new life is beginning, and Erik, as ever, has **_**his**_** plans. Laura will be experiencing a society and life style that we can barely imagine. Each step of the way we will be experiencing it with her…**

**This chapter is dedicated to Eurocentric who has not only provided invaluable medical information for our story, but she is a U.S. medical doctor, stationed in Germany. In this chapter, we will learn about the contributions that women doctors made to the advancement of the health of women…**

**The Epic Case now takes a turn to romance and the humor of life's unexpected challenges!! Enjoy!!**

* * *

**Chapter 43 AN UNKNOWN COUNTRY, HOME, Pt 2, Phanfan & Phanna+ **

_Friday, December 15, 1871  
Near Paris, France _

_Laura's POV:_

KA-THUMP! My eyes shoot open as my teeth rattle, and my body absorbs a bone-jarring jolt. Everything around me is hazy and confused, so I cuddle into the warmth that enfolds me and close my eyes.

KA-WHUMP! Another jerk propels me sideways, but strong arms that tighten around my waist prevent me from spilling off a cushioned seat.

Forcing my eyes open and blinking down at the two black gloves that clasp me to a black-cloaked figure, I shake my head and try to clear my befogged vision, struggling to see, to determine where I am.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing seems familiar. I inspect the small space that seems to be closing in on me. The air in this bumping conveyance makes my stomach queasy from the smell of ancient, smoke-drenched wood. Across from me is a bench-like seat, the twin of the one I'm stretched out on. Both seats have cushions covered in deep green velveteen, and curtains of the same material hang from several small windows.

Although still daylight, the speck of sky I can see through the small area of uncovered window is iron grey and overcast. Small oil lanterns with beaded trim cast dim light into the murkiness of the compartment. The glass in the lanterns is charred with smoke…just like my grandmother once described.

The wind whistles, intruding through the cracks around the door and windows. A chilling gust hits me unmercifully, and I shiver, but welcome the smell of fresh air. Suddenly a black cloak of heavy, soft wool is spread over my body. I find myself awash within voluminous folds of material and a familiar masculine scent, as my face is pressed gently against the brocade of a black waistcoat and cravat, and the warmth of a body.

Heaving a deep sigh, I try to get my bearings. This appears to be the interior of a carriage…and that must mean….

_Oh my God! _I struggle to sit up, but the two black clad arms hold me firmly in place.

"Laura…you have awakened?" A voice whispers into my ear, deep and melodious.

"Um huh, I think so," I'm beginning to come into full consciousness, "unless I'm dreaming?"

"You are not dreaming, Laura," Erik's soothing voice continues. "How do you feel?"

"My head is a little dizzy, but I'm not hurting anywhere," then pausing and looking around the compartment in disbelief, "Is this a carriage we're riding in?"

"Yes," His warm lips press a kiss to my temple, and my body relaxes into his embrace. So many questions begin to flood into my mind. I am caught between the pleasing sensations of being so close to Erik and my confusion about what is happening…what _will_ happen.

"Are carriages always so…jarring?"

I feel his lips separate into a smile, "Well, yes, they can be, especially when driven at such rapid speed as this one is today."

"So, since this is a carriage…this must be 1871…France?"

"Indeed, you are truly here," he murmurs against my hair, then asks with concern, "Does that distress you?"

"Distress? No, Erik, not with you here," I burrow closer to the comfort of his body, "but I am disoriented!"

"That is to be expected," he kisses my forehead this time. "You have been through many trials today and had no preparation for what was to occur."

As his words sink in, I nod my head, but remain silent and try to remember all that has happened on this unprecedented day. I got up this morning…at least I think it could be considered this morning...even though it _was_ a hundred thirty four years in the _future._ I drank a cup of coffee and ate a piece of toast in my kitchen with Matt. Then, I went to court, as I do every week day. Since it was Friday, I met with Erik first in the private conference room and watched as he presented Zoe with his gift of a music composition in a portfolio. Then we went into the courtroom, and I took Christine's testimony. Thinking back on what Christine said causes me to shiver again. Hearing what had passed between Erik and her—things Erik hadn't told me about—had been unnerving.

At lunch I needed to prepare an emergency motion, so I had no time to eat, but instead worked in the law library. That wasn't unusual, but the visit by Christine was. She wanted to know about Erik…about my relationship with him. And, I learned that she perceived him in a new light and was thinking about renewing their relationship.

During my brief meeting with Erik before court resumed after the lunch break, he acted strangely. I had a premonition that something was going to happen and felt an urgency to tell him once again that I love him. He held me and smiled, but he didn't say he felt the same.

Christine's testimony didn't go well for the prosecution, but neither did it have the traumatic effect on Erik that I had feared. As we left the courtroom, Erik asked me to arrive several hours earlier than normal on Saturday for our weekly consultation. That was when Marek appeared out of thin air and motioned us back into the court room.

From that point on, time seemed to lose all meaning. Marek said he came from a future where I was dying...that I could not live out my natural lifetime in that future, and neither would I be allowed to continue living in the alternate timeline he'd created by coming back to warn me. The only option The Program gave me was to follow Erik into the past. I remember looking out the window of the courthouse, so many thoughts, so many doubts flooding my mind. But, I followed the instructions to enter the time travel pod and left behind the life I had known.

When we arrived in the transport laboratory, Terese and Marek explained the time conundrums to me, and that I could have died during that first time leap! At the recollection of this, my stomach twists again. Despite my deep misgivings, I gathered my courage and entered the pod a second time, having to trust Marek and the time travel procedure.

I remember arriving in a cold, wintery field...Erik running toward me, then engulfing me in his safe and secure arms. I remember our kiss and the world spinning around, and my knees giving way. I remember Erik carrying me in his arms and walking across the field, his boots crunching the frost-frozen ground. And I remember his words…the words he spoke before I passed out.

For the first time I raise my head from Erik's enfolding embrace and look up into his face. I remember how stunned I was when I first saw the changes etched there. His complexion is pale and dark circles around his eyes give them a haunted look. He has lost so much weight that his exposed cheekbone has become more sharp, more pronounced. But his eyes haven't changed. If anything they're deeper, a richer emerald green as they exude intense joy and relief.

His gloved hand grazes my cheek and follows my face down to my chin, tilting it upward until our lips touch and his mouth covers mine. He presses his tongue against my lips and enters with an urgency that we both feel. As our kiss deepens, we cling tightly to one another, aware of the sensations of holding each other…as if desperate never to be parted again, consumed with our mutual desire. Eventually, Erik settles back and gently guides my head to his chest. I listen to his uneven breathing while he regains his composure. With my ear pressed to his heart, feeling it hammer, I recall his words.

"Erik…" Hesitating and fearful that I might be wrong or had imagined it, "Tell me...what was it I heard you say, as you carried me across the field...?"

"Darling," he kisses the tip of my nose as I glance up into his face, "I said _'I love you.'_" His eyebrow furrows as he studies my face. Then in a pained voice, he adds, "and when I thought I had lost you—that was a reality, a future, I could in no manner accept…"

"How long has it been, Erik?"

"How long?"

"How many days since…I was shot?"

He answers without hesitation as if each day has been etched in his soul. "Twelve days until we returned to my time. And, we have been here for fifteen days…" As he presses a kiss to my hair, I feel his arms tighten protectively around me.

"About four weeks, then…"

"The four longest weeks of my life."

"I can tell."

"Hmmm…What do you mean?" he looks at me quizzically.

"You haven't been eating or sleeping enough." I chide him gently and kiss his chin.

"Indeed? You can tell?"

"Um huh," Looking mischievously up into his beloved, but plainly beleaguered face, "I most certainly can. You look like death warmed over!"

"Death warmed over?" he frowns in protest, "That sounds horrendous! What an image that creates in one's mind!"

Placing my fingers on his frowning lips, I reassure him, "It's just a saying," then, smiling, "It means you have worried too much, slept far too little and clearly haven't been eating properly!"

"It is that obvious?"

"Yes," I move my hand to his cheek and caress it, "it is that obvious!"

"Well, then, you must make it your duty to take care of me…" his lips form his knowing smirk.

He drowns my laughter with a round of impassioned kissing, but that's soon interrupted. The carriage slows, and jerks sideways as it turns into a lane. Erik groans as he peers out the small window. "We are here already…at the gamekeeper's cottage." He reluctantly sits me upright on the seat and adds with a twinkle in his eyes, "I do hope you like it, Laura. Everything has been made ready for you. And Grace is waiting inside to help you change into your new clothing before we continue on to the chateau."

I pull the curtains aside for a look at the cottage. It's small but sturdy, constructed of huge, uncut stone. One large window looks out at an ancient oak tree whose spreading branches dwarf the house and stretch out over a small stream on its opposite side. The tile roof is steep with two gables, probably to allow in light since the house appears to be only one story tall. The shutters are freshly painted a deep blue and smoke rises invitingly from the chimney. A fire is already warming the cottage's interior to welcome me.

The carriage lurches to a halt, and I'm thankful that the swaying and clatter have stopped. Erik sighs in disappointment and releases me from the circle of his arms. I swing my legs around to get up, and my feet have barely touched the floor when the carriage door is flung open. Standing in the doorway are Matt and Jeremy, both with looks of worry that immediately turn to surprise when they see me stand and smile at them.

Matt offers his hand to help me down the carriage steps. This gesture is my first taste of 19th century culture—a lady being assisted out of a carriage. Although I really am fully capable of descending from the carriage on my own, I don't want to hurt Matt's feelings. So, without protest, I take his hand and bite my tongue. However, I make a mental note to tactfully tell all the men from my century that I can get in and out of a carriage on my own volition.

When I'm on firm ground, I breathe a sigh of relief to be out of that rocking, teeth-rattling contraption. Suddenly, my beautiful, black Corvette flashes through my mind. I can't quite believe yet that I'm totally cut off from that lifetime. It still seems like I might wake from this dream and be back in my home…in my life. The sense of unreality still permeates each new sight and sound.

"Matt! Jeremy! It's so good to see you!" exclaiming sincerely.

"Laura! You're a sight for sore eyes." As I reach to take Jeremy's hand, he grabs and hugs me instead! At first I'm taken aback, but then I realize that both he and Matt have been through a lot these last four weeks. Weeks of turmoil, no doubt, watching me dying in a hospital. "You better never do such a thing again! Erik has been absolutely unbearable to be around. You have to restrain your heroic compulsions in the future," he says with a huge grin and wink.

When Jeremy lets me go, Matt pulls me into a bear hug, "Laura! You look wonderful!" He lingers for a moment before stepping back and looking at me, "Are you feeling alright now? Any residual dizziness? Hurting anywhere?" He assesses me with a smile on his mouth, but concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Matt, I'm fine! Truly! Don't worry about me. I'm just a bit dazed, trying to adjust to…all this," turning and waving my hand, indicating the carriage and cottage behind me. Erik has been standing behind me. The look on his face registers bluntly his displeasure. He's glowering at Jeremy and Matt. He hadn't anticipated their reception for me…particularly the hugs. Our behavior must have been too 21st century, not appropriate for 19th century decorum. I suddenly wonder how many spontaneous actions and habits we'll have to learn to curb.

Then I discern that Erik has focused a particularly sizzling stare on Matt. What does Erik know about Matt's feelings for me? Feelings I just realized last Tuesday when Matt insisted on driving me home in the rain and brought the tray to my room to apologize. Then the time conundrum hits me. For me, that was only three days ago. For everyone else it was a month ago, a month where so many things have happened. Things they will always remember. Things that will always remain in the corners of their souls and haunt them. A month that is not in my experience, my memory, or my feelings! I will have to find out everything that transpired during that critical time if I'm to successfully navigate these very disturbed waters.

Horatio's voice calls out, "Laura! Thank God you are fine!" I swing around and see that Horatio and Russ have stopped nearby on their horses.

"Hi, Horatio! I'm just trying to take it all in. I'll need everyone's help, you know." Smiling up at Horatio, I'm shocked to see the effect this last month has had on him. His face is haggard, etched with the weight of the heavy responsibility he'd been given. I remember Marek's words about Horatio's horrible duty.

"Good to see you here, Laura," Russ adds, his voice strained. The expression on Russ' face, framed by the grim set of his jaw, sends a shiver through my body as I fully comprehend what these men—all of whom I know so well and hold in high esteem—were prepared to do had I not arrived.

"Thank you, Russ! I'm so glad to be here!" I smile at all the men, trying to lift their spirits, wanting to move forward and heal the breach that has occurred, that hangs, unspoken in their tense bodies and frazzled nerves.

Suddenly I'm accosted from behind by feminine arms that reach around my waist and squeeze the breath out of me.

"Oh Laura! I'm so glad to see you." Phen's happy voice is a relief to hear.

When I pivot around to face her, Phen's arms continue to encircle me, as if not wanting to let me go…as if unable to believe that I'm actually here.

"Phen! Or, no…I was told you are using your real name now—Grace! How are you?" I laugh with the joy of seeing her.

"As well as can be expected…considering I'm 'only' a woman," she announces loudly, with a conspiratorial wink. "So, I'm very thankful you're now here. It feels like a female cavalry just arrived!"

"Really?" But I realize her words may contain a large portion of truth. She and I are both women of the 21st century and experienced lawyers with doctorate degrees. Who else in this century could we talk openly with, or even relate to? I quickly perceive that Grace and I may provide each other with no small amount of sanity...and reality checks! I finally muster a response, "It can't be all that bad, now, can it?"

"Well, Laura," Grace makes a small huffing noise, "you're about to find out for yourself. After you've changed into your new clothing, I'll ask you what you think then!" she looks at me pointedly.

Looking nervously around, I notice that all the men are listening to this conversation. Do they understand what Grace has implied? Is there any way they can relate? Or will Grace and I be an island unto ourselves?

But I decide to face the situation positively. "Erik told me I was to change into my proper clothing. I look forward to it!" I glance at Erik who has been standing silently nearby, soberly taking in everything that has been said. We're in his world now. How much do we stand out? How much will we have to change to adapt to his culture? A trace of disapproval in his eyes tells me that we have a lot to learn. Taking Grace by the arm, I smile and add, "Well, shall we get started?"

"Sure, everything is ready!"

She leads me to the front door, but the men remain where they are. When Grace opens the door and motions for me to enter, I stop and look over my shoulder. "Aren't you all coming in?"

"No, Laura, we will wait outside," Erik replies.

"But it's freezing out here! Please, come in and get warm by the fire while I dress!"

"We cannot, Laura," Erik says firmly, "the cottage has only one large room."

"One room?" I look at Grace who confirms this. "Well, Grace, isn't there a screen…a standing screen somewhere in the cottage?"

"Well, yes, there is one as a matter of fact.)"

"There! I can dress behind the screen, and you men can rest a bit and warm up in front of the fire!"

"But Laura…" Erik tries to muster an objection, "we can wait for you out here. There truly is little space in the cottage."

"Erik! I couldn't think of it! All of you standing outside, freezing." The men just stare at me. Then Erik acquiesces without making further argument. "Good! It's settled! Please come in, everyone."

"Laura, I need to return to the main house," Russ calls out, "My guard duty begins soon."

_Guard duty? They have guard duty? _I have so many questions!

As Horatio dismounts his horse and begins to tether the reins to a fence pole, Matt speaks up, "And, Laura, my apologies, but I think I'll take Horatio's horse and also go to the chateau. The cottage really is too small for all of us. Jeremy's experienced at driving the carriage and can take the four of you the rest of the way."

"Alright, if both of you insist. At least you'll be inside where it's warm! That's my main concern." I watch while Matt mounts Horatio's horse, waves goodbye and rides off with Russ. I have a feeling that indeed it might be a bit too close for comfort, for Matt _and_ Erik.

"Shall we all go in?" I enter the cottage and gasp at its small, but impeccably furnished interior.

The sitting and dining areas encircle a beautiful stone fireplace where an ambitious fire blazes in the hearth and throws out its heat. Directly in front of the fireplace stands a low-backed settee with ornate carved wood edging deep burgundy velvet upholstery. An elegant high-back, leather chair flanks the fireplace. To the right is a large oak secretary featuring a tall, glass fronted bookshelf filled with beautifully bound books. On the opposite side of the fireplace a large picture window overlooks the wide oak tree whose long, horizontal branches seem to defy gravity and spread over the stream. A plum-tinted velvet swag sweeps across the entire width of the window and heavy, voluminous drapes of the same exquisite material hang on each side, held back with thick gold cord and tassels. A carved oak dining table with two oak chairs fills the space in front of the window. The chair seats are softened with thick brocade cushions.

In the corner opposite the table is an old-fashioned hand pump with a brass handle that provides water from some underground well into a basin recessed in the long wooden kitchen work table. On the wall nearby hang two rows of finely carved shelves edged with Belgium lace on linen. An elegant assortment of dishes, cups, and cut crystal wine glasses line the shelves and next to that a wine rack brims with at least a dozen bottles of wine.

My eyes travel to the far corner of the room, which is dominated by a large four-poster bed. Its canopy is draped in lavish burgundy bed curtains. The ornately embroidered quilt, sloping gently over the curved feather mattress, is also velvet in shades of green, burgundy and purple. An assortment of plump pillows are piled luxuriously at the head of the bed. Nearby is an imposing armoire which reaches to the ceiling and no doubt contains my clothing. I admire the swirled grain of the wood and recognize it as being burled walnut in the style of the Louis Phillipe period. Stunned by the elegance of this cottage, I feel quite certain that Erik is responsible for this.

I hear the shuffling of feet following me into the house. When the door closes behind me, a hand settles gently on my waist. Erik stands closely behind me and whispers into my ear, "Do you like it, Laura?"

"Oh, Erik, yes, of course! This is beautiful," His emerald eyes sparkle with excitement as they meet mine. "You created this, didn't you?"

"Yes," he gives one of his self-satisfied smiles, "but it is for you. I wanted you to be comfortable as soon as you arrived. A proper place for you to change into your new clothing."

"You most certainly succeeded! This is more than comfortable…" I refrain from finishing my sentence…and _very, very Victorian_! Just then my stomach lets out an audible growl. "Oh, I'm sorry. I suspect my stomach is beginning to object to the lack of food!"

Grace looks over at the kitchen area and asks, "Isn't there something for Laura to eat…maybe some bread and cheese…?"

"No, I regret that there is no food here…" Erik responds defensively. "But I knew Laura would be here only briefly, and that we would be dining as soon as we arrived at the chateau."

"That's true, Laura. We'll be eating soon after we get there," Grace agrees, but then looks accusingly at Erik, "But, Laura _has _had a long and very eventful day. You could've at least had a little food here for her, considering all the other plans you made!"

Silently smoldering, Erik offers no further defense.

Then Grace concedes, "Well...actually, Laura, I think he overlooked this because he hasn't been eating much himself." She presses this point doggedly. "As you can see, he's become skin and bones worrying about you! I think food is the last thing on his mind. Maybe you can fix that!"

Jeremy diplomatically intercedes to distract attention from Erik. "How about some wine to give your stomach something to tide it over until the food arrives?" He saunters over to the wine rack on the wall and examines the bottles. Looking back at me, he asks, "Do you have any preferences, Laura?"

"Uh, no. Actually, I don't drink wine often, so you choose, Jeremy." I catch Erik out of the corner of my eye as he starts to speak, then as if thinking better of it, he says nothing.

Choosing a bottle with confidence, Jeremy proclaims, "This one is superb!" Then he takes five goblets from the shelf and places them on the small oak table in front of the window. As he opens the wine and pours, Erik grows increasingly nervous, and I wonder what's bothering him.

Jeremy hands each of us a glass, then happily proposes the toast. "To Laura! And to her life in France! May it be long and full of happiness!"

Everyone clinks their glasses, and I drink deeply. The wine feels good, soothing my dry throat and comforting my stomach. Jeremy is right. This wine is delicious, even better than the wine Erik and I were served the night of our celebration at the mansion where the chef fussed over us endlessly with his specialties. I soon realize this is the best tasting wine I've ever tasted and quickly drink it all, asking for a second glass.

Erik shifts uneasily next to me, "Laura, do you think you should have a second glass?"

"Yes, Erik, just this once. This is, after all, a very special occasion. And, this wine tastes very mild…quite mellow." I smile winningly. His eyebrow arches with doubt, but he makes no further objection. The second glassful tastes even better than the first, and it takes away some of my weariness. My cares seem to be receding, and I'm now able to enjoy the warmth of the cottage and fully appreciate the richness of the colors and fabrics in this splendid room. Even the prospect of changing into my "new" clothes is less disconcerting. _It can't really be all that bad…can it?_

"Ok, Grace, should we get started?"

"Yes, let's do it." I follow Grace over to the tall armoire beside the bed…that decidedly very big, very cushy bed. I sway just slightly as Grace opens the doors, displaying the array of clothing. Inside hangs a jumble of short skirts, long skirts, jackets…or are they blouses…and many white "thingees" with lots of lace folded neatly on several shelves.

"I don't have to wear all of that at one time, do I?" I ask with dawning perplexity.

"No," Grace laughs, "there are three different dresses, and a selection of underclothes. But, you'll have to wear more pieces of clothing than you thought you could get on your body at once!"

Turning around and noticing that Erik, Jeremy and Horatio are all standing in front of the fireplace staring at us, I realize we need to put up that screen Grace mentioned.

"Ummm, Grace?"

"Yes, Laura?"

"The screen…you said there was a screen?"

"Oh! Of course!" Grace goes to the far side of the armoire and hefts up a heavy folding screen that is leaning against the wall. I marvel at the beauty of the screen when she opens it. Like every piece of furniture and ornamentation in this cottage, Erik has chosen a stunning piece of art. This screen's six panels are made of oil-painted canvas, depicting a wide variety of ornate flowers and peacocks. Grace spreads the screen out between the bed and sitting area, opening it fully to give us the privacy we need. Suddenly the floor seems to be mushy and moving, so I sit down on the side of the bed to steady myself.

"We might as well get started with this, I suppose," I swallow hard as I look at the clothes before me, wondering how they all fit together. Grace walks over to the armoire, takes out a white garment and hands it to me. It's the strangest-looking piece of clothing I've ever laid my eyes on.

Looking up at her, half in befuddlement, half in dismay, I ask, "What is it?"

_Jeremy's POV:_

"_What is it?" _

Erik, Horatio and I exchange looks of discomfort. The screen blocks out the sight, but unexpectedly it doesn't in any way impede the sound of the women's voices. So, each of us men stands uncomfortably with a glass of wine and our attention riveted to that screen…and the conversation on the other side.

"Uh, Laura, that is part of the bottom layer," Grace coughs slightly before going on, "It's called a bloomer."

"A _bloomer_?" Laura's voice rises more in disbelief than in a question.

"Yes, it's the underpants."

"But Grace, it's not sewn shut on the bottom," Laura's voice is edged with distress, "The seam underneath is not sewn shut!"

"No, Laura, they are not sewn shut underneath," Grace says sympathetically, "you see the two ties on each side? You tie those to hold the material closed."

"Really?" Laura's voice is now definitely showing signs of alarm.

"Yes, really!" Grace's voice indicates she isn't all that happy with the situation herself.

I look at Erik and Horatio. They are frozen, dumbfounded, and staring at the screen, carefully considering every word they hear. I wonder if either of them has a clue about women's clothing of this era, or are they now getting an education as well. But I can't ask them because the women might hear, so I watch them with great interest and increasing amusement.

"But if I make bows of the ties, won't they rub when I walk?"

"Umm, yes, they do a little," Grace responds, "But you sort of get used to it."

After a brief silence, Laura's voice is heard, "So, I have to put these on?"

"Yes, Laura. You need to get rid of all your modern clothes."

"All of them?"

"Uh huh, I'm afraid so. If your maid were to find your modern clothes, especially your bra and underpants, she would think you were from another planet!"

Horatio rolls his eyes. Erik's are wide with amazement, and I wonder—is that a reddish flush rising up from his neck and spreading across his face? I can _imagine_ the thoughts spinning through Erik's mind. Then, after a long silence, we hear Laura's dismayed voice.

"Grace."

"Yes, Laura?"

"This feelsh very odd…"

"Yes, Laura…"

Erik's and Horatio's mouths have now fallen open. Oh yes, I decide, this is going to be very, very educational!

"This next piece is also part of the undergarments, Laura. It is called a 'chemise,' and it usually has short sleeves and a lined yoke bodice in a "v" shape just like this one. It's basically an underslip and is quite long, as you can see. Comes to about the mid-calf."

"Good heavens, it'sh so loose. Sort of bulky, isn't it?"

"Uh, yes, it is. But this at least has a purpose."

"Really?"

"Yep, the chemise is meant to protect the corset from the oils and sweat of your body. It also protects your skin from the corset rubbing against it."

"So, that means the next thing you are going to have me put on is a corshet?"

"Right!" After a slight pause Grace continues, "and speaking of the devil… Here, let me help you with this. If you'll stand up, I'll show you. You see, there are these two metal bones in the middle of the front here, and on each side are the hooks and eyes that connect into each other. The laces are in the back. I'll tie those for you."

"I can't believe this is happening… You're lacing me into a corshet!"

Erik swallows hard, but continues to listen intently. A minute goes by with no conversation coming from the other side of the screen.

Then, a strangled moan is heard. "Ohhhhh….OHHHHH! Grace! Shtop! I can't breathe…I'm supposed to be able to breathe, right?"

Flinching, Erik gulps his wine, and Horatio walks over and sinks into the sofa. Well, I might as well get comfortable. Laura's getting dressed is going to take awhile. I sit down in the leather chair next to the fire.

"Sorry, Laura, I didn't mean to make them so tight," Grace's voice is sincerely apologetic. "There, is that better?"

"Yesh! I can breathe a little bit now."

"I'm so sorry, Laura. I haven't put this on anyone else. A maid helps me put mine on every day."

"No! You have a maid who helpsh you get dressed?"

"Um huh, and so will you," Grace's tone drips with sarcasm. "We're upper class American ladies, Laura and that means 'ladies of leisure!' We each have a private maid who'll take care of our rooms, our clothes, help us dress and fix our hair each day."

"Oh! I hadn't even thought about that!"

After another pause, Laura continues, "But, you know, I took women's history in college and learned that these corshets are horrible for women's health. In the late 19th century the first women physicians pointed out the connection between corshets and many physical illnesses women were suffering."

"Really?" Now Grace is surprised, and for that matter, so am I. I just thought corsets were a silly fashion created to give women the hour-glass figure. They certainly look uncomfortable, but I didn't know about the health issues.

Now Erik is working quite steadily on his glass of wine. Horatio leans back on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling, like he's bracing himself for what we'll hear next. The two men don't look at each other, and I detect the body language between them is a bit icy.

"Absolutely! Male doctors said that women were susceptible to disease and ill health and warned that if women did too much exershise, they would be inclined to nervous exhaustion." Laura is definitely on a role, explaining these facts to Grace and, unknowingly, to the three of us men. I begin to suspect that seeds of revolution are being planted even as we listen!

When Laura's sharp gasp is heard again on the other side of the screen, Erik begins his damn habit of pacing.

"Goodness, Laura! Sorry about that!"

"_Grace, please_. Not so tight!"

"I'll try to be more careful! I'm not experienced at this corset-thing, you know. You were telling about the attitude of doctors toward women's physical abilities…"

"Oh! Yes!" In a slightly strained and breathless tone, Laura continues, "Women were considered to be very delicate, high strung and subject to fits of anxiety or hysteria shimply because of their anatomy! They even advised women to avoid long walks or intense mental excitement!"

"Unbelievable!" Grace's indignation is mounting. "I would've told those doctors a thing or two!"

"The early women doctors began to shed light on these issues and promoted the idea that women needed exershise and physical activity to be healthy. So in the 1890's colleges began to introduce physical education classhes!"

"Good for women doctors!"

"Yesh! The female doctors proved that corshets caused displacement of the liver, the stomach and intestines," Laura sounds quite incensed by now, ticking off the offenses caused by corsets. It's also evident that she's become a bit tipsy.

"Laura…uh…I think you need to sit down for awhile. You seem a bit wobbly on your feet!"

We hear Laura plop on the bed, then, without missing a beat, she continues her condemnation of 'corshets.'

"In fact, they caused damaging constriction of the chest and ribs, so corshets were actually _the reason for _all that nervoush anxiety and hysteria the male doctors kept asserting as women's innate weakness. But in reality, those conditions occurred because women couldn't breathe!"

"So the corsets caused really serious health problems!" Grace's voice is getting angrier at what she is hearing.

"They certainly did! Why corshets could even cause a displaced or prolapsed uterus!" Laura exclaims indignantly.

With that last bit of information Erik blanches. As he pivots next to my chair, he absentmindedly thwacks the back of it with his hand.

"That's horrible! I didn't know that! Well, this sounds like a good place for us to start our work to change history!"

"Absholutely!" Laura pipes in enthusiastically.

"But, unfortunately, for now, you have to wear it. It's considered very improper and unladylike NOT to wear a corset. Sorry."

"I undershtand, Grace. Let's continue then…"

"You see there is this tie around the waist and a second one at the bottom of the corset. We pull those tight and tie them to make it fit firmly."

"UMPH… It feelsh like I've been crammed into a tin can!" Laura protests. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

Grace sighs, "Yes, I am afraid so. We all suffer alike!"

By now Erik is running his hands through his hair, and Horatio is still leaning back on the sofa, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. I have a feeling both are developing headaches.

"Next, Laura, is the camisole. It's a slip that goes over the corset."

"But Grace! I have a slip under the corshet, why do I need a slip over it too?" Laura's question seems logical to me. I listen for the explanation.

"This slip is supposed to hide the unsightly corset bones," then Grace adds with no small amount of sarcasm, "No modest woman would want those to show, you know! Here, you see this is sort of like a cotton summer blouse with short sleeves. It's gathered with a ribbon that ties at the waist, and then it goes down over your hips to cover the entire corset."

"So, four layersh just for the undergarments?"

"Well…you do need to put on these silk stockings. They're a bit heavier than what we're accustomed to. Go ahead and put them on now. It will be too difficult once you get your skirts on."

"Skirtsh?"

"Yep, Laura, _plural_ skirts…"

"Heaven help me!"

Erik has now finished his wine. He strides over to the table and pours another glassful. Taking a deep draught, he returns to his job of wearing out the valuable Persian carpet in front of the fireplace and whacking the back of my chair on each pass.

"You need to look at the three dresses and choose the one you want to wear today, Laura."

"Goodnessh! What beautiful colorsh and material!"

"They are, aren't they? Erik picked out the material and instructed the seamstress on the style of each dress."

"Oh! They're gorgeoush!"

For the first time a smile breaks out on Erik's face as he stops and looks intently toward the screen, concentrating on every word that comes from the other side.

"Which one do you want to wear?"

"Oh, the green moiré with the white lace!"

Erik nods his approval sharply and resumes pacing.

"Great choice! Now, you start with the bodice. Here, you just button it down the front."

"Lotsh of buttons, huh?"

"That's the style now. Buttons down the front with long, tight fitting sleeves and lace spilling out the cuffs. The current fashion is for the bodice to be form-fitting and fit snugly to the waist. But, like our modern suit jackets, the material extends below the waist in a little flounce. And, see…there is even a small ruffle sewn to the back of the bodice, like a mini-bustle."

"Oh, yes, I shee…it does poof out, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does!"

"And, now for the skirts! First, of course, you have to put on the crinoline."

"Crinoline?"

"It's the underskirt which is made of many layers of gathered taffeta!"

"Many layersh?"

"Many!"

Laura's groans are muffled as crinkling sounds float over the screen.

"Next is skirt number one! This is the long, floor length one. It's got lots of pleats to increase it fullness! Let me help you get this over your head!"

"Thanksh, Grace…my, it's really, really heavy, isn't it?"

More crinkling, swishing and bristling is heard.

"Umm, it is," Grace replies testily, "I asked the seamstress who made my dresses about that! She told me it's common to have twelve yards of material in just the skirts!"

"Well that explainsh it! The first women doctors also pointed out that the weight of these long skirts caused fatigue in women, putting too much weight on their waists and affecting their shtomachs and their ability to digest food properly." I suppress a grin. Laura is back on her historical and medical analysis of the clothing. I glance over at Erik and Horatio who both let out long-suffering sighs.

"Oh?" Grace is obviously a rapt audience for this information, "that's terrible!"

"Ahh! But what is worsh is because of the moral attitudes, the skirts had to reach the ground so the ankle would not be seen…that was considered too immodest…" Laura is most definitely on a role.

"That meant the skirts brushed dirty streets…or even family barnyards…so the women brought all kinds of germs into their homes, and their children were exposed to many contagioush illnesses because of that!"

"Seriously?" Grace sounds as shocked as I am.

"Yes! Truly! And, one woman doctor said that the faulty dressing of women…the corshets and long skirts…caused more fatal illnesses in women than the contagious diseases!"

Tightly corseted, Laura attempts to render this information so dramatically that a loud hiccup escapes her lips.

"Ooppssh!! Excuse me!"

"That's ok. You drank that wine on an empty stomach…it's understandable!" Grace presses for more information about these indignities to women, "So, did women doctors bring about the change in clothing?"

"Yes!! Women doctors and bicyclesh!"

"Bicycles?" Grace sounds astounded.

"In the 1890's, bicycles were beginning to be the new craze. But, of courseh, women couldn't ride them in the long skirts. So, shorter skirts that came to just below the knee were designed! Women wore leggings underneath, of courseh!"

"Of course!" Grace snorts in disgust.

"But there was resistance to the women's clubsh that were forming in the 1890's to improve women's lives…you know, gain their right to vote and to have better wages and working conditions, and dress more sensibly."

"Laura, I hate to say this, but I think we have your skirt on backwards!"

"How can you tell?" Laura seems quite perplexed.

"Uh, because we have the fastener in the front, and my guess is that it should be in the back!"

More swishing and crinkling sounds waft across the screen.

"Geesh! I feel like I'm drowning in material!" This seems to trigger Laura's resuming her historical recitation.

"You know, Grace, those women's clubs also tried to educate about the health problems caused by women's clothing. They encouraged women to wear more practical clothesh. But, at the same time, other groups—many of them women's groups—opposed them. The Rescue League of Washington organized to fight against women who rode bicycles, which they called 'the devil's agent,' and vehemently opposed the wearing of bicycle apparel, which included those shorter, lessh full skirts!"

"People opposed that?"

"Oh, yesh!! Even President Cleveland denounced the women's clubs that promoted those changes. He stated that they were harmful and a menace to the integrity of the home and the benign nature of women…who belonged only in their homes!"

"That's really fascinating, except…"

"Except what, Grace?"

"Except we're living in 1871 and the mid-1890's is twenty five years away! Can we stand wearing these clothes…the corset…for THAT long?"

"No…I don't want to wait that long to wear sane clothing…" Laura now sounds steely determined.

"Well, then…"

"Yes, we have our work cut out for ush, don't we?"

I can't control my smile as I check out the reactions of Erik and Horatio. Erik finishes off his glass of wine in one large gulp. Horatio grimaces as he glances back toward the screen.

I wonder if The Program took into account Laura's encyclopedic knowledge of history and her feisty, fighting nature when they sent her back. Erik's life will certainly not lack for excitement…not with Laura in it.

"For now, let me help you into the rest of your dress."

"The rest of my dressh? What's left?"

"The second skirt. Here, I'll lift it over your head….There, you see. You tuck it under the edges of your bodice. It's shorter than the under skirt. See—it's gathered into an apron shape in the front and a bustle in the back."

"Ish there any thing else?"

"Well, yes, just a few things."

"You're kidding!"

"Your shoes. Actually, they are more like boots and have all these laces. I hope these fit alright."

A loud thump on the floor is followed by, "Whoa! I dropped my shoe! It's heavy, isn't it?" Then after another pause, "Yesh, Grace, thankfully, they're the right size, but why lace the shoe so far up the leg?"

"Laura, I really don't know! Wish I did…but I don't! Maybe it's because of having to walk through dust, dirt and mud on the streets and roads."

"Anything elsh?"

"Yes, your gloves…here…and well, your hat. But, first, I need to pile your hair up on your head. Ladies don't wear their hair down…straight…on their shoulders…Not fitting, you see…"

"Do you know how to fix my hair?"

"I think I can. I've been watching my maid, and I sort of know the technique. Come over and sit down by the side table. Erik bought some beautiful combs and pins for your hair."

"Oh, Grace! They're exquishite!"

At this Erik stops mid-stride, spins toward the screen and heaves a sigh of relief. He glances over at me, and I bow my head in congratulations. Smirking, I think to myself, _score another one for Erik!_ For the next few minutes we listen as Grace gets the hair situation under control and the hat attached.

"You have such beautiful hair, Laura! It's very full, so that makes it easier to pile into a French chignon which is all the rage right now!"

"Thanksh!"

"Good grief Laura! I almost forgot! You have to remove your earrings!"

"Why?"

"Because they're pierced earrings and that style simply isn't worn. In this day and age only pirates have pierced ears!" Grace kids Laura who by now probably doesn't know what to believe.

"So, I can't wear my diamond stud earrings? These were a gift from my parents when I graduated from law school!"

"Well, Erik could take them to a jeweler and have them reset into something that's suitable. But for now, you can't wear them…and you'll have to let your ears heal closed."

"OUCH!"

"Sorry Laura! I didn't mean to stick you with the pin. But, you do need to sit still while I'm putting in the hat pin!"

"OK, Grace, I get the point!"

I wait for Grace to laugh, but there's only silence. She wisely doesn't respond further.

Again we hear their footsteps and the swish of skirts.

"Oh, and Laura, here's your cloak!"

"Another layer? I don't need a cloak with all thish other material. Cold air couldn't reach my body if it tried!"

"Well, wait until you're outside and decide if you want to put it on. Now, would you like to look at yourself in the full-length mirror on the armoire?"

"I'm not sure. Tell me firsht. How do I look?"

"Laura…quite smashing! You really need to look."

Erik is watching the screen, holding his breath.

"OH! Wow! That'sh me?"

"Yep! Now it's time for Erik to get a look, too!"

With those words, Erik's face goes utterly pale with anticipation. After the last half hour spent listening to Laura's traumas and history lessons, he's understandably on edge. Horatio stays in his seat, but swivels around so that he can have a clear view when Laura emerges.

Grace's fingers curl around the edges of the screen as she folds it, then sets it aside so Laura can walk past her.

When Erik sees Laura glide elegantly into view, his gasp can be heard by everyone in the room. Laura stops just in front of the bed, frozen with embarrassment.

"Do I look alright?"

"Yes," Erik breathes, "You are stunning, Laura! I realize these clothes are…challenging to wear. But they do enhance your natural…beauty. I hope you approve of the dress I had made for you."

"Oh, yesh, Erik! It's perfect! Thank you!" then Laura's smile fades, as she searches Erik's face, "Um…you didn't hear our chatting while Grace was helping me dress, did you?"

Erik and Horatio look at the women, struck speechless. I take this as my cue. As Erik's bodyguard it's my duty to rescue him, and if he ever needed it, he needs it right now. I jump into the frozen silence, "No, not at all. We've just been visiting over here by the fireplace."

Laura eyes me suspiciously. Finally she shakes her head, smiles and accepts my answer. "Well, then, shall we go to the chateau? I could really use a little food! My head is getting quite dizzhy!"

Erik suddenly is all movement as he walks over to a large trunk at the foot of the bed. He opens it and explains that all of Laura's clothes in the wardrobe need to be folded and placed inside. This way she'll arrive with proper luggage since the servants at the chateau have been told she's arriving from America.

As the women are packing the trunk, Horatio orders me to take Laura's modern clothing and burn it before I put out the fire. Laura lets out a _"NO!"_ of distress. Everyone stops and turns toward her.

"Horatio! Burn my clothes? Why?"

"Because, Laura, you can't wear them again. They're from the future, and we can't allow people to see them."

"Please, could you make an exception. I won't wear them in public. But, could I please…_please_…just keep these. _It's all I have…of my life_."

Laura's heartrending appeal would melt stone. Horatio doesn't stand a chance. He concedes.

"However, you can't put the clothes in your trunk," Horatio points out, "Your maid will unpack it, and we can't afford to let her see them."

"Why not store them here in the gamekeeper's cottage," Erik proposes, spreading balm on this open wound, "and Laura can keep them, see them, here!"

"Just make sure they're hidden and no one from this time sees them," Horatio warns.

"Oh, I promise, Horatio! Thank you!" Laura smiles again, and I wonder how many other shocks—big and small—she'll experience in the next week as she learns about her new life.

When the women complete the packing and stow Laura's modern clothing in a drawer of the armoire concealed under a quilt, Erik wastes no time escorting Laura to the door and out to the carriage. Horatio extends his arm formally to Grace who makes a face at him, and then accepts it. I haul the trunk out to the carriage, and Horatio helps me heft it onto the back of the carriage and secure it.

Everyone quickly gets into the carriage, and I lock the door to the cottage, climb up to the driver's seat and urge the horses onward. Excited voices mingle with the rattling of the large iron wheels. Bits of golden sunlight break through the overcast sky, melting the snow on the road before us. I welcome the bits of streaming light, and drive the half mile to the manor house, thinking about how this day is the beginning…the real beginning…of a new life for each one of us.

_Erik's POV:_

Dinner was served within a half hour of our arrival, as Grace had arranged. Before dinner I privately took the chef and head cook aside and requested that only tea and coffee be served with the meal. They were appalled that wine was banished, but since I ordered it, they dared not argue the point further.

Sitting at the table next to Laura was glorious, and as I had done so often at Horatio's home, I took her hand and held it against my thigh beneath the table. That was when I finally began to believe she was truly here and would not evaporate into the ethers like a fleeting dream. The dinner conversation was limited and uneasy since everyone had to be cautious about not disclosing anything concerning their real lives in America and shared experiences from the future. That created a strained atmosphere, especially since they wanted to know about Marek's intervention in the alternate time line. But, private conversations about these matters of great curiosity would have to occur outside the servants' hearing.

The servants were also curious about Laura. They had overheard all of us discussing her arrival and knew that Laura's relationship with me was special since she was given one of the two bedrooms of the master's suite. Out of propriety, a huge armoire had been moved into her room and placed on the door that connects it with the sitting room of the master suite. The servants appear to suspect that some day the armoire will be removed when Laura becomes the mistress of the household, so they treat her with special care and deference. Laura, of course, does not notice or understand this, treating everyone, even the lowest maid, with courtesy and speaking with them as if they were equals. She has no consciousness of the class differences—the social strata that infuse this century, this time period.

Despite all the tensions of secrecy and adjustments, dinner was particularly delicious. Or was it that I enjoyed food for the first time in four weeks? I do not know. All I know is Laura kept directing larger portions to be placed on my plate whenever the servants brought another course. I finally protested and explained I would burst if I ate all the food that was piled on my plate. She just smiled and reminded me it was her responsibility to take care of me, and that my stomach had so shrunk, I would have to get it accustomed to normal portions again. Ultimately, I ate as directed.

Now that dinner is over, and I am stuffed to bursting, I happily grasp Laura's hand and lead her into the great hall. I have appointed this room with furnishings and tapestries to make it welcoming. Many soft, down-filled pillows have been placed along the back and arms of the numerous settees according to my instructions to soften their normally sharp contours. +

In front of the monstrous fireplace at the far end of the hall sits the largest of the settees, stretching eight feet in length. Almost bench-like, it is constructed of thick oak, and like all the settees in the room, its tall back rises at a severe, uncomfortable right-angle to the seat. This high back is efficient in retaining the heat of the fire to warm those who sit on it, but there is little other comfort in its hard surfaces. Realizing what a perfect spot this will be for Laura and me to have a little privacy in the evenings, I ordered the seamstresses to make a thick cushion for the seat, filled with down, along with a dozen pillows which now rest against its back, perfect for reclining and relaxing. I also had several shawls placed on the back of this particular settee to be used as handy coverlets…if need be.

My eyes have not strayed from Laura since we left the cottage, and as she moves about the chateau in the clothes of my century, I watch her with wonder. She is exquisite. The emerald color of her dress compliments her dark hair and ivory skin. I was delighted that she approved my selection of dresses, and the one she chose to wear on her first day is also my favorite. The corset she must wear, although tight and constricting, shows her waist and rounded bosom to their full advantage. I knew she would be resplendent in the clothing of my time. She has a natural gracefulness of bearing and carries her dress, despite its many layers and weight, with ease. And, the sway of her hips under her skirts as she moves about is seductive. When she turns and catches me watching her, which happens quite often, there is a smile and a special look that passes between us.

As we step around the edge of the large settee and sit next to one another, my joy that she is here with me is unbounded. Being so close to her is exhilarating and a profusion of feelings rush through me as my heart pumps harder and faster. Luxuriating in the warmth that pours off the fire, we watch the sparks that crackle and dance like miniature fireworks.

I reach my arm around Laura and pull her close, until I feel her soft, silky hair against my cheek.

"Laura, how do you feel about your first day, here, in my world?"

"Well…" Laura pauses for what seems an eternity, "It all seems so new. I'll need time…to understand what I'm meant to do…what my place is."

"You will have all the time you need," my lips brush her temple, and I inhale the fragrance of her hair, "now that you are here…with me."

There are many things I want to tell her, but with her enticing body so intoxicatingly near, words fail me. I run my fingers along her neck glorying in the softness of her skin. Laura is receptive to my touch and snuggles against me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her arms ease around me, gently enfolding my waist, as we sit in awe of today's miracle. When she looks up, my eyes linger over every inch of her face, and I can no longer resist her inviting lips. Our kiss deepens until fiery tendrils course through my body.

All of a sudden, we hear a man cough as he enters the great hall. We quickly pull apart, and I frown at the servant who has dared to interrupt us. The man lugs a load of wood to stack by the fireplace, but noticing us, he hurriedly finishes his task and departs with haste.

When his footsteps recede, I stare down at Laura. Her fingers are playing with my cravat, as she smiles up at me beguilingly. She carefully unties the black silk material and then draws me down to her, placing a feathery kiss at the hollow of my throat.

As her dark, brilliant eyes look into mine, my mouth lowers to hers and captures her lips in another slow, enthralling kiss. Laura's breath begins to come in small gasps against my mouth. "Erik," she reluctantly pulls back and whispers, "I can't breathe."

"I know, my love. Neither can I." My lips hover near hers waiting to return to that sublime pleasure.

"No, Erik! I mean I really can't breathe…this corset…how does any woman breathe while wearing one of these?" I draw back from her and look down into her face. Indeed, she does appear to be laboring to draw air into her lungs.

"Come, love, we need to unbutton the bodice of your dress so that I may loosen the laces of the corset."

Our fingers reach for the buttons of her bodice at the same moment. As she unbuttons the bottom ones, I begin at the top. The silky feel of her skin underneath my fingertips revives the memory of our past embraces, and I long to touch her luxurious flesh once again. Our hands meet in the middle of the bodice, and the knuckles of my hand briefly caress her through the many layers.

She leans forward, and I reach under the back of the bodice. Untying the camisole, I push it aside to reach the corset and loosen the constricting laces down the back.

"Oh yes, Erik," Laura sighs, 'That's much better. Thank you." She breathes appreciatively and gives me a radiant smile. We leave her bodice open in the front, and my heart pounds when my eyes settle on the curve of her exposed breasts. Our bodies press together, anxious to meld as closely as possible. As her soft lips open beneath mine, my hand gently wraps around her waist, and I soothingly rub the small of her back.

Incredibly, we hear footsteps entering at the other end of the great room AGAIN! _Another fool servant!_

Laura jerks back from me and grabs a shawl from the back of the settee, flinging it tightly around herself. Furious at another intrusion, I glower at a young servant girl who is pulling all the long, heavy draperies shut against the chill of the night.

When the girl discovers us, she lets out a little shriek, placing her hand over her heart, "Monsieur! You startled me! I am sorry! I did not know that the room was occupied!" She curtsies swiftly and exits the room, propelled by my inhospitable glare in her direction.

Once the girl hurries out, I ease Laura into my arms again. This is where she belongs, in my arms, near me…always. She begins to run her hand along my thigh. Slowly she moves it past my waist and across my chest, caressing me, trying to feel my form through my waistcoat. When she pulls me close, her hands tenderly massage the tension from my shoulders. I lower my forehead, resting it against her, pressing my face into the curve of her neck. No one has ever touched me this way. As her fingers soothe my tightly strung muscles, I realize how taut and strained my body has become from the stresses of this last month. I sigh with pleasure. Finally, when I have completely relaxed under her loving touch, her hands travel back down my body, and slip beneath my jacket to find my waist. I moan with desire, envisioning moments like this...free from restraints…after we are wed. If events had worked out as planned, we would have been married by now. My body constantly reminds me of this and craves the wedding night I have so longed for with Laura.

Within moments, my hand eases under her skirts and petticoats, beginning to explore her leg through the fabric of her bloomers. My hand moves up her thigh and lingers at her hip. But, the undergarments she wears tempt me to continue. I remember well the discussion between Laura and Grace about the bloomers…indeed it has been at the back of my mind ever since.

Unbelievably we hear footsteps approaching once more! This time a male servant approaches carrying several bottles of wine. Oblivious to our presence, he walks nonchalantly toward the small cabinet at this end of the great hall where wine is stored.

My exploration of Laura's lovely leg beneath her skirts ends abruptly. I close my jacket and rush to my feet, enraged at the young man. My voice ricochets throughout the hall, "Leave now and do not return to this room again while I am here!" Frightened witless, the servant freezes in the middle of the room before reaching the wine rack.

Pointing to the doorway at the far end of the great hall, I order, "Go! Now!" The young servant runs from the room, wine bottles tinkling together, still clutched in his arms. Inhaling angry gulps of air, I try to calm myself at yet another damnable interruption!

When I turn back to Laura, she is smoothing her skirts in a very feminine gesture which also seems to indicate that we will not be continuing our previous pursuit. A smile dances on her lips as she looks up and softly admonishes me, "Erik. You scared that young man half to death!" But she then sighs in disappointment. "Do you think we will _ever_ have any privacy?"

"We will! I assure you of that!" Regretfully adding, "But I doubt that it will happen tonight." Acknowledging how fatigued Laura must be, I admit to myself that she needs her rest. "Come. You must be exhausted from the happenings of the day. Let me take you to your room so you may get a good night's rest."

Gently taking her hand, I lead her upstairs and escort her to her door. Our rooms are separated only by the large sitting room in between. When we are wed, these rooms will be our private suite.

Glancing around to check that the hallway is vacant, I press Laura against the door and take her into my arms. Our kiss begins innocently, but soon turns impassioned. I yearn to sweep her up into my arms and carry her to my room…to my bed, which is only a few feet away. But, I will not allow myself that exquisite pleasure until our wedding night. Nonetheless, I am torn. I do not want to leave Laura, to let her out of my sight, desiring to pursue our embraces as long as possible.

_Which is not long._ We are engaged in another breathless kiss when the soft patter of footsteps alerts us to someone coming up the stairwell. Quickly separating before the maid sees us, we exchange looks of frustration. When the maid passes by and enters Grace's bedroom, Laura looks up at me, and her eyes convey that her longing is as great as my own.

"Well, my love," I whisper, "goodnight." I kiss the shell of her tiny ear.

"Goodnight." She holds me closely for a long moment and then pulls slightly away to look deeply into my face. She reaches a hand up to brush away an errant strand of hair that has fallen across my forehead, then slides her small hand down my cheek and rests it there. "Thank you, Erik, for everything you have done. There is really no way that I can…"

"Ssshhh… There is plenty of time now to…thank me." I give her my most devilish smile, imagining at least one way that she could accomplish that.+

Hugging her shawl tightly around her, Laura slips into her room, turning briefly to give me her impish smile as she closes the door. I hear the latch engage. Groaning, I move toward my own room across the hall. Before I can take one step, I collide with the maid. She screeches in surprise and looks up, stunned.

I snarl.

She scurries away and disappears down the stairwell. I tromp over to my solitary room and barge into its cold emptiness, taking a last look back at Laura's door.

Sleep will not come. My mind races with thoughts of today, and my body aches with longing for Laura.

I want her.

Here. Not in a separate room across a cavernous hallway littered with pesky servants. Restless, I pass through my bedroom and enter my private sitting room. Although a blazing fire warms the room, it gives me no comfort. I feel caged. Too many people here. For all I know, a servant will come bursting in at any moment to bring me a glass of hot milk and tray of sweet cakes, or find a need to change some linen or other.

Then I remember. This room has a panel in the wall to the hidden stairwell, which goes down to the secret chambers under the chateau where medical supplies and equipment from the future are stored. And, those rooms connect to the underground tunnel originally built as an escape route. I explored it a couple weeks ago, so I know where it ends.

Retrieving my cloak from the armoire, I throw it over my shoulders and grab a glowing oil lamp from the table next to my bed. Finding the panel and pressing the hidden latch, I open it and slip into the musty corridor. The panel shuts behind me, and I descend the narrow, spiraling stairwell, quickly reaching the underground chambers. Striding rapidly through several rooms, I soon arrive at the heavy oak door that covers the tunnel entrance. The rusted latch takes a minute to release, and the door squeaks open. Picking up my lamp, I start running through the passageway, wanting to reach my destination as quickly as possible.

Finally, the ladder that marks the end of the tunnel appears just ahead. I climb the rungs and at the top, push upwards on a wooden trapdoor that opens into the gamekeeper's cottage. I lift myself through and close the trapdoor behind me. Setting the lamp on the floor nearby, I survey the room as I catch my breath. I have become enamored with this little cottage during the time I have supervised its repairs and refurbishing. And, I have plans for it. This is where Laura and I will have our privacy.

Pulling myself to my feet, I walk over and place a log in the fireplace. Embers are still burning from the fire that warmed us when Laura dressed here only hours ago. It does not take long to stoke the fire into a glowing blaze.

Stepping into the kitchen area, I peruse the wines in the rack. I choose a fine Bordeaux and pour the fragrant liquid into one of the crystal goblets, then return to the inviting fire. Pulling the leather chair closer to the fireplace, I fall into its cushions.

As I stare into the golden flames, my thoughts focus on Laura. My mind is busy estimating the number of days before we may wed. In France, there is a minimum of ten days from the posting of banns to the ceremony. However, Laura is from a foreign country, so an additional time for residency is required. But, I am not certain how many days that may be. I cannot ask anyone here in the chateau, or it will travel like the wind on the wings of gossip. The only way I can obtain this information confidentially is to go to the magistrate's office while we are in Paris next week to order more clothes for Laura. Once I acquire that information, I can calculate the date.

I shift in my chair, unsettled at not being able to determine the _exact _date of our wedding _right now_. I take a taste of the soothing wine. As its warmth spreads through my body, intimate images play inside my mind. Taking another sip from the goblet, above its rim I gaze across the room at the four poster bed and muse contentedly, "Soon, now, my love…_soon_."

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Kudos to our editors, KFC and Phanna! 


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Laura's arrival in 1871 France isn't the end of her challenges…or Erik's! They are beginning to realize that they are only at the beginning of a new and more interesting set!**

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****Chapter 44 Beginnings, by Phanfan**

_Chateau Mercier, near Paris, France __  
__Saturday, December 16, 1871 _

_Laura's POV:_

_SPLASH! _My eyes spring open. Oh, my God! The alarm clock didn't go off! I'm going to be late for court!

In panic, my head swivels toward the clock to see what time it is. There is no clock. Blinking a few times, all I see is a glass lamp, trimmed with crystal beading on a marble-topped table. This makes no sense. Am I still sleeping? Then I hear the creak of a door and look up to see a young woman, in white cap and long, pristine white apron hurrying out of the room, carrying a large wooden pail.

I strive to gather my wits about me. Scanning the cavernous bedroom, I note the wood paneling on one wall and flower-patterned wall paper on the others. The furniture is ornately carved, and dripping with velvet or lace, very feminine and Victorian. My bed has four tall corner posts, which are carved with vines and leaves, and support heavy velvet bed curtains. Everything in the room is bedecked in shades of pink, cream and green.

As I struggle to comprehend this unfamiliar setting, the maid enters the room. She walks over to a strange-looking tub at the other end of the room and pours hot water from the bucket that she hefts skillfully. Staring at her over the linen sheets and thick quilt, I'm afraid to move, to bring attention to myself. I don't want her to know I'm awake until I've been able to get my bearings.

A loud-ticking brass clock tells me it is just after 7:00 a.m. The clock sits on a lace-draped mantel over an ambitious fire trying to warm this large space. Four minutes later, the young woman returns and pours another bucket of steaming water into the tub. When she leaves again, I realize I need a bathroom. Then I remember. Grace brought me to this room when I first arrived yesterday and explained…there is no bathroom. Instead she showed me the chamber pot, pointing under my bed. Oh my! If I move very quickly, I can use it before the maid returns.

Throwing off the covers, I jump out of bed, and my feet land on a thick, soft carpet. I quickly kneel down, lift the many layers of bedclothes and look under the bed. Yep. It's there. I pull it out, remove the lid and use it awkwardly. The fire is blazing but only my side facing the fire gets warm, and my behind is freezing. Wincing at the thought of using a chamber pot from now on, I replace the lid and shove it under the bed, leaping to my feet just as the young woman enters the room.

"Oh! Mademoiselle! Bonjour!" She curtsies gracefully despite being weighted down on one side by the brimming pail of water.

"Bonjour," I respond, dumbfounded.

She seems as nervous as I am, and after a few awkward moments, says, "Your bath is almost ready for you." I sigh with relief when I hear her speak English, albeit with a thick French accent. After all, my French is quite minimal. I only had two years of high school French, but I realize that I'll now be taking a crash course.

"Thank you," I smile as politely as I can, not being accustomed to having people carry in hot water for my bath. And it occurs to me with a bit of irony that actually, I always shower.

The young woman walks over to the tub and pours in the final bucketful of water. Then, she turns around, puts down the pail and asks, "Shall I help you out of your nightgown?"

Now I am astonished. Help me out of my nightgown? I look down at it. It's a long, flowing white linen gown, which laces down the front with pink satin ribbon. Why wouldn't I be able to get out of this clothing myself? Blinking, I merely respond, "Uh, no…thank you. I won't need any assistance with that."

"Oui Mademoiselle, I will get your bathing articles and help you with your bath." She curtsies and skittles out the door again. I step closer to the fire to soak up some warmth. Within moments the maid breezes back through the door, carrying several towels, wash cloths and a small bar of soap.

"Thank you," I smile and point to a small table next to the bathtub, "please just leave them there."

She quickly follows my directions, then frowns questioningly, "Is there nothing more that I can do to assist Mademoiselle with her bath?"

"Uh…no!"

"As you wish, Mademoiselle," and she again curtsies, adding, "I will wait out in the hallway. Please call me when you are ready, and I will help you with your clothing and hair!" She stops just before slipping through the door and informs me, "Oh, Mademoiselle, in case you did not know, there is a bidet in the corner beyond the bathtub, just behind the screen!" and she closes the door softly behind her.

_Bidet?_ No toilet paper, here. This is _France…bidet _instead. And then I remember, in the 19th century, they were placed in the bedroom…along with the ubiquitous chamber pot! Oh my!

I turn to look again at the clock. 7:20. I would normally be on my way to court in my Corvette. My mind can't wrap around the concept, can't accept the reality that I'll never again drive my Corvette, go to my office, or walk into a courtroom to present a case. What has happened to my clients? All the other people I was representing? What about my staff? They are like friends, almost family. What are they doing? Or is that—_will be doing_? Then it occurs to me that they aren't born yet. But, somehow in this conundrum of timelines, I know they exist…somewhere. Don't they? A stab of pain shoots through my head, and my fingers soothingly massage my temples. I could use an aspirin about now. But, of course, they won't be invented for how many more years? Fifty? Or more?

The tub of steaming water seems inviting, and with a sigh, I decide to take the plunge. Into the tub… and into my new life. I unlace my night gown and pull it open as I walk across the room. Goose bumps rise on my skin when my gown falls to the floor next to the tub. My fingers test the water, which turns out to be perfection… so invitingly warm in this chilly room. I climb in and sit, scooting down until my head rests on the raised back. The tub is too short for my legs to stretch out, so they're bent at the knees, which stick out above the water.

Deciding to soak for a few minutes, I hope that the warmth will loosen my tense muscles and help my headache. I reach out and pick up the small, slab of soap, rubbing it into the wash cloth. It doesn't create any suds. _At all._ In fact, it seems rather hard. I smell it and recognize the scent of lye, mixed with a hint of lavender. Groaning, I rub the soap again with the wash cloth. I am NOT going to rub this directly on my body. I want a little skin left when I've finished my bath.

In the comforting heat of the bath, I scrub myself as best I can with the sudsless soap and coarse cloth. I sigh, remembering soft, fluffy towels and washcloths, and my favorite vanilla-scented soap. Regretting that I have to leave the warmth of the water, I step carefully out of the tub, trying not to overturn it or spill water on the richly carpeted floor.

Drying off in front of the fire, the nearby armoire catches my eye. It seems out of place in this room filled with delicately carved or beautifully hand-painted furniture. Its monstrous size and design is in stark contrast to the other furnishings, which are overtly feminine. I walk over, open the doors and find one side has drawers from top to bottom. Searching through them, I find a pair of "bloomers," a camisole and silk stockings, as well as a soft pink woolen robe, hanging adjacent to the drawers. Quickly donning them, I wrap the warm robe snugly around me.

A nearby table holds a pitcher of water, a porcelain bowl and a water glass. As I walk over to a vanity near one of the windows, I see a variety of small glass pots, all made of colorful glass or painted ceramics. They are placed on a large tray lined with a beautiful white linen cloth trimmed in finely embroidered cutwork. Last night Grace identified these jars and explained their use.

One of these glass jars contains tooth powder. French dentists of the 19th century were actually more advanced than most other countries. Toothbrushes are used and tooth powder is the cleaning agent because toothpaste won't be invented for several more decades. Dipping my toothbrush into the powder, I scrub my teeth. Then I realize I have no running water. Pouring some water into the glass, I rinse my mouth. Now, I wonder, where do I spit it out? I look at the porcelain bowl, and hoping I'm not committing some shocking faux pas, I spit into it, repeating the procedure until the chalky taste is gone.

My attention now turns to the assortment of jars and bottles. One small jar has the name "Boujois." Grace explained that this is a facial blush, one of the first to be developed that is not thick and greasy, and also has no toxic chemicals. She happily reassured me that this continued to be one of the leading brands in France. I open the jar and note thankfully that Grace chose a light-colored tone that will blend well with my complexion. As I rub a small amount of the blush across my cheeks, I examine my eyes in the slightly wavy glass of the mirror. I have black eye brows, so never use makeup on them—just shape them—and I have long, thick lashes, so the only makeup I have to forego for my eyes will be the eyeliner.

Finding several, very long, pencil thin lipsticks inside a small box-like container, I choose one of the lighter shades. It's not as creamy as I'm accustomed to, but does give my lips a little color. I'm glad I don't use much makeup because it appears that there isn't much available to women of this period.

There are several colored bottles with glass stoppers that appear to be perfume. I tentatively sniff the contents. One smells faintly of jasmine, a favorite fragrance, so I dab a small touch of it along my neck. Deciding that my toilette is complete, I walk over to the door and let the young maid enter so that she may help me dress. I recall quite vividly what _that_ will involve.

The maid enters shyly and curtsies again. I wonder if I'll ever get used to that. She walks over to the armoire and pulls out the _cursed_ corset. I stand resignedly when she puts it around me.

As she tightens and begins to squeeze the air out of me, she asks sweetly, "Does Mademoiselle find her room satisfactory?"

"Satisfactory?" it takes me a few seconds to consider my answer and to gather some oxygen in my lungs to speak. I gaze around the elegant, lavishly furnished room. "Yes, this room is lovely!"

"I am certain that Monsieur Mercier will be pleased that you think so. He spent much time supervising the furnishing of this room. He even chose the fabrics for the drapes and quilts."

"Really?"

"Oui, truly, Mademoiselle." The young maid has efficiently and quickly laced me into the corset, thankfully not as tightly as Grace had done, although I find that I can still only breathe in small, short gasps. Then, as she ties the string at the bottom edge of the corset, she adds, "Is there anything else that the Mademoiselle needs?"

Again, I'm caught off-balance by such a question, but a picture of my tiled, sparkling bathroom flashes through my mind. What I wouldn't give for hot and cold running water about now!

"No, I can't think of anything I need right now." Then something does occur to me, "But, I would like to know your name."

"It is Jean, Mademoiselle. After the Saint."

"That's very special, then," I reply with a smile.

Jean walks over and opens the doors to the armoire and chooses several blue moiré items of clothing and lays them out on the bed. As she helps me into the bodice, I continue to study the monstrous armoire. Finally, my curiosity overtakes me. "Jean, that armoire doesn't seem to fit in with the other furniture in this room. Was it here when my room was furnished and too heavy to remove?"

"Non, non, Mademoiselle," she laughs with a delightful lilt. "Quite the contrary! It was very difficult to move into your room!"

"Move in? What do you mean?"

"Well, it was too large to bring through the doorway, so pulleys had to be constructed, and it was lifted onto your balcony."

My attention is averted as Jean helps me with my bodice. The one I wear today is edged with delicate white lace along the neckline and also on the peplum, which is very dramatically ruffled in the back. I notice that the neckline of this bodice is a plunging v-shape. I look into the mirror and verify that much more of my décolleté is exposed. Recalling that Erik ordered my dresses, an amused laugh nearly escapes me. After a few unsuccessful tugs to better cover myself, I give up.

As Jean settles the crinoline around my waist, I continue our discussion. "Balcony? What balcony was the armoire brought through?"

"Over there, Mademoiselle." She points to the other end of my room, "behind those drapes. I have not opened them yet, to hold in the warmth of the fire. There are large double doors behind them that open onto the balcony, and the armoire was brought through those. It took almost an entire day and four strong men!"

"How nice! I didn't know there was a balcony outside my room!"

"Oui, it is the private balcony for the master's suite. It goes around the building and connects all three rooms!" Jean nods emphatically as she hefts the large, underskirt over my head.

"All three rooms?" Something is not adding up…or is it?

"_Mais, oui!_ The master's suite has three rooms…the bedroom for the master, which is across the hall, the sitting room in between and this bedroom."

"But I don't see any door in this room connecting to a sitting room. There's only one door to the hallway!"

"_Non_, Mademoiselle, there is another door. It is behind the armoire!" she says matter-of-factly as she holds the upper skirt with its attached bustle high in the air for me to put my arms through.

"So, Jean, are you telling me that the armoire was brought into this room and purposely placed over the door to the sitting room?"

"Indeed, Mademoiselle. It preserves your privacy," she says, slightly embarrassed, as she adjusts the upper skirt and makes certain the bustle is just right.

It preserves my privacy? My mind is now rapidly processing what Jean has said. I hadn't realized the logistics of the room arrangement. No doubt, it's clear to everyone in the chateau that I've been given the second bedroom of the master suite. Is it understood that sometime in the future that armoire is to be moved aside from the door? That my room will again become part of the master suite? Does this denote Erik's intention for us to be married?

My mind whirls with this new information. Erik went to a lot of trouble to place the armoire over the connecting door…for my privacy, and no doubt out of societal considerations. A single woman's room must not be accessible to the sitting room of a single man. Then it dawns on me. Erik…he made a huge production out of covering my door into the sitting room to fulfill the appearance of propriety. I suppress an outright laugh as my eyes travel to the drape-covered doors. But, we have a balcony which connects our two rooms in an easily accessible pathway outside the building. I remember the stories of one-way mirrors in the opera house and secret passageways. Erik never mentioned those, and they never came up at trial. Now, I wonder…

After the laborious task of putting on my dress and shoes has been accomplished, my maid sits me back down in front of my vanity table. She brushes my hair for several minutes before deftly winding it into a graceful chignon on the back of my head and securing it with the pins and combs that Erik had chosen for me. I watch in the mirror, amazed at the 19th century woman reflected there, and have great difficulty connecting that image with _me. _

_Knock! _

I jump to my feet and take a quick look in the floor-standing cheval mirror, which is surrounded by a frame impeccably carved with dancing Greek goddesses holding sheaves of wheat to celebrate fertility and a successful harvest. It's very ironic that in the Victorian society, which is so uptight and overdressed, the art features scantily dressed gods and goddesses that seem to appear everywhere—even in the furniture!

The quality and beauty of my dress amazes me. I hadn't thought that the dresses of this era, considering how cumbersome they are to wear, would be so attractive. Checking my hair, which is piled on my head in such a strange new manner, I'm amazed by the myriad of delicate pins that sparkle with tiny gems. With a final check of my makeup, and a side glance at my clothing, I am startled at the enormity of my bustle. Oh, well, I appear ready to face the world, caboose and all.

_KNOCK! _

That's no doubt Erik, and he's getting impatient. I rush across the room and throw open the door. At first Erik's mouth is pursed tightly in impatient exasperation. But as his eyes inspect me from head to toe, he breaks into an approving smile. "You look lovely this morning, Laura."

Erik is breathtakingly handsome himself, dressed in his black day suit and sporting a blue brocade vest. With, his cravat tied perfectly in place and pinned with a pearl, he seems to be dressed for a formal dinner rather than breakfast. Nonetheless it's painfully obvious that he's lost a lot of weight. The bones and veins of his hand stand out prominently when he reaches up and gently brushes some wayward hair behind my ear. "Your hair does not seem to like the restriction of the style being imposed on it!"

"Good morning, Erik. You look very handsome yourself," but I bite my tongue and don't comment on his reduced state, resolving instead to make sure his plate is piled high with food until he's returned to his previous weight. So, I simply reply, "My hair isn't the only thing rebelling against the style being imposed on it." I look around to make sure that there isn't anyone to hear me, then add, "My ribcage is complaining considerably about this corset! I wonder if I'll ever adjust to this clothing."

I frown, but Erik's mood is so cheerful, he brushes my comment aside, "Perhaps a little breakfast will improve your outlook. Shall we?" With a dashing flair, he offers his arm and sweeps me down the hallway to the stairs.

Everyone else is already seated at the table when we enter the dining room. They look up as we enter and call out friendly greetings, but their eyes continue to follow us around the room. I feel on display and wonder what they are thinking. Erik and I move to the sideboard to select our breakfast, which is served buffet style. Erik picks up a plate and hands it to me so that I can make my choices first, and I smile and thank him. The food smells wonderful. A number of covered trays hold croissants, jams, omelets, meats, fruits and cheeses. I make sure that Erik fills his plate and take a small amount of each for myself, wishing to sample their flavors, wondering how different the tastes and textures will be.

We walk toward the long, formal dining table. A servant quickly steps forward to pull out my chair, and Erik seats himself next to me at the head of the table. There's little conversation. Perhaps everyone is still adjusting to the new environment and being cautious about what they say in front of the servants. But, I still sense tension between Erik and Horatio.

Finally Horatio breaks the uneasy silence. "Laura, I understand you will need to go shopping in Paris to add more clothing to your wardrobe," he begins, trying to bring some sociability into the chilled atmosphere.

Pausing as I lift a bit of fruit to my mouth, I answer, "Yes, Horatio, I suppose I will."

Grace immediately steps in. "Laura, how about going in on Monday? After you have a couple days to rest and recuperate from your…trip."

"All right. I'd like that very much."

"What…the shopping or the recuperating?" Jeremy asks with a grin.

Returning his smile, I answer, "Well, Jeremy, both actually. I would like a couple days to…adjust to…France before ordering clothes, or other personal items." I watch the two servants who are hovering over all of us, meticulously replenishing glasses or plates. How will we ever hold open conversations about what we really want to say? Will we always have to guard our tongues so carefully?

Erik says nothing, but his eyes study me quizzically. "I think that is wise, Laura, for you to wait a few days before venturing into Paris. Its streets and shops are quite different from what you are accustomed to in America."

"I agree, Laura," Horatio speaks up unexpectedly. "I think Monday will be perfect. You can rest over the weekend Laura, and Monday we will go to the train station again to pick up another friend from America."

Everyone suddenly stops eating and stares at Horatio. I realize instantly that we have no friends in America, except in the 21st century, so Horatio must be informing all of us that someone is coming from the future and will need to be picked up at the transport area.

Horatio glances around at each of us, then adds, "He'll be visiting for about ten days. It's his first visit to France, and with Erik's approval, he could occupy the corner room on the third floor."

That's a strange thing for Horatio to say. I wonder what the significance of giving this visitor that particular room is, especially since Grace nods her head in agreement. I'll have to ask her privately later today what this means.

"Yes, of course, that will be acceptable," Erik agrees, and his face, too, tells me that he understands the special significance of Horatio's request. Everyone knows what's going on, who this visitor is, except me. Everyone else received training to prepare for this culture and has been here for two weeks. I am beginning to feel quite lost and out of place.

I'm ecstatic at being here with Erik, but also terrorized at what lies ahead. All the things I don't know, from the language to the culture, to the simplest functions of daily living. And, what if I make a mistake? What if I give away how truly foreign all this is to me? How will I fit into a society that considers women to be fragile, reserved, even incompetent? How do I balance who I am with what is expected?

Thoughtfully, I taste the small square of cheese, finding it much richer than any I've ever tasted, and I enjoy its creamy texture. After smelling the delicious aroma of baking bread wafting through the château earlier, I'm anxious to munch on the feather-light croissant, which is seeped with warm butter. All of the food is so flavorful, and I wonder if it's because of the lack of modern additives and preservatives. Erik even seems to be enjoying the food and has eaten nearly everything I put on his plate.

He gazes back at me contentedly. I still can't believe where I am and look at Erik in wonder. As he leans down to take a bite of fruit, his eyes linger on my low-cut bodice. He pops the grape in his mouth, then looks up at me with an intimate curl of his lip, causing my heart to skip a beat. I wish we were miles from here and away from all the people who hover around us.

Soon Erik and I are the only ones left in the dining room. "Laura," Erik's voice cuts through my musings. Then he peruses the room and asks in a lowered tone, "Would you like to go out riding after breakfast?"

"I'd love that!" amused by his conspiratorial manner.

"Have you ridden before?" his voice has a slight edge of concern.

Nodding, I respond under my breath, "Yes. I rode every summer on my grandparents' farm in Ireland. They raised thoroughbreds, and I even learned dressage."

"No, Laura," Erik's voice is now softer, "I mean have you ever ridden side-saddle?"

"Oh!" I suddenly get the picture. "No, I haven't. Is that the only way a woman is allowed to ride?"

"Indeed, I am afraid that is the only acceptable manner for a lady in France," Erik's eyebrow flattens in an apologetic expression. "But, I am sure you will master the technique easily."

"Yes, of course." But I wonder.

"Well, if we change into our riding clothes quickly and go out the back servant's hallway, we can leave before anyone notices," he says with a devious grin.

Erik escorts me back to my bedroom where my maid helps me into my riding habit. While I've been gone, she's been busy making my bed, disposing of the bath water—and I gulp at the other things she probably disposed of, as well. My room is entirely neat and tidy. Will I ever get used to being waited on hand and foot? I'm not even sure that having servants take care of every need or want is even proper. How am I to deal with this?

When Erik knocks, I am ready and take a quick look into the mirror. My riding habit is almost as cumbersome as my dress: the jacket has a full flounce in back, and the skirt is long and full, but at least there's only one layer. Encumbered with these clothes, how will I even mount the horse? Erik is now rapping impatiently on the door, so I hurry over and open it. He stands regally in tailored riding clothes, and I gasp at his imposing figure.

Suddenly I look forward to this ride, to our finally having some time alone. As soon as the door is closed behind me, he steps toward me, places his hands on the door on each side of my face and leans forward slowly, barely brushing his lips against mine. Then he lowers his head slightly and studies me as if marveling that I'm here.

Mesmerized by his eyes which are so close and spellbinding, I trust Erik and feel for the first time in my life that it's safe to yield totally to another person. I wait suspended, wondering what he'll do next. Slowly Erik's mouth lowers and covers mine. His velvet tongue touches my lips, and I willingly open and accept his all-consuming kiss. He leans against me, pressing my body firmly into the door. I can feel his heart pounding, even through the layers of my riding habit.

We pause for breath and Erik rests his cheek on my hair. His lips graze my temple until they are next to my ear, where he whispers, "I _long_ for us to be alone."

Glancing both ways down the hall, Erik smiles enticingly, "Come," and offers me his open hand. I place my hand in his, and he guides me surreptitiously through the back hallways of the chateau and out the servant's door toward the stable.

When we enter the stable, the groom is waiting with our horses already saddled. Erik must have sent one of his servants to have the horses ready. Mine is a placid white mare who swishes her tail and nuzzles me as I stroke her neck.

"I think we best hurry." Erik impatiently takes me by the elbow.

He leads me to the side of the mare. Then I see it—a three-step stool. I moan. But, Erik hastily guides me up the steps and helps me into the side-saddle.

Erik quickly mounts his horse, a large, spirited black stallion with a white star on his forehead, and easily controls its nervous energy.

I follow Erik through the stable, past the horse stalls and the carriage room. "Are you comfortable with the saddle, Laura?" Erik asks anxiously as we exit the back door at a trot.

"Yes." I smile, just wanting us to be away.

"Good! Then you are ready?"

That's when we hear it. The thudding of other hooves on the hard, winter-frozen ground behind us. Looking back, I see Jeremy and Joe riding from around the corner of the stable.

"Yes! We're ready, too, Erik!" Jeremy beams one of his unassuming, brilliant grins.

Erik whirls his horse around, glowering darkly at the two uninvited guests. For a tense moment, we watch his anger flare. Then his mouth goes flat, and looking at Jeremy, he scowls in concession.

Sullenly, we ride off into the frost-covered field with our two shadows not far behind.

My own reaction is, _"Where is Erik's Punjab lasso when we need it?"_

* * *

Thank you to my intrepid editors, Phanna and KFC. 


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Erik takes Laura on her first trip to Paris, but**** Erik leaves her and Grace at the dressmaker's and goes off on his own missions. And...Jeremy earns his pay! ****Enjoy!! **

**Chapter 45 FRIENDS, by Phanfan**

_Paris, or thereabouts… _

_Monday, December 18, 1871 _

_Jeremy's POV:_

As the carriage jolts over another rut, I wonder if Joe is intentionally aiming for them and has a bet on how many he can hit between the chateau and Paris. The last one definitely left some space between us and the plushly covered benches. Erik has his arms around Laura, and that prevents her from flying off the seat, but Grace occasionally grabs my arm to keep from going airborne.

Grace can't contain herself and grins across at Laura. "Missing your Corvette about now?"

Laura laughs, but like always, is tactful and doesn't respond. Erik has been meticulously supervising every minute of Laura's day since she arrived, determined to make her comfortable and content in her new life. She's no doubt picked up on that, so she rarely complains about anything—well, with the exception of last Friday when she had her first encounter with 19th century clothes. But then Laura _was_ a bit tipsy. I'll have to take some blame for that, since I was the one who proposed her having a drink on an empty stomach. I'll know better in the future.

Erik scowls, but I'm not sure if it's in response to Grace's comment or Joe's driving. Neither one helps Erik in making his case to Laura that living in the 19th century does have its advantages. But Erik's frame of mind today is not in the least bit jovial. A sullen, introspective mood has draped him like a rain cloud all morning, making my gut tighten with feelings of foreboding.

Something about this trip to Paris has triggered Erik's moodiness, and that could mean trouble for me. I wonder what's up? Is he worried about being recognized as the Phantom? Or, is he worried about running into someone he knows, like Christine, or maybe Raoul? Or does he have some business that's weighing on his mind?

"How was Joe chosen to drive the carriage today?" Erik no longer contains his displeasure at the jarring ride we're being forced to endure. "He has all the skill of a mule-team driver."

"Actually, it was a process of elimination," I try to smooth over Erik's testy remark. "Horatio and Matt had to ride out to the arrival area to pick up the incoming person from the transport lab. That left Russ on guard duty at the chateau, and with me as your bodyguard, Joe was the only one left to drive."

But, I reflect, these assignments today were probably for the best, all things considered. There are still uneasy feelings between Erik, Horatio and Russ. They've been giving each other wide berth these last three days, and I wonder how long it will be before they can put behind them what they were prepared to do to each other. That has even left me with a bad taste in my mouth, and I still have difficulty comprehending what Horatio was willing to do concerning Erik. Of course, we all _are military_, and we _are trained _to follow orders. But Horatio knew the reason why Erik was so desperate. For God's sake, Erik lived in Horatio's home, and they had become friends. I still can't understand disconnecting from all of that and being able to follow _those_ orders.

Matt couldn't drive the coach since he's the medic for the team and assigned to meet all incoming people. The time travel often has physical side effects such as dizziness, nausea, even passing out as Laura had done. Matt always brings his 19th century medical bag, filled with 21st century medicines. So, despite Joe's driving technique, which admittedly leaves a lot to be desired, he became the best choice for a variety of reasons.

Laura reaches over and takes Erik's hand in her own, trying to smooth his ruffled feathers, "Erik, you said there were many things about shopping that would be very different for me. Could you please tell me a little about what those will be? Are there things I should know so that I don't stand out?" Laura uses this as a diversionary tactic to get Erik's mind off Joe's awful driving and gives a soft laugh to release some of the tension. It works. Erik becomes engrossed in answering all of Laura's questions about the dressmaker and the various shops where she can find her list of necessities.

That's when it becomes apparent we won't be accompanying them. Erik is clearly sending the women off to shop without us. He makes the excuse that he and I need to go to the tailor's shop to order all the men's costumes for the masque ball. That seems reasonable, but knowing Erik, I suspect he has something else in mind. _But what? _

Erik spends every waking minute with Laura. I wonder if Laura has even had any time alone with Grace to find out about everything that happened after the shooting. I really don't think so. We all give Erik and Laura as much privacy as possible. Well, except, of course, I do have to be within range to protect Erik, since I'm his bodyguard. He's tried to give me the slip a couple times, but I've been around him enough these last six months that I'm beginning to anticipate what he's plotting. So far, I've been one step ahead of him. I chuckle to myself. My friendly chats with the servants have been effective so far in finding out what his plans are. But, I try not to be too obtrusive, and when we're in the chateau, I often stay in an adjacent room to give him and Laura a little space. So, as I watch Erik holding Laura possessively to him on the carriage seat, I wonder what's important enough to pry him away from her side, even for a short time?

The clopping of the horses' iron shoes on the narrow, cobbled streets at the edge of the city announce we've arrived in Paris. Sounds inundate us from all directions. After the quiet of the countryside, the rumble of the iron and wood wheels of passing carriages in the busy city traffic thunders out a clattering din of noise. The excited voices of people walking along the narrow, winding streets call out holiday greetings to each other through the frosty December air. Crossing at the intersection ahead, the clanging bell on a fire truck as it races by announces another feared fire caused by gas lamps.

And the smells. Coming from the 21st century, Laura isn't prepared for the pungent odors of everyday city life. In Paris many smells layer on top of each other and since this is mid-winter, there are no blooming flowers or freshly cut grass to add a pleasant coating. Instead, the cold air makes each aroma stand out in stark contrast. At the pleasant end of the spectrum are the warm fragrances of baking breads floating on the air as we pass the many bakeries and patisseries. Other odors aren't so pleasant. Heaps of rubbish and garbage containers in alleyways and along the streets of the poorer neighborhoods, give off acrid stench of decaying refuse. And, of course, there are the droppings from the horses that provide the city's transportation. Since this is winter time, Laura won't have to deal with the swarms of flies that congregate in the warmer weather around the piles of manure that always litter the streets.

Laura peers through the curtains of the carriage window, absorbing every sight, sound and smell with a combination of amazement and trepidation.

I can't resist saying, "Welcome to the nineteenth century, Laura!"

She looks at me and laughs. "I can truly relate to Alice in Wonderland now, can't I, Jeremy?"

The carriage ride suddenly becomes smoother as we turn onto one of the newly paved, wide boulevards and head for the main shopping area. The buildings have now taken on a Regency elegance and the carriages are mostly large broughams or hooded landaus of the well-to-do, pulled by stylishly matched teams of horses.

Erik had given Joe specific directions to a livery stable where the carriage and horses can be left while we shop. Soon the carriage is turning into the entrance, and we're stopped by the liveryman who efficiently opens the door of the carriage and folds down the attached steps. Disembarking first, I help Grace out of the carriage. Erik follows next and turns, reaching up to assist Laura down the precarious steps. She takes his hand and smiles appreciatively as she gathers up her skirts and holds them aside so she can see where to place her feet. When she lands on solid ground her smile freezes as she gets her first deep whiff of stable air. The fumes are overpowering with a mixture of horses, horse urine and manure, harness oil and hay. Erik notices her expression and winces. He holds out his arm and quickly leads Laura to the sidewalk, taking her away from the overwhelming odors as quickly as possible.

We walk for a couple blocks before stopping in front of the dressmaker's shop. I recognize it as the one where Erik had ordered the three dresses for Laura.

"Shall we meet back here in three hours, at l o'clock, and go to the hotel for lunch?" Erik suggests off-handedly.

"Yes," Grace tilts her head upward and taps her finger on her chin, pretending she's in deep thought. "I think that will be enough time to order the clothes and have measurements taken. We should be able to do sufficient damage to the bank account in that amount of time!"

Laura smiles but then becomes distracted as she gazes into the window of the dress shop at two elaborate, corseted dresses swimming in material and drenched with lace. I don't need to be a psychic to read Laura's mind and feel sympathetic for her being drowned in so many layers of clothing. After overhearing her dressing experience at the gamekeeper's cottage, I no longer feel put upon having to wear the shirt, waistcoat and cravat underneath my jacket. Men get off easily. And, besides, we can breathe.

Erik and Laura give each other a final caress of their hands. In public they're conforming to propriety and restraining themselves by not parting with a kiss. But Erik doesn't release Laura's hand for many moments as their eyes look longingly into each others. Grace winks up at me. I take the clue and escort her to the door of the shop where, along with Joe, we politely face the other direction.

"I'm surprised that Erik is actually leaving Laura for three whole hours!" Grace chuckles under her breath, "I wonder what he's up to?"

Whispering conspiratorially, I grin. "That's my thought, too."

"But you'll never tell me, will you?" Grace makes a face at me in disgust.

I contain a belly laugh. "No, I won't!"

"That's no way to treat a friend, Jeremy," Grace tries one last attempt to manipulate me into promising to confide in her, but I just shake my head firmly.

Finally Erik is able to pull himself away from gazing into Laura's eyes, and we set off down the street at a fast clip. All Erik tells me is, "We have to hurry. We have a lot to get done!" Now I'm _really_ dying of curiosity.

Struggling to keep up with him, I enjoy watching the elegantly dressed shoppers that we pass on the new, broad sidewalk with its overhanging umbrellas of gas lamps. We follow the boulevard for about a half mile, then turn onto another wide boulevard and are in the midst of official-looking buildings. Suddenly it dawns on me. We're headed for a government office, and I'm going to have the honor again of accompanying Erik when he obtains a marriage license, or post banns, or whatever one does in 19th century France. Then, like a thunderbolt I wonder if Erik has proposed yet. Neither Laura nor he has mentioned it. I groan. Is he doing this backwards…_again_?

We climb the many steps of a building with oversized, imposing Greek columns, which announce the importance of the business conducted inside. When we enter the huge foyer, Erik pauses and studies the directory, then turns and sprints up three flights of stairs. I'm not surprised when we enter a door that says "Magistrates."

Erik sweeps up to a mousy brown-haired man who is apparently the clerk, seated behind an ancient desk to strategically direct traffic. When Erik asks to see one of the magistrates, without looking up from his papers, he officiously waves us over to some chairs nearby and directs us to be seated. Erik repeats his request with a chilling voice that freezes the clerk in mid-pen stroke. He looks up and is startled to find an intimidating Erik leaning over him, his black attire, white mask and scowl only inches away. The mousy man gasps and lets out a small shriek, then jumping to his feet, excuses himself and scampers into one of the offices behind him.

Soon the clerk emerges and with a shaky hand points us to the office we are to enter, as he bows and apologizes for detaining us.

The magistrate looks up from his stack of documents, surprised at Erik's half-covered face. "I am M Duviere, at your service. Please be seated, gentlemen. I have been informed that you have something most urgent to discuss with me." Studying Erik's mask with undisguised curiosity, he waves us into chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

"This is Mr. Nichols, from America, and I am M Mercier." Erik and I settle into two hard leather arm chairs, obviously meant to keep anyone from becoming too comfortable or wanting to take up too much of the Magistrate's time, "…and, that is correct. I will be in Paris only briefly today and need information concerning the current state of the law…"

"Current state of the law?" The magistrate is properly confused.

"I am a native of France, of course, but have been in America for…some time, and have returned only a couple weeks ago. Therefore, I do not know the current requirements of the law concerning marriage," Erik actually looks nervous. I'm getting a déjà vu feeling. The last time I saw him nervous was when he was grilling the court clerk about the marriage certificate.

"Ah, I see, Monsieur," the magistrate seems to relax now and sits back in his chair. I wonder if he's relieved that the issue under discussion is so benign, or if he's perhaps happily ruling out the possibility that the man in front of him could be the previously infamous Phantom of the Opera? "Well, the time from the posting of the banns to the wedding is still ten days. That hasn't changed while you've been absent from the country."

"Thank you, M Duviere, but that is not my only concern. My fiancé is American, and she has just arrived from the United States. Is it not required under the law for her to be a resident in France for a period of time before the posting of banns?"

I remember now that Erik had asked the American clerk this question. I hold my breath, hoping the period of time won't be too long…for Erik's sake.

"Hmm," M Duviere smiles with understanding. "The law does require a thirty day period of residency before the posting of the banns, which would still be the usual ten days. So, you will be able to marry your fiancé in only forty days."

Erik swallows hard. Apparently that was longer than he'd anticipated. I feel sorry for him. When we last heard the number of days before he could be married, it was only three. Then Laura was shot, and that has been four weeks ago. Now Erik has to wait another month. I wonder...can he stand it, especially with Laura…well, so close by?

Then the magistrate drops the bomb. "All you need is proof and proper documentation establishing the date she arrived so that we can verify she's been here for the requisite period."

"Proper documents? Proof?" Erik is taken by surprise. "What do you mean 'proper documents?'"

"Well, M Mercier, be assured that is nothing to worry about. Your fiancé will simply need to provide a document, such as her steamship reservation to prove when she arrived."

"She does not have a steamship reservation!" Erik responds with frustration. I shift uneasily in my bone jarring chair. This is not good. Erik is now reacting before thinking.

"But didn't she come by steamship from America? Can she not provide her reservation receipt?" the magistrate is justifiably perplexed.

"No, she cannot!" Erik replies, exasperated.

"_Why_ not?"

"Well, you may take my word!! She does not have her steamship receipt! What other document can be used?" Erik's voice is now strained.

"Monsieur, she could use the receipt from her hotel which shows her first night here in France."

"No, _she cannot_!"

"And, why not, Monsieur? Did she stay on the streets when she arrived?" Oh boy! That didn't come out right! The magistrate clearly didn't think about that question before he asked it.

Erik's hackles are now up, and he's getting angry. "Are you implying something improper about my fiancé?"

"Non! Non! Excusez-moi, Monsieur! I meant no offense. I am certain your fiancé is very proper!" The magistrate now takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and mops the beads of moisture popping out on his forehead. "Well, then, if she does not have such a hotel document, she could use the receipt from her train ticket to Paris! Certainly! Oui, that would be adequate!"

"She has no train ticket receipt!" Erik's emotions are now outracing his common sense.

"No steamship receipt? No hotel receipt? No train receipt? Are you telling me she just arrived out of thin air, Monsieur?" The magistrate is definitely getting confused and confrontational—and closer to the truth than he realizes. "Or is this person a figment of your imagination?"

"Just what are you implying by that comment?" Erik leaps to his feet, knocking over his chair which hits the floor with a loud bang. He's breathing hard as he glares down on the frightened magistrate. I quickly stand and grasp Erik's shoulder, firmly holding him back.

Trying to stop Erik from going Phantom, I turn to the magistrate and demand urgently, "Surely there must be some other way to document the young woman's arrival date?"

M Duviere hesitates for just a second. "Oui, if two French citizens sign a document that they know she's been present in France from a certain date, then that will suffice!" The magistrate is now sitting far back in his chair putting as much distance as possible between himself and Erik.

"Thank you, M Duviere!" With that, I patiently direct a glowering Erik toward the exit. "We appreciate your time and your assistance." When I open the door, standing next to the secretary's desk are two gendarmes. Oh boy! That weasel clerk must have called them when the chair crashed.

"Halt!" And, with that, their guns are aimed directly at Erik and me. I step in front of Erik, and raising my hands slowly, I calmly begin, "Nothing has happened to the magistrate. One of us accidentally knocked a chair over. Nothing more!"

By now the magistrate is standing in the doorway, gazing from the gendarmes to me, then to Erik. "Isn't that true, M Duviere?" My mind is racing. This situation is rapidly getting out of control, "Nothing happened except that the chair fell over? My friend was simply very, very anxious about the arrangements for his marriage. I'm _sure_ you can understand his concern that everything be done properly, within the law…" I search the magistrate's face. My last words seem to be softening him up, "…and, I feel that you as a Frenchman could appreciate the emotion surrounding an anticipated wedding and the anxiety that any delay would cause?" As I study the magistrate's demeanor, he seems to be vacillating. I pray he has a romantic nature. If not, this time I end up in prison _with_ Erik.

The magistrate again swipes his forehead with his handkerchief. Then, he glances at Erik and says, "Of course! How could I not sympathize with a young man's impatience?" Then looking over at the gendarmes, he waves them away with his hand. Taking one last look in our direction, M Duviere points his finger at me, "You had best watch over your friend! He has a rash temper!" With that, the door closes, I let out a sigh of relief and glare at Erik.

"Come _friend_," I say with a sarcastic grin, "let's go for a walk and get some fresh air!"

Erik doesn't give me any more hassles, and it feels good to be safely out of the building. Our warm breath puffs out into white clouds as we hurry because we must still order the costumes for the masque ball. Thankfully, the tailor's shop is on the same boulevard as the dressmaker's.

At a major intersection, we have to stop for a long line of gaily festooned carriages that are apparently coming from a wedding at the government buildings we just left. As we watch the elegant procession, Erik frowns. "Jeremy, I don't know if you are aware, but here in France, it is required to be married under the civil law by a magistrate even before a church ceremony can be performed." He watches the coaches pass by and shakes his head, "Too many oppressive rules and regulations, and too many people dictating what should be done…and when."

Curious where this going, I take the plunge, "Well, what else can do you?"

"I lived for some time with the gypsies when I was a boy. They call themselves 'Roma' and had their own traditions. Indeed, even courtship and marriage were done according to their own customs." Erik intently watches the wedding carriage pass by with the giggling bride and amorous groom holding her closely and nuzzling her neck. Shaking his head, Erik continues, "Among the Roma, the parents usually arranged the marriage after extensive negotiations and a proper amount of money exchanged hands. Then, there was a celebration where the bride was given a necklace, which announced the engagement to the world."

"You mean like the necklace that you designed for Laura?"

"Yes," with a cunning smile, Erik nods his head, "you could say that."

"So, how are the marriages done, then?" My mind is now leaping ahead, trying to figure out where Erik is going with this.

"Actually, they did not believe in formal rituals or ceremonies. The Roma believed the only requirement was for the man and woman to commit themselves to share their lives, and that alone constituted a marriage. All they had to do was make that vow in the presence of family or a witness."

"Really?" I'm definitely nervous about where this is going and study Erik uneasily. Will I have to find a band of gypsies now?

Thankfully, there is no further discussion of this subject because the wedding party has passed, and we can continue on our way. When we arrive, Erik wastes no time and hands the tailor sketches of the costumes he drew based on what each of us requested. I'm amazed at the detail that Erik has put into each costume and for the first time begin to look forward to this masque ball. The tailor already has our measurements from our previous fittings when we first arrived, so we complete out business in a matter of minutes.

"Is there a good jeweler nearby?" Erik asks the tailor as we're leaving.

"Oui, certainly. The finest jeweler in this part of Paris has a shop on the next block to the west. It is the only one on that block, so you cannot miss it!"

Glancing down at my watch, I advise Erik that we have only a half hour before we are to meet the ladies for lunch. We hurry down the street and easily find the jeweler's tiny shop with corner windows that beckon passersby into its welcoming interior. The sunlight beams through immaculately clean windows, and the jewelry displayed in the glass cases sparkle enticingly to be admired…and purchased.

The elderly jeweler behind one of the counters smiles as we enter. From his cloak pocket Erik removes a paper with the sketch of a woman's ring and hands it to the friendly old man. Gazing down at the array of jewelry, Erik nods his approval at the quality of the workmanship.

After examining Erik's drawing, the jeweler looks up at him. "You have a fine sense of design. I'll be pleased to make this. How soon do you need it?"

"How soon can you have it ready?" Erik inquires anxiously.

"You must be in a hurry to give this to your young lady," he teases with a raised eyebrow.

Boy, isn't that the truth! I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying it aloud.

"Monsieur, it is of the utmost urgency for me to have this ring at the earliest possible date," Erik implores.

"When will you next be in Paris, Monsieur?"

"We will return the day after Christmas to pick up our orders from the tailor's shop down the street," Erik's voice is now even more anxious as if he fears that may be asking too much of the old man.

"Oui! I can do that. Rest assured it will be ready on that day, Monsieur!" For the very first time today, Erik smiles.

Then our attention is directed to the case with its stunning variety of gemstones, as the jeweler lifts out one of the trays for Erik, "Now, you need to choose the stones to be used in the setting. What did you have in mind?"

Without hesitating, Erik points out his selection, "That large pink topaz is to be placed in the center. I wish it to be surrounded by diamonds."

"Ah, Monsieur, that is a very meaningful choice, indeed."

Ok, that went over my head. I jump in with both feet and ask, "Why would that have any particular meaning?"

The two men's faces swivel toward me. They stare at me as if I am from another planet. It dawns on me, that's not so far from the truth.

Erik glances apologetically at the grey-haired man, "My _friend_ is newly arrived from America." Turning back to me, he patiently explains, "Each gem is attributed with unique meaning and qualities. The topaz has special power to guard the one who wears it from enemies and will also protect from poison or sudden death."

The old jeweler is nodding his head in agreement and chimes in, "Furthermore, it is a symbol of beauty and, I am sure it is chosen to reflect the loveliness of the young lady."

Erik nods his enthusiastic agreement.

Then the jeweler continues, "Indeed it also promotes happiness and fertility."

"Well _that_ explains _everything_!" Grinning broadly, I can't resist kidding Erik. His back stiffens, as he indignantly looks away.

Having finished Erik's secret missions, we rush back to the dressmaker's shop and arrive just as Joe is opening the door for the women. We all head for the hotel, looking forward to Laura's first opportunity to taste Parisian cuisine.

Erik's mood is noticeably changed from this morning. As we sit in the palm-bedecked hotel dining room, Grace and I exchange knowing glances. She _knows _something happened while we were away from them, and I _know_ I won't tell her.

The lunch is served in many courses of overly rich foods, smothered in sauces. Laura compliments every dish, much to Erik's delight. But I notice that she scoops a bit of each of her servings onto Erik's plate. He does not complain and tries his best to eat it all.

Totally focused on Laura, Erik happily listens to her adventures at the dressmakers. She's excited that there is a chemist's shop nearby where they can buy some real bath oils and soap and a book store not far from the hotel. He gazes at her lovingly throughout the meal and, on occasion, takes her hand and holds it as I've seen him do so many times at the dinner table. But I notice his index finger traces along her ring finger. He clearly hasn't popped the question…_yet._

I wonder if Erik is proposal-shy due to his past traumatic experience with Christine, or if he's just waiting for the right timing and perfect situation. But this is becoming nerve-wracking _for me_. And, Erik should know by now: the longer he waits, the greater the possibility that something _might _go wrong!

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Profuse Thank Yous to intrepid editors, Phanna and KFC! 


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Sorry to keep everyone waiting longer than normal, but my life has been extraordinarily busy, and I caught a cold that slowed me down a bit as well. **

**I PROFUSELY THANK each of you who posts your wonderful reviews and comments. We appreciate that so many of you are now reading The Epic Case! We writers truly try to make it a richly detailed story, and that takes a lot of writing, editing and honing so that we can make it a **_**quality**_** experience for you. And, the statistics tell us there are a LOT of you reading The Epic Case!**

**And, I realize that I'm woefully behind in responding to those of you who have written such great reviews! I may not be able to respond individually as I have in the past because of my over-crammed schedule which now includes…and I am announcing it here…the writing of the book,** **The Epic Case of the Phantom****. Yes, I am slow in posting this current chapter NOT because we are running out of steam for writing this epic tale, or because we do not have story ideas. In fact, the entire plotline of Book Two is outlined and will be written.**

**The reason for the delay in posting is because I am spending long, intense hours rewriting The Epic Case for publication. And, the story is greatly rewritten…with many of the same people whom you have come to love, and many new ones. The story is not the same…it is even richer, deeper and broader in scope. Erik's back story is told in detail and is different than any you have read elsewhere, but it does explain realistically how he became the person he was—a genius, but deeply troubled by the events of his life. We will see how he was able to develop his genius and what caused those deep scars, and we will take a much closer look at the mystical side of Erik as well. **

**The book focuses on Erik and Laura, minus much of military, spy and detective part of the fanfiction version. But, yes, the Team, the body guards, will still be there protecting him. It also incorporates the fascinating details of what it was like to live in the 19th century that you are now reading in Book 2. The book puts much more focus on how Laura finds the truth out about Erik, as she sifts through the fiction and myth, discovering his real history, his true self. And, it relates much more of the work of The Program, of time travel, and of the desperate need to create the alternate time track before it is too late. **

**So, we will continue to post chapters of Book 2, and the next five chapters are full of the tension that is building up at Chateau Mercier over the Christmas season, and how the clashes of will, of want and of need, and of course, love, all play out.**

**By the way, the authors receive a variety of statistics, as well as the names of all readers who list the story as a Fav or for an Alert. Yep, I know exactly who you are!! LOL!! Here are the current statistics for The Epic Case: **

**The last chapter received OVER 1,000 hits (views), but only 8, YEP, that's right, only 8 reviews. That means a LOT of you read and enjoy this story, but say nothing. **

**Please!! Post a comment or review if you are a regular reader. As I have mentioned before, that is the only pay or feedback we writers receive for posting our stories **_**on this forum**_**. So, even if you don't post every chapter, post once in awhile, and since there are so many who haven't posted after 45 chapters…Please step forward now…we would love to hear from you. And, when you show your interest by reviewing, it certainly spurs us writers to post the new chapters more often!!**

**So, now--on to the events that are building up to what appears will be a very eventful Christmas at Chateau Mercier with plotting and planning, promises of love and the unexpected already in the air!**

* * *

**Chapter 46 ADRIFT, by Phanfan and KFC+**

_Monday, October 17, 2005, STARLab, East Coast, USA_

_**Terese's POV:+ **_

I have a "time constraint."

That is almost a pun. This troubleshooting manual I'm feverishly putting together must be finished, printed out and ready to accompany Merlin when he leaves tonight for 1871 France. He will be delivering some new equipment that will allow us to communicate email-style with the Paris Team. Merlin will be there for several days, teaching the Team how to use the equipment, and he will leave this hard copy of the manual so they can troubleshoot any problems in the event the device malfunctions and our communication is cut off.

For over a month now I've been compiling this manual but my work was interrupted by the unprecedented situation regarding M Phantom and Ms Counselor. That problem preoccupied the majority of my time for the past two weeks and required the STARLab team's utmost efforts to solve.

We finally transported Laura to France last Friday, and hopefully on time. That's the problem. We don't know, because at present we have no means of sending messages back and forth. When Laura left STARLab, Marek gave her a handwritten note for Horatio, informing him that Merlin would be arriving on Monday, December 18, between noon and 2:00 p.m. at the usual place, along with the long overdue communication equipment.

As a result of having to resolve Ms Counselor's situation, I'm very late in completing this indispensable manual. After working non-stop for several days _and nights,_ I finally finished it. All that remains is to print the hardcopy, and the printer chooses now to get cantankerous. It stops printing on page 50.

"Merlin!" I press the intercom button to the Tech Lab. No answer. So where is the miracle worker when I need him? I fiddle with the printer...annoyed that I have to deal with this. This isn't what I like to waste my time on.

As I begin to take the printer apart, there is a loud bang on my door and someone barges into the room. That's definitely not Merlin! He doesn't barge.

Andre Marek plops into a swivel chair next to my computer desk and spins toward me, hands folded, elbows propped on his knees. "Darlin'…." He stares up at me gravely, "this isn't going to work."

"It better!" I snap. "Have you seen Merlin? I have 328 more pages to print before he leaves, and I need his magic to get the darned printer working!"

"The printer's not what I'm worried about.

I swing to face him. "What's not going to work?"

"Sendin' Merlin t' France...he's the worst possible candidate for the job."

"But he built the equipment!"

Marek jerks himself out of the chair. "He may be a miracle worker in the Lab, but he can't explain anythin' he does in normal, everyday, _understandable English_."

"Merlin is a genius."

"Yeah, but he can't communicate! He can't train anybody! I spent 4 hours tryin' t' get that guy t' describe the technology in a way a normal person can understand before I realized it's completely hopeless. I have a pretty good layman's understandin' o' the time transport technology and science, and he can't even explain it t' me!"

"What are you saying?"

"Terri, I'm sayin' we can't send him! He can't do it!"

"Good luck convincing The Program...at this late date."

"I just came from talkin' t' the Lab Director. Thanks t' my being right on a number o' other occasions, he's takin' my advice."

"Oh? And who does he propose to send instead?"

Marek gives me his smart-ass grin. "You're lookin' at me lookin' at her."

I stare blindly at Marek."

"Terri, you're takin' a trip!"

I eye him suspiciously. "Marek, I haven't heard a thing about this from anyone official!"

He shrugs and nods toward my computer screen, which is blinking at me.

MEMO ALERT!

Dazed, I click open the memo.

_Dr. Terese Mercedes, prepare to transport out at 2400 hours, Monday, October 17. On the recommendation of Dr. Marek, you will:_

_1) Accompany the Inter-time Communication Equipment to the Team at the Paris location._

_2) Establish a functional link with STARLab._

_3) Instruct Team personnel about the equipment's operation, maintenance and repair. _

4) _Return to STARLab within 10 days._

"Marek! You conniving...son of a banshee! Isn't this a little short notice?!"

He smirks. "Yea, but a chance like this doesn't come 'round every day."

I just gape at him, unable to speak.

"So how long have you been workin' straight? I bet you haven't taken a break in a while." Marek leans against my desk and studies me. "I think you're losin' some o' the blonde in your hair...you know, the highlights...from not seein' the sun for so long. When's the last time you went home?"

"Uh...Thursday?"

Marek crosses his arms over his chest and appears to be thinking hard. "You transport at midnight, _tonight_. It'll be around noon when you arrive in Paris. You're gonna need coffee."

"You mean, _Marek wants coffee_," I retort.

He punches the intercom button. "All right ya wizard, Merlin, get in here and work your magic on Terri's printer. I'm takin' her out o' here for a bit. Better be done when we get back!"

I hesitate. "Marek, should we really leave? Don't you have to give me some kind of cultural adaptation crash course?"

"Ach...no big deal! You're a fast learner. You won't be in Paris that long and won't interact with the culture outside o' the chateau, so I'm not worried. I'll give you the 20 minute version before you transport out. Just t' help you brush up a bit on 19th century social customs, teach you t' curtsey an' things."

"Curtsey! You're going to teach me to curtsey? Oh this_ I have GOT to see."_

As Marek opens the outside door he takes me by the arm and actually holds his other hand over my eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Laughing, I shove his hand away and reach into my purse for a pair of sunglasses.

"Where's your car, Terri?"

I point to a black Mercedes about 6o feet away.

"What!" Marek almost loses his balance as he spins around. "That's yours?"

I smile and put on my sunglasses.

"You're kiddin'…" Marek is incredulous. "How?"

"Early Christmas present from The Program."

"Aaahhhhhhh!!!"

"Not that I drive it much," I add, digging in my purse for the keys. Hearing the jingle, Marek immediately lights up.

"Please, Terese...?" He jogs backward in front of me, beaming his most endearing smile. I watch him hop and skip for a while, then I toss him the keys. Catching them above his head, he takes off toward my car. "If I were you," he yells, "I think I'd go home at night once in a while...just t' drive this thing."

He revs the engine as I get in the passenger side, then floorboards the gas pedal through the parking lot. This has me wondering about the wisdom of letting him drive, but as we turn into traffic, he resumes a proper speed and grins, "Gottcha!"

"So, where are we headed?" I ask, attempting to sound unruffled.

"Well, Starbucks, of course! Where else?"

"Marek, what's your target number of gallons to consume before you leave?"

I translate his uncontained laughter to mean "as many as possible."

"Terri, I have to get good coffee while I can!" he insists. "You should taste the stuff I have to concoct at home out of herbs! It tastes like horse dung!"

As he gives me an animated account of his many failed attempts to create a palatable coffee substitute without the coffee bean, I notice we seem to be driving in circles. "Marek, do you know where you're going?" I wonder out loud.

A sheepish look crosses his face. "Shoot, Starbucks keeps movin' around! How can I keep track?"

"Admit it, Marek, you're lost."

He laughs and slaps the steering wheel. "All right…refresh my memory. How do we get t' the joint again?"

"Your insane love of espresso got you pretty close. Turn right at the next light."

Within minutes we pull into the Starbucks' parking lot. "Ah, decent coffee...sandwiches...nice cushy chairs!" Marek exclaims. "But remember, this is a public place, and we can't talk about our jobs, or my life in the 14th century, or time travel, or anything like that."

"What else is there?" I ask as we get out of the car.

Marek flashes me a sly look, "Let's talk about you."

"What about me?"

"Like, why you're 35 and still single."

"I resent that, Marek. Many women my age are single and quite happy."

"Are you happy?"

"Of course I am."

"Lonely?"

I stare blankly at Marek. "I'm busy. I don't have time to be lonely."

Marek opens the glass Starbucks' door for me. "That's what I thought."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you're so busy you don't ever get out. You live at the Lab…stuck in a world that's all brains. How do you ever expect to meet anyone?"

We have just stepped up to the counter to place our orders so I don't answer. The cute blonde on the other side smiles at me, but blushes a little when she looks at Marek. Her eyes dance while he places his detailed order, thick with that Scottish burr.

"Better get all that right," Marek warns her, with a wink that I'm sure just made her day, probably her entire week. "This woman..." he points to me, "she's really difficult t' please."

I roll my eyes.

Once we settle into those cushy chairs that Marek had looked forward to, he resumes his line of questioning without skipping a beat. "So what's your man going t' look like? Tall, dark … handsome? Like me?"

As I unwrap my sandwich, I glare at Marek. "Actually, I have no idea what he'll look like. I just know that I'll recognize him."

"So just exactly what is it about him that you're goin t' recognize?"

"Why make it so technical?" I object.

"Well...you have a great scientific mind. I thought you might be able t' explain this t' a man."

"I don't look at anything technically...or scientifically, Marek."

He plops his cup down, causing it to splash, then in a dramatically startled manner, eyes me across our small café table. "The greatest scientific mind that I personally happen t' know...does not view anythin' scientifically?"

I smile and take a bite, letting Marek mull this over for a while before I explain.

"An even greater scientific mind once said, 'There are two ways to live your life.'" I take a sip of coffee before continuing. "One...as if _nothing_ is a miracle, and the other...as if _everything_ is a miracle.'"

"Well, I must admit, in all my readin' of philosophy and history, I've never run across that quote. Who said it?"

"Albert Einstein." I play absent-mindedly with my napkin. "It's true...the farther you delve into science, the more of a miracle everything becomes. It's just that most miracles are so ordinary we don't recognize them."

"Well I hope Mr. Miracle isn't so ordinary that you miss him."

I almost choke on my coffee. "Oh, no worries!" I assure him. "He'll stand out. It's been years since I've been around anybody _ordinary_."

"So the miracle will be that you'll recognize him even though you've never met him before?"

"Exactly!"

"T'will be that easy, huh? You'll just know."

"It might be something in his voice," I shrug, "Or his eyes. I don't know! How did you know, Marek?"

He laughs. "Well, lookin' back now, I didn't know for sure right away. I'm dense though, y'know!" He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews it, and then swallows quickly as if a thought has just occurred to him. "Well, I mean, I _knew_...I just didn't _know_ that I knew..."

I nod reassuringly, remembering the well-known tale of his uncovering the two effigies on the tomb at the archeological excavation before his first trip back to the 14th century. The effigies, ironically, turned out to be him and Claire, carved on his death and found centuries later to confirm that he lived his life in the past, as he had wanted, as he chose.

"Yes, some men have to see it carved in stone." I smirk.

Marek rewards my wit with a laugh and for once has no response. Instead, he resumes grilling me about my love life: "So, you have no idea what he'll look like, but you'll know him when you see him."

I hesitate, "I don't know what he looks like…just what he feels like."

"Like what?"

"Marek...you are so annoying!"

"No..._really_," Marek growls, "What does he _feel_ like?"

Narrowing my eyes, I set my cup down on the table. "Can't explain it."

"Hmm, so it's one of those women's intuition things."

"Exactly."

"So he'll make you want to kiss a total stranger?"

I consider this for a few minutes. "No...just being near him will feel like a kiss."

Marek suddenly sits back and crosses his arms, his eyes sparkling. "Terri...I had no idea you were such a romantic."

"Oh? I don't give that impression?"

"You're an astrophysicist..."

"Yes, a lover of stars."

"And a quantum theorist..."

"A believer in miracles."

"All this time, I just thought you were all brain."

"What? No heart?" I feign a gasp. "You know what, Marek? For a genius, you're not very smart."

Throwing his head back, Marek laughs, then bangs his cup down on the table. "Terese, you want more coffee? I'll buy you another one."

"No thanks, I've had quite enough." I smile, and begin to wrap up the other half of my sandwich.

Marek shoves the rest of his in his mouth, and we get up from the table. He stops at the counter for a to-go coffee, making the cute blond blush again, and also buys several pounds of fresh-roasted coffee beans. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm going to try to smuggle these home with me," he whispers when we are outside the door. "No one needs to know where they came from."

I raise my eyebrows suspiciously. "They might lose some of their freshness," I warn, "as a result of the time travel."

"Better than horse-dung, though!" Marek exclaims.

As we near my car we pass a good looking man dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, who nods to us both, but smiles at me. When he is a safe distance away, Marek glances back over his shoulder and turns to me with a devilish grin. "So, did that...feel like a kiss walking by?"

"Shut up, Marek! You're having entirely too much fun at my expense!"

When we return to the lab Marek, leaves me at my office door and goes to look for one of the supervisors he needs to talk to.

I return to my desk and find all the manual pages printed out, in a stack beside my computer. On top is a yellow sticky note with a smiley face wearing a wizard hat.

"Merlin, you're cute. A little mousy, but cute."

Now I can do my final edit. It's amazing how many errors one misses when looking at the computer screen. But they show up brilliantly on paper. I scan all 378 pages of the document several times, looking for mistakes that might render this technical information useless to the Team. I find some typos in the text, and several important numerical errors in the codes. I fix them and then reprint about 30 pages. By the time I've replaced the pages correctly in the stack and have the "book" bound and packaged, it is quite late. I am exhausted and would love to just lie down and sleep for a day. But I can't. I still need to get ready. As usual, I drive home in the dark.

When I reach my apartment, I toss my purse on the big overstuffed chair in my living room and look around. After the near starkness of my office, my home seems lushly decorated. It isn't lived in much, but I keep it welcoming, and although I'm never here in the daytime, I keep the entry lamp lit just so there's always a light on when I come home. It just waits for me, sometimes for days. Once it waited a week. But the light is always on.

Candles are scattered throughout the house, especially in the bathroom. Someone with a passion for soaking designed this space. I have a grand circular Jacuzzi tub and gorgeous tiles cover the bathroom floor and walls. When I sit submerged in hot water, amidst the flickering candle flames, I feel as if I'm surrounded by stars. It's my favorite place. Well almost….

I stop my fingers from turning the faucet on. Should I go there tonight? Yes...I should. Forget the bath...I might not have time. Instead of a soak, I take a quick shower and wrap up in my robe while I root through my closet for just the right clothes: no buttons, no snaps, no zippers. Wool socks, pullover sweater, slip-on boots.

Locking and securing my home, I grab my purse and keys and soon I'm back in the Mercedes, headed for my favorite, isolated stretch along the river. I pull over at the lookout. Perfect. There's no one here.

I turn the engine off, I get out of the car. Slipping out of my boots, I climb in sock feet onto the shiny black hood, scoot over into the middle and lean against the windshield. I tilt my head back until the horizon falls away in all directions and I find myself lost in the vastness of space. The sky is black...endless...and infinitely deep.

Myriads of stars hang in the emptiness...stretching across the cosmic stage like a great choir. I can hear them singing, dancing, beckoning me with their twinkling voices. Though light years away, they seem so close. I feel I can almost touch them. The longer I stare, the closer I feel. It's as though I am moving toward them, caught up in swirling lights. Great orbs of fire pass, shooting stars streak overhead and luminous giants hurl through space and time. I feel suspended, weightless...swinging around the center of the galaxy like a small boat on the rim of a giant whirlpool.

Moonlight glistens on the mast as I sail. All at once I am that little girl at the window...lost in the sea of stars, and daddy's voice is the wind that blows the sail of my sky boat.

_Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, one night_

_Sailed off in a wooden shoe..._

_Sailed on a river of crystal light_

_Into a sea of dew..._

"_Where are you going and what do you wish?"_

_The old moon asked the three..._

"What do I wish?" I stare at the moon hanging low in the sky. Her golden glow shines down on me, like I've always imagined my mother's face would have. "I wish I knew where I was going." The moon seems to laugh, as if remembering her part of the old rhyme. My gaze strays to the surrounding stars, wandering among them for awhile before returning the moon. "I wish...for a star of my own. To guide me. To wish on...and to dream of touching. A star to watch, and to watch over me."

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star...how I wonder what you are..._

I remember my chubby little face pressed up against the window glass, my hand struggling with the lock, until daddy came and opened the window, shoving the panes aside. Kneeling beside me on the attic floor, his hand stroked the curls away from my face as I stared wide-eye at the night sky.

"Which one is your favorite?" He whispered in my ear.

"You mean which star?" I wrapped my little arm around his neck. "Oh, I don't know, Daddy...there are millions..."

"Well out there somewhere," he pointed, "there's a star that's your very own."

"Really? My very own star?"

"Yes... Just waiting for you to find it."

"But how will I know when I do?"

"I can't tell you that, honey...you'll just know."

"So it's out there...shining...just waiting for me to know which one it is? But Daddy, the sky is so big. Where should I look?"

"Hmm…let's see. If I were seeking a star, I'd start looking in my favorite star picture."

"Which picture is your favorite, Daddy?"

"'My favorite?' Aren't we trying to find _your_ star?"

"But, I want to know how you found yours."

Daddy laughed. "I wasn't even looking, sweetheart. One night when the moon was dying, the threads of lights shone right through my window. For a moment, the shimmering silver beams wrapped around me, then the moon went down, and the moonbeams went away. When I looked up, there you were...all twinkling, and beautiful...and mine."

"You found me right behind the moon?"

"Yes, I loved the moon better than anything else in the sky, and that's right where I found you. What do you love best in the sky?"

"Well, you know what _that_ is, Daddy!"

He squinted up at the sky, as if he didn't.

"Him!" I pointed. "I like the archer best of all!"

"Why do you like him best?"

"Because he's beautiful and brave and strong...and he travels to far away places with his bow and arrow. Daddy, sometimes at night I dream I'm with him on his horse!"

"You do?"

"Yes! The light is all blue and silvery, and we fly up in the stars.

"Does he shoot his arrow?"

"Yes! He never misses!"

"Ah, then," Daddy said. "Just keep watching him."

"Then I'll find my star?"

"Maybe so, darling. Maybe. But now it's time to get in your little sky boat and sail after him again!"

"And will you tuck me in?"

"Yes."

"And say the poem?"

"Of course!

"Daddy the moon is bright tonight."

"Yes...a perfect night for sailing."

On this very special night as I am poised between the past and my future, the golden moon hangs low on the horizon still watching over me, and behind her smiling face is my sky archer. Newly risen, he stands as ever, poised with strength and stealth to banish all enemies. My magnificent warrior.

For a long time now, I have known what Daddy meant. My own star is not a point of light in the sky, but someone special to be found by following the path of my heart, under the guiding light of the motherly moon that watches over me.

"Daddy..." I whisper into the night air. "I'm really going to sail tonight. When your ship didn't return, I took up where you left off. I've charted the courses of many who've gone and come back again, but by some twist of fate or providence, tonight I'm the one to set sail. And as always, mother's face is the light, and your voice is the wind.

The overwhelming reality of what I'm about to do suddenly hits me. I've been dedicated in this project from the very beginning, but never thought I would actually be one of the few to travel through time. I marvel at the enormity of going back in time to 1871 France. Looking down at my watch, I realize I have to get back to the lab. Only an hour until midnight.

When I arrive, Marek is sleeping on the couch in my office. I unceremoniously shake him out of his deep sleep, and he looks up at me, groaning, "Just because you don't sleep, doesn't mean others don't!" He sits up and stretches. "Let's go get some coffee!"

Our small lunch room is empty at this hour, so we settle down in the uncomfortable chairs at one of the tables, and Marek gives me my crash course in 19th century culture. "You'll have t' defer t' men," he gets right to the meat of the issue, "So, that means if you happen t' disagree with one, don't argue, ok?"

"That does it! You'll just have to get someone else to go!" I give my Cheshire cat grin.

He ignores my comment and continues, "You can't do all the things for yourself like you're used t' doin'. You're a lady o' leisure. That means a maid dresses you, does your hair, makes your bed, picks up after you. And, be prepared for no bathrooms, just chamber pots, bidets, sponge baths and on occasion a tub o' water the maid carries in for you!"

"Well, as long as this only lasts for a little over a week, I can stand it. I'll just pretend I'm going to camp. I'm a really good camper."

"And, don't forget t' curtsey."

"How do I do that? You said you'd show me!"

"Like this." Marek stands up, and I watch raptly as he holds an imaginary skirt out from his body. With a smirk he sweeps one foot behind him, bends his knees and bows his head. I applaud. I didn't think he had the guts to do that, and I can't stop laughing.

"What are you laughin' about?" He glowers at me, "I thought I did that very well!"

Tears are now rolling down my cheeks. He ignores me and says, "You probably won't have t' do it often. Mostly you'll have maids curtseyin' t' you. But just in case you attend a dance o' any kind, remember t' curtsey both at the beginnin' and end o' the dance. And always curtsey t' any men you're introduced t'. Basically, if a man bows, you curtsey. Got it?"

"Yes Madame!" I manage to say, wiping the tears from my face.

He bursts out laughing, then squelches it by draining his coffee cup. "Ready t' go?" he slams the cup down on the table and jumps up with a quirky grin still on his face.

"Just have to leave a few memos to delegate things to others while I'm gone. Won't take long."

Marek puts his hand on my shoulder as we walk back to my office. "You're gonna love this Terri! "

"I know. I've always been a little jealous whenever we transport someone out."

"Well, your time has come now. Be sure t' make the best o' it!"

"Make the best of it? What's to make the best of? This is awesome!"

"Well, just remember...you may not get the chance t' go again. So don't stay holed up in the basement o' the chateau the whole time. Make sure you 'live' a little while you're there," he winks.

"Maybe once my 'mission' is accomplished." I eye him sternly.

"For your sake, I hope the Team learns quickly. That way you'll have a few days t' experience life as a 'Lady o' Leisure.'"

I jab my elbow into Marek's ribs as I shove past him through my office door. He laughs and slaps the doorframe. "I'll see you at transport then," he glances at his watch, "in exactly 19 minutes."

"Yes. Madame," I smile.

"Then once you're gone, can I sleep on your couch? It's far more comfortable than that bunk in the back room. Best couch I've ever slept on!"

"Befitting a lady of leisure?"

"Absolutely."

"Then yes, you may!" I call after him as he bangs the door shut.

"Entirely too much fun at my expense!" Marek yells from outside. Then his laugh disappears down the hallway. +

_Paris, France, Monday, December 18, 1871_

_Laura's POV:_

"Which lace do you prefer, Mademoiselle?"

Looking at the array of lace poured out in front of me on the velvet-topped table, my mind goes into overload. Laces? What do I know about laces? Where will they be put on my dress? Should they be wide or narrow? Plain or fancy? Straight or gathered? I wish Erik were here. I wish he hadn't gone off with Jeremy. He would know.

I sigh the deep sigh of the abysmally lost. That is what I feel almost every minute of every day. Lost.

It feels like I'm trapped in a theatrical play, dressing up in these "costumes," and hauling them around with me all day. And, I feel like I'm acting out my life, always pretending to be someone else, someone I'm not, and like a stage actress, always on display and being watched, judged on my performance. The Team is kind and supportive, but I can see the trepidation in their eyes when I step out of character. That is, of course, out of the role of a 19th century upper class lady.

Horatio took me aside and told that I'm supposed to "act" my station in life and be "mindful" of the difference in social classes and "watch" my behavior toward the servants. Not be "too familiar or friendly." That left me speechless and in shock for the rest of the day.

I began to notice that the servants were watching me, too. I wondered if it was because I wasn't "acting" as my position dictated, or because of my relationship with Erik who is the master of the household—or both!

Unlike the rest of the Team, I had no preparation before I came here, and furthermore, they are all fluent in French. Only Erik seems to understand. Only _he_ seems to know what I'm experiencing. After all, he was thrown into our culture without preparation and had to cope with each unfamiliar gadget, every new situation, each strange environment, as best he could. Erik is always quietly, patiently explaining things to me when no one else can hear, gently coaching and guiding me. So, now when he isn't here, I feel "lost."

"Um, where will the laces be used?" I ask hesitantly.

The dress shop owner, Mme Putin, looks at me with surprise, which she tries to conceal so as not to offend a very lucrative dress order. She smiles and responds politely, "These are for the bodice. These are for the skirts. Which ones would you like?"

Looking up at Grace, I send a silent request for help.

"Well, Laura, I think these are better because they are less gathered and will have a more sophisticated look on the bodice." Then she grins, "And these will compliment them on the skirt. What do _you_ think?"

"Oh, yes! I agree those will be fine…just fine!"

Was it only four days ago I was an attorney, deciding legal strategy in a court of law? Four days ago, and 137 years in the future! How many times a day does that fact run through my mind? How long before it stops reverberating in my thoughts and triggering my feelings of not belonging…here! I can't stop wondering how my clients are. Are they being properly taken care of? How is my staff? They were like family. And, my parents. How are they doing? How are they taking my…being gone? And then the reality hits me. I'm here, and there's no going back. That is _all over_.

I give Grace a look of frustration and can tell she knows what I'm thinking. As the laces are cleared away, we're alone while Mme Putin and her assistant go across the room and search through their piles of fabrics to choose samples for me to examine.

Sitting back in my chair, I shake my head. "Grace, how long does it take? How long before I can feel like I fit in, like I belong here?"

"It won't take too long, Laura." Grace reaches over and puts her hand on mine, "You'll see. And soon you'll be married, and I'm sure that will keep you quite occupied!" she chuckles knowingly.

"Married? What do you mean, 'soon?'"

"Hasn't Erik discussed it with you? Hasn't he proposed yet?"

"Of course, not! What gave you _that idea_?"

Grace eyes me with bemused disbelief. "Really? You've been here four days! He hasn't mentioned it _at all_?"

I shake my head in response, Grace's words careening wildly through my mind.

"Good Heavens! He hasn't let you out of his sight since you arrived, and you're telling me he hasn't asked you?"

"No! What makes you think he would?"

"Well, he planned to marry you in…" Grace glances over at the two women who are busily picking through the fabric samples and lowers her voice, "…in America and bring you back…to France with him!"

"WHAT?" My startled tone is so high pitched that the two women across the room look up at us in surprise. They quickly turn back to their fabrics, and regaining my composure, I ask in a subdued voice, "Why do you say that? How do you know?"

"When Horatio and I brought your parents from the airport, and we arrived at your hospital room, Erik was sitting next to you, holding your hand like he always did." Grace pauses to study my reaction to this bit of information, "But what was different, was that he was talking to you."

"Talking to me? I was in a coma!"

"Yes, you most definitely were! But, there he was, sitting there, talking to you. And, he was reading a poem. We didn't want to barge in and interrupt him, so we stood in the doorway, waiting for him to realize we'd arrived."

"And…what did he say?" I'm now holding my breath, waiting to hear this, to know what Erik's intentions and plans for us had been.

"He said that he wished he knew how you felt. If you felt sad as he did because you were to be separated when he returned to France. He said that he had made plans. He was going to arrange for you to be married so you could go back with him. He never wanted to be separated from you…"

I sit back in my chair, these words ricocheting through my already befuddled mind. So, that is why Erik asked me to come early the next day to his Saturday appointment. _That _was the surprise he wouldn't tell me about!

"But Grace, he has never said any of this _to me_!"

"Laura, he's a guy, after all! And how can we know what goes through their minds? Just from observing his behavior since coming back to France, I would say he has been in overdrive, getting everything ready for you, making everything comfortable…_for you_. It looks like nest-building behavior to me!" Grace laughs aloud, and the two women again look up at us with curiosity. "Has Erik said he loves you?"

"Yes," my eyebrows arch in perplexity, "but _nothing_ about marriage!"

"Well, he had quite a traumatic experience when he tried to propose the last time, you know. He's most likely a bit proposal-shy. He probably wants to be very, very sure about your feelings before he asks…or maybe it's some other reason we can't even guess! Erik is a rule unto himself, isn't he? You never know quite what he's plotting and planning, only that he most likely is scheming about _something_."

"That's true! He loves his secrets and his schemes. But that's how he has always had to live, and I suspect that will never change," I laugh, trying to hide my true feelings of turmoil.

So, I now realize he had planned that we were to marry, and I was to return with him. But, now that I'm actually here, he has said nothing! Has he changed his mind? Then his constant attention, his fervent kisses whenever no one else is around, flash through my mind. No…that behavior doesn't seem to indicate his feelings have cooled. So, perhaps that armoire in my bedroom is to be moved away from the door in the future. I shake my head in consternation just as Madame Putin and her assistant inundate the table in front of me with piles of material samples. Decisions…so many decisions…

Finally the stresses of lace picking, fabric choosing and measurement taking are over, and Grace and I thankfully head for the door. The timing is perfect, and Joe opens the door for us just as Erik and Jeremy approach down the sidewalk. Erik strides up to me, gives me a longing glimmer out of his eyes, which are deepest blue-green today, and takes my arm, quickly leading me away from the others. They take the hint and stay several paces behind us as we stroll to the hotel for lunch.

Strangely, Erik doesn't speak, but his arm firmly pulls me close to him as we walk down the broad Parisian sidewalk. I try to browse nonchalantly at the colorful shop windows we pass by, but I can feel his emotions broiling off him and wonder what he has been up to. Schemes, no doubt.

I decide to break the uneasy silence. "Have you ordered all the men's costumes for the bal masque?" I wince at the lameness of my question.

Erik seems to be startled out of his own deep concentration and looks down at me, "Indeed, we did," he replies with a guilty tinge to his voice, "As we said we would."

_Ah, but what else have you been up to, Erik_, I wonder to myself, but only smile in return.

After an uneasy pause, Erik tries to carry on our artificial parrying, "And, Grace. Did she finally decide what her costume will be? As I recall, she was having difficulty choosing."

"Yes, she finally did decide. She chose something she thought would be unusual and also pragmatic. Apparently, she plans to wear a gun or two underneath her skirts! She said she wants to be prepared for whatever happens!" I grin up at Erik.

"So, what did she decide would accommodate such accessories?"

"Oh, she is dressing as a gypsy woman."

"Really?" I feel Erik's hand tighten around my arm. "How unique!"

"I think the design the dressmaker created will be quite show-stopping!"

"Indeed! A very clever choice," then Erik smiles down at me, and the look that passes over his eyes takes my breath away. "I lived among the gypsies for a while in my youth, as you will recall."

"I do remember." My stomach tightens as I reflect on what happened to him when he was with the gypsies. Perhaps that wasn't a good choice for Grace after all. "I'm sorry to have mentioned it. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It is quite alright," he gazes deeply into my eyes, "All you heard was of the bad things that happened to me. Those were inflicted only by a few. There were also families and children who were kind and one old woman in particular. I believe I told you about her."

"Yes, you did. I'm glad not all your memories about them are upsetting…" I respond tentatively, not sure where this conversation is going.

"No, they are not. I learned many things about the gypsy culture that are most interesting. They are a people with a free spirit, unfettered by the rules most people assume are necessary, but…perhaps are not."

Now I am very, very confused. Free spirit? Unfettered by rules? How did our conversation get there? My eyes are trapped by Erik's intense gaze, and I can see the wheels of his mind turning, churning. His tenseness shows in the stiffness of his shoulders and the working of his jaw before he finally responds, "I would like to tell you about those, if I may."

"Of course…whenever you feel comfortable sharing it with me…"

"Soon," he looks down and adds with a sly curl of his lip, "…_very soon_!"

* * *

Thank yous to our intrepid editor, Phanna!! 


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Thank you to each of you who posted your wonderful reviews and comments!! Every one is read and appreciated by the writers!! Please, if you are reading The Epic Case and have not yet posted a review, _please_ do that now!! We want to hear from you and value your comments!**

**And, Happy Mother's and Grandmom's Day to each of you with children and grandchildren!! I am posting this today as our gift to you!**

**Now…at the chateau so many lives are touching each other, crossing and interweaving on this special day, this moment in time….**

* * *

**Chapter 47****, MOMENTS IN TIME, by Phanfan and KFC+**

_December 18, 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Matt's POV:_

The ancient window that I peer through is framed with wide beams of heavy wood. Its painted surface is scarred and pealed from age and neglect, but will not be refinished any time soon, most likely. After all, my room is on the third floor, and the carpenters and painters are still feverishly working on the main floor and the suites on the second level. Refurbishing this old hulk of a house should keep local workers busy and happily employed for years. I rather like the shabby elegance of my window. The glass is a mosaic of small panes, held together with leaded strips like a stained glass window, except all the pieces are clear, wavy glass, allowing me a view of the front portico and grounds leading up to the chateau.

That's why I'm standing here, now. Laura will come out soon and get into the carriage. I want to see her, to watch her, unobserved. My waiting is soon over, as the sound of happy voices invades my room in a muffled announcement that the group is exiting the front door and climbing into the carriage to leave for Paris. I lean toward the window and strain sideways to see Laura before she enters the coach. As she comes into sight, I catch my breath. Her blue dress molds to her figure and enhances her beauty. She's breathtaking in the elegant clothing of this time period, and I especially enjoy being able to watch her, unseen, if only for a moment. I've had no opportunity to talk to her privately since she arrived three days ago. Erik is always hovering around her and gives me warning glares whenever Laura talks with me. So, I've only been able to watch her at meal times, and do that very discreetly, not wanting to draw Erik's attention.

I wince as Erik puts his hands around Laura's waist to help her step up into the coach, and then she disappears from my view. How could I have known this would happen? That Laura would be here? My joy at her survival, being given this new life, is as acutely felt as the pain of seeing her always with Erik.

As the carriage drives away, I turn and grab my foil, quickly leave my room and sprint down to the second floor. I knock on Horatio's door, and when he opens it, I raise the weapon and say simply, "Shall we?"

He grins widely, goes back into his room, then reappears with his own foil in hand, "Mais, oui!" He nods and sweeps his hand in a formal gesture for me to lead the way.

We descend the broad stairwell to the main floor, travel through several more hallways to a smaller stairwell that leads down into the cavernous bowels of the chateau and the maze of rooms there. Passing through successive rooms used to store racks of wine, kegs of flour, and a myriad of jars with untold varieties of vegetables and fruits, jellies and jams to last through the winter, we arrive at the one sun-filled room on this level. At the front of the old chateau, which is on a rising hill, the underpinnings reach above ground so this one large room has a row of windows near the ceiling along its entire length. Horatio deemed this room to be perfect for our exercise and practice area.

Removing our jackets, waistcoats and cravats, we salute each other and begin our practice session. Becoming proficient at fencing is a necessary skill in this culture, so we've been taking lessons each day from Horatio, who's a master of this art. Perhaps that's why he's taken by surprise today by my blast of energy created by a frustration I desperately need to burn off. My thrusts and parries become even more intense as I see Laura in my mind's eye, but Erik's mask suddenly superimposes over her face.

"Whoa!" Horatio calls out, "Are you trying to kill me? Matt…hold on there!"

Suddenly, I'm brought back to the present and stop, surprised to see Horatio's face, streaked with streams of sweat. Pulling back, I realize that Horatio doesn't know what was going through my mind. Or does he?

"I think that's enough fencing for the day!" Horatio says between deep gulps of air, "Let's burn off the rest of your energy with some pushups and weight lifting."

So we continue to work for another half hour before we collapse in exhaustion. As we sit, side by side on the floor, the matter that's been troubling me is spoken before I can judiciously edit my thoughts, "Horatio, Erik made a deal with The Program to get them to find a way to bring Laura back to this time, to France, didn't he?"

Horatio looks at me for a moment before he answers. "Yes, Matt, he did. He also worked with a scientist from the STARLab to resolve the particular time travel problems that Laura's situation created. He helped develop the plan."

"But, what did you mean at the clearing when Laura arrived? You told Russ to stand down. Jeremy and I had no orders, so Russ was standing down from what orders?"

"Erik didn't just make a deal," Horatio tilts his head and studies me. "He also made a serious threat to get The Program to bring Laura back to 1871."

"Threat?"

"That's right, he demanded that they do everything to successfully bring Laura back and anything less wasn't acceptable. He essentially gave The Program an ultimatum."

"What was the ultimatum?"

"Well, Matt," Horatio heaves a deep sigh, "he said if Laura didn't come back, he wouldn't be able to tell if it was because they couldn't bring her, or just didn't try hard enough. So, he wouldn't cooperate with The Program if she didn't come…and he further threatened that he'd bide his time and interfere with their projects whenever he could!"

"Oh my God! Erik threatened that?"

"Yes," Horatio snorts, "he did!"

"So, your orders…."

Horatio grimaces as he looks over at me, "We were to make sure Erik didn't live to carry out his threat!" His jaw tightens as he spits out those words.

"Erik knew that, didn't he?" Amazed at where this conversation is leading.

He nods his head. "Yes, I have no doubt he knew the consequence of his threat."

"Horatio, could you have really done that?" My mind is now spinning.

He pauses and studies his hands, considering his response. "Matt, those were the orders."

My thoughts are now overwhelming me with the realization of what Erik did for Laura. His actions are what ultimately saved her, forced The Program to bring her back and give her a chance to live out her life. I couldn't have done that for her. I didn't have the leverage, _but Erik did,_ _and he used it!_ And, that carried the burden of possible failure, which could've cost him everything, even his own life. Looking at Horatio, I acknowledge the horrible situation he was thrust into with a shake of my head, "But you didn't want to do that, to carry out that order, did you Horatio?"

His eyes show the truth of his words. "No, I didn't. I had nightmares about it. I think I wanted Laura to succeed in coming back here as much as Erik did!" he flickers a brief, wry grin, "I wish Erik hadn't felt it was necessary to make such a threat!"

"But you realize, Erik made that threat because he doesn't trust people! Think back on his life Horatio, and all we've heard about it. When has he ever been able to trust people? Other than Mme Giry, when was he treated with respect or fairness? Didn't he always have to hide for fear of being jeered or exploited or even attacked? Almost every contact he had with people taught him not to trust…even the young opera singer he fell in love with tore off his mask twice. Why would he believe that The Program would do everything possible about Laura unless he blackmailed them? That was the tool he'd used before to accomplish his goals. What else could he feel would assure their full efforts? You know, in Erik's shoes…I'd have done the same thing!"

Horatio eyes me with surprise. "And, I'd have had the same orders to carry out…to eliminate you!"

"The sad truth, Horatio, is that you would've been doing the right thing, too. Those were necessary orders, and you had to follow them. You're right, the stakes _are _too high. Each of you was committed to doing what was right, but it would have lead to a horrible tragedy."

"You might call it a paradox, huh?" Horatio's eyes light up quizzically.

"Ah, yes, the discussion at the hospital the night Laura was shot. Indeed, a true paradox. Thank God the time travel team succeeded!"

"Yes. Thank God! And, Matt, thank you. Thanks for your understanding. Now, how about an early lunch, and we leave ahead of schedule so that we can have a leisurely drive out to the meeting point and enjoy a little fresh, winter air?"

"Sounds like a plan!"

Throughout lunch and our ride to the meeting place, my conversation with Horatio keeps playing through my mind. What a clash of wills! Each man had done what he believed to be the right course of action and totally justified, but with horrific possible consequences. Meeting Merlin is becoming more and more intriguing to me. I want to hear what happened from their side of this fateful situation.

I drive the coach as Horatio follows close by on horseback. The day is a crisp winter's day with the sun streaming through darkening clouds. Luckily it doesn't snow and when we arrive at the clearing, Horatio and I wait inside the coach, sharing our memories of the world we've left behind and debating which college football teams are on top this season and will go to the bowl games. We make several wagers and agree to ask Merlin for the latest sports information to settle our bets.

Then, the flare of lights begin, the telltale signal of the incoming pods. A mist spreads over the meadow, and two machines appear in the final blaze and flash. We're already out of the carriage and running full speed toward the lights. That's when I see it…rather…her. A woman! Something is wrong. The message said Merlin, their chief _male_ scientist from the lab, would be arriving to install the new equipment and train us! Instead, a tall, shapely blonde woman sways in the typical, disoriented fashion only a few yards ahead of us.

Just as I reach her, her eyes roll up and eyelids close as she faints into my arms. Stunned, I lift her up and turn around toward Horatio!

"What the hell?"

"I don't know, Horatio!" I look down at the woman's limp body. "Any ideas? It's a woman!"

"Yes, Matt, I can tell it's a woman! Let's get her back to the coach where we can get her warm and you can check on her condition!"

Horatio grabs the metal container that was deposited by the second pod, and we hurry back to the carriage, where I gently place the young woman on the coach seat. After a brief exam, I find no problems, "I think it's just the usual disorienting effects of the time travel. It scrambles the brain a bit, but I'm not finding any physical problems. She'll come to in a few minutes, like Laura did."

"Just to be certain, I'll tether my horse to the coach and drive it back. You stay here, inside to monitor her, just in case…"

"Very well," then just as he is turning to go, it hits me. "Uh, Horatio, we have another problem!"

"What?"

"The clothing we brought is for a man! Everything we brought for her to change into is _for a man_."

"Oh! Damn! You're right!" Shaking his head in disgust, he asks with exasperation, "So how do we fix that? She can't wear men's clothing in this day and age. And, she can't be seen wearing these modern clothes. How are we going to get clothing for her?"

"Hmm, let me think…ok…the gamekeeper's cottage has the escape tunnel that goes back to the chateau and up the hidden stairwell, right?"

"Yes."

"So, that's easy! We go to the cottage, and I'll wait with her, whoever this is, while you go back through the tunnel, up the stairwell, over to Grace's room and steal some of her clothes! No one will know you were there, and you can bring back a dress for her!"

"A dress?" He smirks. "Do you KNOW what women wear now, Matt?"

"Actually…no."

"Well I DO! It's NOT just a dress they wear! They wear lots of other _things!_ I heard, in gruesome detail, all the layers women put on when Grace dressed Laura! And, they can't dress themselves, they need help! They need someone else _helping_ them put on all the…the…_stuff_!"

"Can't we help her?"

"WE? There is no "we" in this! _You're_ the doctor! _You_ get THAT job! I'm not going to deal with those…_things_!"

"Ok! Alright! I'll deal with it! Yes, I've seen undressed women, which apparently you never have!" I laugh at this as Horatio gives me a warning look. "Now, how about driving this carriage to the cottage so we can start dealing with this situation?"

Horatio harrumphs out of the coach, and I can hear him cursing under his breath as he ties his horse to the coach and climbs into the driver's seat. The carriage lurches into motion, and I turn my attention to the attractive woman lying on the bench, oblivious to the chaos she has just wrought on our bucolic little world. Other than making note that she appears to be in no physical trauma requiring medical attention, I cannot help but also note that she's a disturbingly beautiful woman. Why on earth did they send her? Who is she?

I sit forward on the bench, keeping my hand on her waist to insure she doesn't bounce off the bench during the bumpy ride along the country road. This continues for fifteen minutes before she stirs, stretches and opens her eyes. She gasps with disbelief as she glances around the inside of the coach.

"Hello!" is my ingenious introduction.

"Hi! Did I pass out?" is her equally underwhelming response.

"Yes, without any hesitation! You took one look at our world and decided to postpone dealing with it until you took a bit of a nap!" I attempt my most comforting, doctor's "everything is alright" grin.

"Oh! Yes! I see," she looks down at my hand still resting on her waist.

"I was just making sure you didn't bounce off!" Pulling my hand back and holding it up in an "I'm innocent" gesture.

She smiles for the first time and slowly sits up. As she leans back against the seat, she looks out of the windows and observes, "So, this is what 1871 France looks like! No wires…telephone poles…paved roads. It's interesting. We're so accustomed to them that they fade into the background, unnoticed. But when there are none, well, that you notice!"

"You're right! We don't realize the things we have in the future we take for granted. You only notice them when they go away! Trust me…there are some things that take getting used to here!" I study her carefully, trying to assess how she's doing. "May I ask your name?"

"Of course, Terese Mercedes! I'm the STARLab Chief Scientist." She extends her hand for a handshake, and I realize that's the first time a woman has done that to me in weeks.

Taking her hand, I reply, "Matt McBrighton, the medic for the Team."

"Ah! Yes, you're checking me out to make sure everything arrived in place," she again grins that drop-dead gorgeous smile. "Well, did it?"

"Did it…? Oh, yes, from what I can tell, everything arrived in the right place!" I mentally kick myself. Did I really say _that_? That sounded like a teenaged boy on a first date.

"Good! I will take that as your _professional_ opinion!"

An uneasy silence falls over us during the rest of the bumpy ride, and I explain when we're within a mile of the cottage where she can change into a proper dress. When we pull up to the small, stone building and get out of the coach, Horatio bounds down from the driver's seat and introduces himself. When he hears Terese's name, it's obvious that he's familiar with her reputation because a look of admiration flickers in his eyes.

We escort her inside, and I suggest she lie down on the bed while Horatio makes the trip to the chateau to get her some clothes. Horatio immediately disappears down the trap door, and while Terese lies down on the bed without protest, I check out the assortment of wines in the kitchen, finding a favorite. Pouring the fragrant liquid into two glasses, I walk over to the bed and hand one to Terese.

"Thanks, I definitely could use this!" I notice how her curls fly about her face when she becomes animated.

Walking over to the fireplace, I light and stoke the fire until a blaze begins to crackle and spread its warmth. Settling into the leather chair, I nervously await Horatio's return and pray that he'll be quick with his errand, since I don't know what to say to a beautiful woman who may also be a quantum physicist.

Terese, however, rolls on her side as she drinks the wine and looks around the cottage. "This is really a beautiful little place! Quite elegantly decorated for a cabin, isn't it?"

"Uh, cottage. It's a gamekeeper's cottage. And, yes, it's very lavishly decorated," then it dawns on me as I continue to explain to her, "Erik did this. He had the cottage repaired, and these furnishings moved from the main chateau."

Suddenly I know! I realize why Erik furnished the cottage so elaborately. I'd observed the procession of carts carrying furnishing from the chateau, but hadn't seen the finished result until today. This was more than a place for Laura to come to dress when she arrived. The luxuriousness of the furniture, curtains and artwork had all the earmarks of a place intended to be used for an entirely different purpose. My eyes linger on the huge bed with its tapestries and velvet quilt. Of course! Erik created this as a place to bring Laura! My stomach tightens into a knot. Laura!

"Boy, if this is how you furnish cottages here, I'm dying to see what the main house looks like!"

Terese's voice cuts into my train of thought. "Oh…yes! Well, the chateau is very old and crumbling around the edges. A lot of work is still needed, but it's coming along. I think you'll find it comfortable enough." The chamber pot under the beds flashes through my mind, and I wonder just how well she's prepared for the culture shock. "How long have you known you would be coming?"

"Oh, less than a day, actually."

"Did Marek have much time to prepare you?"

"Well, a little. He taught me how to curtsey!" We both laugh at the mental image _that_ creates, and I decide not to mention the lack of bathrooms. She'll find out soon enough.

"Marek recommended the switch at the last minute. He felt Merlin—yes, that's his nickname in the lab—wouldn't be the best one to explain how to use the equipment. It's quite technical, and he tends to have difficulty communicating in plain English. Merlin's a genius, of course, and was the chief designer of this equipment, but when it comes to communicating with humans, well that does leave something to be desired. So, I was tagged to come in his place."

"How do you feel about that?"

"To tell the truth, I'm excited about it! I never thought I would be one of the few lucky enough to travel back in time. Realistically looking at my situation, all my skills apply to the other end of the time travel equation, in the lab, not out here in the field. I never thought I'd be chosen for a time jump. In fact, I wonder…"

Terese pauses for almost a minute, lost in thought, so I prompt her, "What?"

"Well, I wonder if Marek used Merlin's lack of verbal skills as a pretext so that I could have my one chance to come back for this experience."

I study Terese's excited expression and wonder also whether Marek had an ulterior motive. He's known for his quixotic nature. You just never quite know what he'll do next, or his reasoning.

Just then a thud draws our attention to the trap door opening in the floor. A satchel is unceremoniously plopped on the floor, and Horatio soon follows. He replaces the trap door and covers it with the carpet. "Well, I did the best I could! You seem to be Grace's…build, so I raided her armoire. I hope I never have _that_ job again! I think I got all the things you'll need to dress properly!" He hands the small suitcase to Terese like he's glad to be rid of it.

"Thanks, Horatio!" Terese quickly dumps the contents out on the bed and gasps at the huge pile of clothing. "Uh, how does this all go together?"

Picking up one garment, she holds it in front of her face and looks through the gaping opening. "Uh, I think these are…pantalets? Is something missing? There's no, uh, bottom!"

Horatio rolls his eyes and moans an explanation, "They're open at the bottom. That's the way they are made."

"Why?" Terese asks in astonishment.

"How should I know?" Horatio throws his hands in the air, as I watch this exchange with suppressed glee. This dressing process is proving very, very interesting…and educational.

"And, what's this?" Terese holds up another flimsy garment.

Horatio clears his throat. "Well, that slip goes under the corset, I believe."

I'm now very curious about his apparent familiarity about these strange-looking garments. "How do you know, Horatio?"

"Uh, I was here when Laura got dressed."

"You watched Laura get dressed?" Terese's voice is now an octave higher than normal.

"No! Of course, not!" Horatio lets out an exasperated sigh, "Well, what I mean is, I was in the cottage, and she dressed behind the screen. See, it's over there near the armoire. And, I overheard Grace and Laura discuss things as they were putting them on."

"But then, what is THIS slip for? Why are there TWO slips?"

"Well, that one goes over the corset," Horatio explains, his face beginning to turn a distinct shade of red.

I'm now studying Horatio with curiosity. If Laura dressed behind the screen, how does he know which slip goes under the corset and which one goes over the corset? He seems to have more knowledge of this clothing than he could've gathered by just listening. I stare at Horatio and wonder how he was able to find all these things in Grace's armoire and distinguish between the different types of slips. His suite is next to Grace's on the second floor. I'm now putting together another picture. This is turning out to be a _very _enlightening experience, indeed.

Terese fishes through the pile on the bed and pulls out another garment. "And, speaking of the devil, this must be the corset."

Horatio just nods his head in agreement.

"Hmm, I don't think I can tie these laces myself," Terese's eyes are wide with amazement, "I'm going to need help with this."

"Oh, uh, Matt will help with that!" Horatio blurts out. Terese looks over at me, and I give her a sheepish grin.

"Well, Matt, you're the medic. I guess that's appropriate!" Terese says with a chuckle, turning back to the pile of clothes.

"It looks like there are three skirts here, which one do I wear?"

"All three!" Horatio volunteers. I remain judiciously out of this discussion.

"Three? As in, one on top of the other? You're kidding!"

"Nope, I'm afraid I'm not!"

Terese sighs as she takes in the huge pile of clothing. "Well, let's get started then.'

Quickly grabbing the screen, Horatio sets it up at the foot of the bed. "Just let Matt know when you need help with the corset! We'll wait over by the fireplace!"

Hurrying back to the fireplace, we take our posts on the chairs, waiting, listening. From behind the screen, mumbling and very descriptive cursing is heard. I glance over at Horatio, who gives me a look of besieged frustration. I have a feeling he's been dealing a lot lately with _all _of the women's dislikes of their cumbersome clothing.

"Ok, Matt! I'm ready, if you are!"

Horatio gives me a supportive slap on the shoulder, confirming my orders to do my duty. I walk over to the screen and step around it. Terese is standing between the armoire and the bed in just the pantalets and the gauzy under slip which doesn't do much to hide her shapely curves underneath. I swallow hard and when she hands me the corset, I study it like a foreign object from another planet. Terese turns around, and I reach around her, settling the corset into place. As Terese holds her hair up to keep it out of the way, I lace the corset up the back. Uncontrollably, my eyes keep going to the creamy skin of her shoulders. I mentally kick myself and force my eyes to keep focused on the mission at hand. Once the corset is on, I begin to tighten the laces.

"Oomph! Do I get to breathe?"

"Sorry! I will loosen them a little! How tight are they supposed to be tied?" I ask in dismay.

"Well, why don't I put on the jacket, and we'll see how that fits. That will give us a clue." Terese puts on the jacket and pulls the two sides together across her, uh, front. The buttons won't quite reach the buttonholes. "Oh, no! I guess you need to tighten it a bit more!"

Following instructions, I again tighten the corset laces as I hear the air being forced our of Terese's lungs. She puts on the jacket again and this time it fits. "Well, who needs to breathe, anyway?" She declares with a laugh and a flip of her head, causing her wild curls to bounce.

"Would you like my help with the skirts?"

"Yes, please!"

I help heft the many yards of material of the underskirt over her head, then the heavy floor length skirt, then the overskirt with its bulky bustle. I'm now beginning to wonder how women walk with the weight of all this material. As a medical professional, I now understand why they faint so easily.

Stepping back, I look at Terese who's beginning to transform into a 19th century woman.

"But you'll have to put your hair up. It's not worn down on the shoulders, you know. And, no earrings."

She swishes over to the dressing table with the mirror, removes the ear rings and pulls her hair up efficiently into a chignon, pinning it with long hair pins found on a silver tray. When she turns around to face me, she asks hesitantly, "Well?"

"You're lovely, Terese, and a proper lady!" She's indeed beautiful. And doesn't look the least like a scientist.

When Terese steps past the screen, Horatio adds his compliments. He suggests that Terese put her modern clothes into the satchel and take them with her to the chateau. He explains that she must make sure the servants don't see them, but she can use them when working on the equipment in the hidden underground chambers.

I douse the fire in the fireplace, and we escort Terese out to the carriage. We've decided on the cover story that Terese's trunk was stolen en route, so she doesn't have it with her and will have to wear Grace's clothing while she's at the chateau. As I put my hands on her waist to assist her into the coach, a feeling comes over me. If how her visit began is any indicator, Terese's stay at the chateau promises to be an eventful one.

_Jeremy's POV+_

I lay my hand on the brass door handle of my room, relieved to be back at the chateau after an eventful day in Paris with Erik. The near mishap with the gendarmes at the Magistrate's office had my pulse rushing a bit, but it was worth it to have seen the look on the magistrates' face when Erik towered over him and scowled.

Shadowing Erik has its amusing aspects, but these aren't without an admission price. And the price is steep, requiring constant vigilance, sleepless nights, frequent worry, and constant mind reading efforts...as well as the ability to out-fox a fox, which I'm pleased to say I've actually pulled off a few times. Of course, the fact that I've outsmarted Erik on several occasions, will only drive him to a higher level of stealth, but his current preoccupation with Laura gives me the advantage I need while I'm on the 19th century learning curve. I laugh inwardly...recalling Erik's abruptly stiffening shoulders and averted gaze when I kidded him in the jeweler's shop about the significance of the topaz in Laura's ring. Yes, I think admission is worth the price. And I also believe I earned my pay today.

The door to my room creaks as I open it, and to my surprise I see Horatio standing in front of my window with his back toward me. He turns as I enter and nods in cheerful greeting.

This is a bit strange. Since Laura arrived three days ago, I've been wanting to speak privately with Horatio about what almost happened in the field that day. I've rehearsed what I'll say over and over in my mind, but I still haven't settled on exactly how to say what I need to. I know Horatio has sensed my discomfort, but I haven't had the chance to speak with him alone. Now suddenly the opportunity is upon me. But, if he's expecting this conversation, and perhaps even made this opportunity for it, why is he so damn cheerful?

Horatio picks up on my brusque greeting in return and attempts to break the ice..._or possibly make it thinner_. "Any trouble in town?" he asks amiably.

Alright, what do I say? What do I not say? Did we have _trouble_...or did we _almost_ have trouble? As Horatio waits for me to speak, I have the distinct feeling that he can read my mind.

"We did have a near run-in with two Gendarmes," I answer. "But...I managed to salvage the situation. No harm was done, and...everything is fine."

"Good!" Horatio says, as if my explanation is more than satisfactory, although I can see he's quickly connecting the dots.

It seems we're developing a bit of a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. I wonder again if I should press the issue that's been bothering me. I'm a little worried that if I do, Horatio may press the issue of Erik with me. But if I don't speak with him about what's on my mind, will I be able to sleep well for the rest of this five year assignment? I'll be awake tossing and turning even on nights when Erik hasn't given me grief.

"Horatio" I begin, tentatively.

His amiable look takes on a slightly more serious tone, waiting for the question he already knows I'm going to ask.

"I know that Erik refused to cooperate with the Program if Laura didn't arrive. I know he's not tame, and that he's stubborn and bullheaded. I know how much The Program invested in him, that they would not, and _they should not_ let that go lightly. But I cannot agree that it would've been right to do away with him because he's of no further use...a complication."

Horatio makes no defense even as I pause, but stands still, arms crossed, his silence pressing me to defend my line of reasoning.

"My ability to keep Erik's cooperation is based on _trust_, Horatio. How can we work with him...how can we expect him to trust us, knowing one of us would have pulled the trigger on him? Erik is devious—and cunning, and without trust he's entirely capable of going behind our backs if it serves his own ends. This has put me in a very difficult position."

I refuse to say more, even if it means enduring Horatio's continued silence.

Horatio clears his throat. "Nichols, why are you here?" He asks resolutely.

This question hits me in the gut. I've been asked this before by people who were trying to use my sense of duty for their own ends. "Because I have a duty and a _calling_," I defend.

"And what duty is that?"

"To serve our purpose here. We know the future, and our mission is to change it for the survival of humanity. And in doing that, I answer to my conscience."

"I've never asked you to do otherwise!"

"But, Horatio, you were given an order I don't think I could've carried out!"

"You weren't asked to carry it out!" Horatio's face is now hard.

"But what if I had been?" The words spit out of my mouth and hang in silence. I'm surprised at the sharpness of my tone. Horatio stands stock still, with a glint in his eyes.

"Nichols," he says in a tone substantially lower than mine, "You question the orders I was given, but consider this." Horatio takes a step toward me and pauses. "_Imagine, _that after dedicating yourself to his protection for months on end, after befriending him, and being willing to take a bullet in his place..._to die_...for his safety...you wake up one morning to find he has made a colossal threat. He's made demands that may not be within the realm of possibility to fulfill. But _if_ you fail to fulfill them, _possible or not_, he not only refuses his cooperation, but he threatens to fight against you."

I'm distinctly uncomfortable with the way Horatio has turned this around on me. But now I'm wondering what the exact nature of Erik's threats were.

"It's very, very fortunate that Erik's demands were fulfilled. But Jeremy, _if it were not possible_, and if it had not worked, _if_ Laura had not arrived, what would Erik have done? Horatio continues. If that man you had called your "friend" was now your sworn enemy, and he vowed to fight to his dying breath the very cause of justice you would die to defend? Just what would you have done?

"How much _trust_," Horatio hammers, "would remain between yourself and a man who would undermine the work we're here to do, in retribution for the impossible not being fulfilled?

"Exactly how much time would you give him to reconsider?" Horatio doggedly pursues his point. "And if you were able to persuade him to reconsider, how would you know that a man as devious, as crafty as Erik wasn't leading you on while plotting to carry out his revenge?"

Horatio continues his barrage.

"Would time calm the beast? Would reasoning with him change his mind? Or would he use that time to gain the advantage? Officer Nichols. Look me in the eye and tell me exactly what you would do."

I'm sweating bullets under his intense scrutiny, "Damn it, Horatio! I don't know!"

His head jerks abruptly, and he stands back. "That's why you're second in command."

"Right! Because I don't know what I would do in such a situation!" I turn toward the window in anger.

"Nichols!" Horatio's tone demands that I turn around. I force myself to look back at him. His unwavering stare bores through me. "You're second in command, because if something were to happen to me, or perhaps to Grace, and I had to leave, I need to know there's a man in charge here who sure as hell won't jump to conclusions, who won't blindly carry out an order just because it's an 'order,' and who answers to his conscience, knowing he'll have to take full responsibility for whatever decision he makes! I need a man who takes his job seriously enough that he tosses in bed all night, weighing the options, counting the costs, but doesn't make up his mind until that moment in time when the rubber meets the road, and he damn well has to. I wanted you to be my second, because that's exactly what I do."

I realize I haven't been breathing and need to exhale. I feel relief knowing that Horatio, too, wrestles with these issues and has doubts. But even more, I respect him for admitting this to me.

"Jeremy," Horatio pauses for a deep breath himself, "men who answer to conscience alone have never made good followers. They're meant to be leaders. You've got a hell of a head on your shoulders, Nichols, and a gut that will steer you right when you're forced to make the tough call. And since you asked, I didn't know _what_ I was going to do. I didn't have to make that call, and there's a brilliant scientist downstairs to thank for that. And, there's also Laura to thank. We're only here because Laura's here. And we're only staying because she stays. You can't tame the lion, Nichols. He might let you think you are, but you're not. He's still wild. The only one who can tame a lion...is a lioness."

The truth of Horatio's words begin to sink in. I realize more than ever before just how crucial Laura's presence here is, and that our project cannot be successful without her. I shudder to think what would have happened if someone hadn't found a way to bring her here.

Horatio walks over and takes an oil lamp from a stand beside the armchair. "Now let's go downstairs and meet the esteemed Dr. Mercedes," he grins.

Opening the secret panel at the far corner of my bedroom, he leads us into the secret stairwell. The air is frigid in the dark spiral staircase, which is closed off from any kind of heat, and the musty odor is overpowering.

It is a continuous stairwell descending past all four levels of the chateau and ending in its cavernous foundations. The stair is completely hidden, cleverly disguised in the floor plan, and there are secret entrances on all four levels. We enter from the third floor and opposite us is another entrance from the room adjacent to mine. Only these two rooms border the stairwell on my floor. The other room normally stands empty to allow the rest of the third floor residents easy access to the stairwell. However, this week it will house our guest from the future, to allow him to move unobserved between his room on the third floor and the hidden rooms in the belly of the chateau where his work is stationed.

Our footsteps echo against the cold, hard stone as we descend the ancient steps. These stones were hewn when the original castle was built in the mid-fifteenth century. This stairwell seems to have trapped another time between its curving walls. As we continue our descent through the winding chasm, our shadows scale the rough hewn stones, and I imagine the shadows of embattled warriors bearing torches. I can almost hear the clank of weapons and the clamor of armed men in chain mail clambering hurriedly down this secret pathway of escape to the safety of the hidden rooms in the underground. Once there, they might remain undetected for a time, but if not, these rooms housed the entrance to the escape tunnel which could lead them to safety a half a mile away.

When we reach the base of the stair, in front of us is an ancient wooden door. It's reinforced with cross-bands of iron, and the visible wood is gouged and scarred.

The massive door groans loudly as Horatio shoves it into what has ceased to be a sealed underground fortress and is now just a secret storage room for our few modern medical supplies and travel markers. The cave-like room is lighted and slightly warm, thanks to a small oil space heater and several oil lamps, but there is no sign of Dr. Mercedes.

"Doctor?" Horatio calls.

Suddenly I spy two feet and the lower parts of legs sticking out from under a rough plank table. Well the Doctor is thinner than I thought he'd be. Time for my usual mental adjustment. I've never been good at guessing these things.

"Hang on Horatio," a voice calls from under the table. "I'm trying to find the best spot for the remote transmitter."

Oh! That's a woman's voice. I look over at Horatio just in time to see him smirk at me, then turn back and glance down at the pair of legs sticking out from beneath the table. Well that explains the small feet, too.

The esteemed Doctor is now crawling out from beneath the table. A definitely female form clad in coveralls emerges, followed by a wild mass of curly blond hair. She sits on the floor looking up at Horatio, and then she notices me. Her keen chestnut eyes seem to be taking me in from head to foot without wavering from my face. Suddenly I realize she's the woman I saw from behind the door in Laura's hospital room. Terese...the scientist from STARLab who flew out from New York to work with Erik.

Horatio steps toward me and slaps my shoulder. "Doctor, this is Jeremy Nichols, my next in command. He's the one you want to try and cram all the technical information into. I'll leave you two now..." Horatio nods, and I catch a sly look on his face as he turns to go.

I extend my hand and help her up off the floor, still marveling that Dr. Mercedes isn't a bald 60 year old man with a pot belly and wire rimmed glasses. As she stands up, she shoves the stray hairs away from her face and brushes the dust off of her clothes. Wood shavings are caught in the wild curls around her face as she stands there looking at me, in all her feminine, mad scientist glory.

"Hi, I'm..."

"...Terese." I hear myself finish for her.

She looks surprised that I know her name.

"I remember seeing you...in the hospital in Seattle," I explain.

"Really?" she looks quizzical. "We didn't meet, did we?"

"Well...almost."

"Almost?" The smile in her eyes begins to sparkle.

"Not quite," I wink. "You didn't see me."

She crosses her arms, and the smile spreads to her lips…her eyes tracking mine, as if she's reading each thought as it crosses my face.

"I'm so sorry I missed..._our_ meeting," she says.

I shrug. "Better late than never..."

She nods without breaking our gaze.

"Hi!" I tip my head shyly.

There's no awkward silence to fill. It seems that time has stopped, and I'm just looking at her looking at me. Green eyes couldn't be more intense, or blue as deep. Hers are chestnut...and so keen, so penetrating...so magnetic.

Time can't be anywhere near...I don't feel it. Just the strange sense that my soul is laid bare to her. I'm standing here in layers of clothes, feeling stark naked, in front of a woman in coveralls.

And there's a feeling in my gut, telling me to kiss her. I want to kiss a perfect stranger...what on earth is happening to me? I rummage through my psyche, trying to find my mind, to get my head back.

Should I kiss her? Naaa…she'd slap my face. But I will kiss her. At some point in time..._I will_. +

_Laura's POV:_

As Grace, Terese and I enter the dining room, there's a sudden scraping of chairs on the oak floor as the men scramble to stand and bow to us in the usual, formal custom. Standing, bowing, hand-kissing. Really! I sigh, even as I smile in acknowledgement. Will I ever get used to these stilted formalities? When will I stop hoping this is a dream, and I'll wake up and be back in my home, in the courtroom, _in my life_? The pounding pain in my head worsens as I consider these thoughts.

Erik smiles tenderly at me as he pulls out my chair and seats me to his left, as usual. He takes his place at the head of the table. Jeremy, who sits across from me and at Erik's right hand, is pulling out the chair next to him for Terese. She's being seated between him and Matt. Horatio occupies the seat at the other end of the table. Russ settles into his usual chair next to me, with Grace seated between him and Horatio. Joe appears to be taking guard duty during dinner tonight.

Russ politely asks me how my shopping went in Paris. As I answer him, I realize that my day was comprised of picking out untold laces and numerous materials, finding a soap that wouldn't burn holes in my skin and discovering the only two books in the English language at the tiny, dusty bookstore. Unbelievable. Then the horrible thought occurs to me. We aren't going into Paris tomorrow. What do I do with myself _then_? A miasma of uselessness sweeps over me, and my head hammers even more.

I fall into silence as I eat the many, delicious courses saturated with sauces that the chef prepared in honor of our new guest. Terese is obviously delighted with the food, as well as being here, in the 19th century. She chats with everyone at the table. Jeremy even seems much more talkative than usual, and appears to be totally focused on Terese, telling her interesting anecdotes about the chateau's history. Terese listens attentively, laughing constantly. It occurs to me this is an adventure for her, a vacation. She gets to come to Yesterday Land for a while, then she returns to the future, to her life. She's here for a purpose. She has a reason for being here, and I'm just a fifth wheel.

I rub my throbbing temples as I look around the dinner table. Each person here is part of the Team, each was chosen for their talents and abilities. Everyone has a job and is needed to carry out the important work of The Program. I have no job and no skills that are useful. I can't even speak French beyond a few words and phrases. Useless. I force myself to smile at the appropriate times. It appears my only job is to be a good actress.

Erik places his hand on mine, leans over and whispers with concern, "Are you alright, Laura? Is something wrong?"

Putting on my best smile, I lie, "I'm fine, Erik." His eyes probe deeply and narrow in disbelief. I'm not a good liar, and he's expert at seeing through masks. He knows that I'm not telling the truth, but he doesn't press the point. And, I'm determined that my problems are _my_ problems. I'll not impose them on others.

After the main courses are finished and the plates have been cleared away, the clatter of a large cart on rollers comes through the door from the kitchen. Atop a linen-covered cart is a tall, ornately decorated cake, covered in lit candles! The cart is pushed to the space between Erik and Jeremy, as Horatio stands at his seat and declares, "Jeremy, you didn't think you were going to get away without it being known that today is your birthday, did you?"

All eyes go to Jeremy, and everyone calls out a birthday wish in a din of laughter and cheers. Horatio calls out, "Speech, Jeremy! Speech!"

Jeremy stands, clearly embarrassed. Being the center of attention isn't his style. He likes to be unnoticed by others, while taking in everything around him. "This is a real surprise. I thought I had gotten away with it. Birthdays have never been my favorite thing. And, at my age, I prefer not to think about adding that extra year to my age!" He grins sheepishly.

"Sorry, Jeremy," Grace presses, "'fess up! How old are you?"

"Well, today I'm 32, sorry to admit! But, I thank you for this birthday present, and I'm thinking that this one may turn out to be a memorable birthday, after all." He grins as he looks down at Terese. She's staring at him with unabashed surprise at his implied meaning.

Everyone applauds as Jeremy blows out the candles. As the cake is cut and served by the servants, I observe Terese's long, questioning looks at Jeremy. She seems to be quite preoccupied with him, rarely turning to talk to Matt on her other side. I glance down at Matt and catch his eyes. We exchange knowing grins.

After dinner is finally over, and Erik is pulling out my chair, I make my plea, "I think I'm going to excuse myself for the rest of the evening. I'm sorry, Erik, but I have quite a bad headache. I feel like going to bed early."

"Laura, of course. I knew something was wrong. I will escort you to your room. You should rest."

Matt suddenly appears behind me and breaks into the conversation, saying under his breath so that the servants will not hear, "Laura, I have aspirin in my room. I'll bring you some later."

"Oh, thank you, Matt! I didn't know there was any here! I'd really appreciate that!" I smile appreciatively and take Erik's arm as he leads me out of the dining room.

When we arrive at the door of my room, Erik looks down at me with a worried frown. "Laura, is there something else, something more than a head ache? What's bothering you?"

"I don't know, Erik. I just don't know how to answer that. Everything is so strange, so new to me. I don't feel like I fit in here."

Erik speaks quietly, making sure that no one overhears our conversation. "Never fear for that. I know everything is different here, that this is a life unlike the one you had made for yourself in the future. But Laura, you are needed here and you most certainly do fit in," then leaning down he places a delicate kiss on my forehead and brushes his lips along my temple, resting his cheek against mine. "Never, ever doubt that! Now, go into your room quickly before I am tempted to do more…" I feel his lips curl up in a grin.

With a final, tender kiss, I slip into my room. My maid is already there, and helps me take off the many layers. When the corset is removed, I take a deep, relieved breath of air. Jean then helps me into my gown and robe and leaves the room with the customary curtsey at the door. Picking up one of the books purchased today, I head for the settee just as there's a knock on my door.

I remember Matt was going to bring me some aspirin and rush to open the door. Matt stands shyly in the hallway, a small bottle in his hand with about a dozen of the precious pills. As he hands them to me, he advises, "These are quite strong, so only one now and one more in the morning. This should fix your headache. Let me know if it continues. I gave you some extra ones to have on hand. You'll want to find a place in your room to hide them from the servants, of course!"

"That should be a challenge!! Jean is everywhere, cleaning, sorting, straightening. But, I will find someplace!" I laugh and roll my eyes, "Thank you, Matt. This is really appreciated!"

"Anything I can do for you, Laura, just ask. I'm always here," Matt's eyes seem to linger on me. "I haven't had the opportunity to talk with you since you arrived. How are you doing?"

"Well, Matt, I'm surviving…adjusting as best I can," but, without knowing why, tears suddenly come to my eyes. Looking away, I wipe them with the back of my hand.

"Laura, what's wrong?" His voice is soothing, but concerned.

"Matt, I don't know. That's just it. I don't know. I don't know who I am, or what I am to do with my life. I feel so…useless," there, I think to myself, I have said it, admitted it.

"Oh, Laura! The last thing in the world you are, _or have ever been_, is useless!"

I look up at him and now the tears are streaming down my cheeks. His hand reaches out and wipes them away. "If it weren't for you, _none_ of us would be here."

"What do you mean? I'm not part of the Team. I have no job here. The Program would never have sent me!"

"Ah, but if you hadn't come back, this project would be over, abandoned. The Program would've lost Erik, and he has the potential to be a pivotal part of their work in changing the timeline. There's only a limited amount of time before the crises begin to escalate back in our modern world. Without his position as a Count, how could we infiltrate into the higher echelons of power? As a lawyer, you understand the meaning of 'time is of the essence.'"

His hand is still resting on my cheek. Gently he brushes his thumb beneath my eye and wipes away the tears that still flow. "Laura…your importance wasn't limited to your arriving here to resolve the conflict between Erik and The Program. Erik needs you… with him. Without your stabilizing influence, both Erik and this project would be lost to us." His voice softens, "And, I know you. You will find a way to use your abilities to help change the timeline. For God's sake, Laura, there are certainly enough challenges you can take on," then, lifting my chin up so that he can look into my eyes, he adds, "And, I have no doubt you will. Please have patience with yourself."

Taking a deep breath, a hiccup escapes me from the combination of tears and dinner wine. "Well, Matt. I hope so, I truly hope so. Thank you for being such a friend!"

He lowers his hand from my face and steps back. He is smiling at me in his gentle way.

"It's just…" I hesitate.

"It's just…what?"

"Well, why is it that I cry when I'm alone with you?"

Matt sighs, and something in his eyes deepens, "Don't friends share their tears?"

He looks away uneasily, "I need to go before a servant…or Erik…comes up the stairwell and sees me here. Good night, Laura."

Then bowing with a flourish, Matt is gone. I close my door and walk to my bedside table. Pouring water into a crystal goblet from the flask Jean has placed there, I gratefully swallow the two aspirins. Again I pick up the book and settle into the chair, but I cannot read. Too many feelings, too many doubts, too many thoughts careen in my mind…

_Erik's POV:_

When I return to the great hall, every one has settled into the large couch and various chairs surrounding the massive stone fireplace at the far end. I stride absent-mindedly toward them, my thoughts elsewhere, preoccupied with worries for Laura. Her head ache was clearly not the only thing bothering her, but she stubbornly refuses to share her feelings and her concerns with me. I can only guess at what they may be. Certainly she is adjusting to a very different world. Obviously she has lost the work to which she had devoted her life. She is at loose ends, and I know how that feels. I, too, experienced that when I was in the future, trying to adjust to a world I had not been born into. But, how can I help her when she feels she must always be strong? How can I comfort her when she will not open up, when she refuses to share her troubles with me?

When I arrive at the edge of the group of people, they are busily engaged in discussion, and I feel out of place. I try to follow the conversation, but it seems trivial and my mind cannot engage in their discourse. Instead, my thoughts keep returning to Laura. When she is not with me, I feel lonely, empty.

Finally I resolve this problem with the singular conclusion. I must return to Laura's room and check on her. Perhaps she is missing me, too.

Politely I excuse myself, and make my way back up the stairwell. Just as I reach the second floor landing, voices coming from the direction of Laura's room bring me to a halt. I take to the shadows, where I am able to observe Matt standing outside Laura's door, talking with her, though I cannot distinguish what they are saying. I can only watch as he touches her face and wipes away her tears. I am shocked. I stand frozen, observing, feeling an old pain arising in my chest. Memories flood into my mind.

I wonder what will happen next. How dare Matt touch Laura's face! What else might he do? My breathing seems to stop, and time stands still as I wait.

Suddenly Matt's hand drops to his side, and he steps back. After a few final words, Matt bows and begins to walk toward the stairwell. I turn quietly, descend to the bottom floor, and steal out of sight into the adjacent corridor. Matt passes by without seeing me and disappears into the great hall.

Not wanting Laura to suspect that I saw her with Matt, I decide to wait before going up to her room. While I pace up and down the hallway, what I have just witnessed keeps playing in my mind as I try to control my turbulent feelings. The image of Matt's hand touching Laura's face makes my stomach twist in fear. I know of his love for her, but I had felt he could be trusted, that he would never act on his feelings. But he touched her.

Then Laura's beloved face appears in this scene. She was crying. Could it be that Matt was only trying to comfort her? But I should be the one to take care of her, not Matt. I struggle to suppress the feelings of betrayal, of being rejected that well up within me. Then I realize that she did not touch him. Nor did she kiss him, as Christine did with Raoul. Nor did Laura invite him into her room. This scene did not unfold as I had witnessed on the opera house rooftop.

Finally, I can wait no longer and race up the stairs to the second floor.

When I knock on her door, Laura's anxious voice responds immediately, "Who's there?"

"Erik!"

Abruptly the door swings open. Before I know what has happened, Laura has thrown herself into my arms and clings to me in a desperate embrace.

"What is it, my love? What troubles you?" I feel her crying gently and hold her tightly to me.

"Erik, I love you. I don't know anything else right now, except for that. Thank you for coming back. I needed you."

"I am here now," I lean down and gently kiss her hair. "How are you feeling? Is your head still painful?"

"It's beginning to get better now. Matt was just here and brought me some aspirin."

"Ah! I see!" relief pours through me as I realize that Matt had come to Laura's room only to give her medicine and had found her in tears. I can forgive his brief touch, understanding now that Laura found comfort only in my embrace.

Running my fingers through the loosened mane of her hair, I gently massage the back of her head and the graceful curve of her neck. With my other hand, I caress the contours of her back through the silken night clothes, wishing they were not impeding my touch to her skin. Her body radiates warmth mixed with the delicate scent of jasmine. I kiss the tears from her cheeks, tasting their saltiness and trying to take into myself the pain that caused them to fall.

Our kisses are different tonight. Her lips are softer because of her tears, and there is an openness that I have never felt before, in her heart…and in mine. In her, the fortress walls of unwavering strength, which would not allow her to admit any weakness or need, have fallen. In me, the empty space of abandonment that I have always felt is suddenly gone, and that lonely place is filled with her love and surrender to me. It's as if unseen boundaries have been swept away, and our souls now stand unguarded…bare…yearning only to join as one. I hold her yielding body to me for what seems like an eternity, until every tear has been shed, and I have brushed or kissed away each one.

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Profuse thank yous to our intrepid editor, Phanna! 


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews! Please let us know your thoughts about The Epic Case!**

**Now, it is the night before the Night Before Christmas!! And there is already a LOT of stirring already going on. The natives are very, very restless with the upcoming Christmas celebrations! Enjoy!!**

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**Chapter 48 Midnight at the Chateau by Phanfan and KFC+ **

_December 23, 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Laura's POV:_

Erik guides me into the overstuffed leather chair closest to the imposing stone fireplace in the Great Hall. He doesn't sit down, but hovers over me…as usual. He rests his hand protectively on the high back of the chair, as if making certain that _no one_ and _nothing_ harms me…or intrudes on _our_ space. I chuckle under my breath at the thought that someone would even dare. If anyone interrupts our time together, he glowers at them. They get the hint and depart hastily.

I have only been at Chateau Mercier for a week now, but the patterns of my new life already seem to be settling into place. Erik knocks on my bedroom door each morning at 8:00 a.m., precisely, and escorts me to breakfast. By that time he's already been down to the workout room with the men, and has bathed and changed into his morning suit. After we eat, he escorts me to the conservatory, where he works on a new composition, using the grand piano to create the melody and counter melodies. I sit and listen and read books. Entirely too sedate after the schedule I'm accustomed to where there's always a motion or filing to prepare, a client to talk with, a hearing to attend or a deadline to meet. I begin to suspect that I'm supposed to take up needlepoint next.

Then, after lunch, which is served at exactly 1:00 p.m. each day, Erik and I accompany Grace and Horatio on their afternoon outings. These exhilarating horse-back rides are invariably a welcome escape from the constantly prying eyes of the servants and Team. Well, except for Jeremy who always goes with us, of course.

We ride into the forests that surround the chateau and circle back to the gamekeeper's cottage where there is privacy for Grace to practice her soldierly skills. The men work out every morning in the room set up for that purpose in the basement of the chateau, but it would be unseemly for Grace to go there and work with them, so Horatio gives her these private sessions in the afternoon. They practice fencing, a skill Grace had learned in college, but which she feels needs to be up-to-speed "in case she needs it." I decided not to ask her what she meant, or why she would "need it" with five trained SEALs—and Erik—around, ready to take on any one who steps out of line.

Erik always lights a fire in the gamekeeper's cottage and steps back outside while I help Grace get out of her many layer's of clothing and dons pants, shirt and jacket. Then Erik comes back into the cottage while Jeremy usually waits outside, watching Horatio and Grace practice the art of fencing behind the cottage out of view from the chateau.

I always bring a basket with assorted cheeses, breads and fruits for everyone and set them out on a china plate from the shelf in the kitchen area while Erik pours out glasses of wine for us. Then Erik and I settle into the settee in front of the fireplace and enjoy time alone for the half hour that Grace and Horatio practice fencing. Ignoring the clattering of foils outside, I snuggle into Erik's arms. We talk about the people and happenings at the chateau, or even about our past, sharing some remembrance that the events of the day triggered in our memories. And, we kiss and caress as much as we dare, knowing that we will soon be interrupted.

When Grace and Horatio are both sufficiently exhausted, they join us along with Jeremy, pour themselves a glass of wine and help themselves to the fruit and cheeses. Grace and I always chat, but Erik and Horatio still regard each other uneasily. I wonder how long it will take for them to reestablish their friendship. Not long, I hope.

After visiting for awhile, the men wait outside while I help Grace back into her riding habit, and we return to the chateau where Erik escorts me to my room so I can clean up, change my clothes and rest until dinner.

Rest! Yes, I'm even expected to rest in the middle of the day, being a fragile "lady." So, I read as I lie on my bed while Jean, my maid, bustles about putting up my riding habit, then pressing and getting the dress I will wear ready for the evening. I have almost finished reading the two books I purchased and plan to buy many more the next time we go into Paris the day after Christmas.

A few minutes before 7:00 p.m. when it's time for dinner, Erik always comes to my room—to make sure I don't get lost between here and the dining room, I presume.

So, now that our typically sumptuous evening dinner is over, I'm enjoying the golden, dancing fire in the ancient fireplace at the far end of the Great Hall, as happens every evening. And, as usual, everyone is here except for the member of the Team who has guard duty, and tonight that's Russ. The servants have placed several delicate porcelain pots of tea and a variety of bon bons and a fruit torte on handy mahogany trays, in the unlikely case we aren't already stuffed to bursting. The only reason I don't fear my weight ballooning with all this rich cuisine is that my corset doesn't allow me to eat much at a time. So, I put a good portion of my food onto Erik's plate, and that is already having a good effect. His sallow cheeks are filling out, and his weight is clearly increasing. I can feel the muscles of his shoulders are getting bulkier, from the added weight and his intense exercise routine. One thing that worries me is that he still has the circles under his eyes, and I'm concerned he is not sleeping well.

Next to the fireplace, on an antique oak buffet, with the visages of medieval lords and ladies peering out from its pedestal, sits a variety of bottles of wine with goblets and liqueurs in decanters next to small crystal glasses. Erik hands me a cup of tea from the serving table, then pours himself a glass of wine from the buffet. I notice that he never offers me wine after dinner.

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we need to par-TEE!" Joe blurts out when the last servant leaves through the doorway, back into the adjacent dining room. Well, _that's_ _different_, I think to myself.

"You're right! Christmas is almost here, and we haven't made any plans for a Christmas Eve celebration!" Horatio interjects in good humor. "I think it would be great to have a special party for our little group of displaced Americans. What do all of you think?"

Everyone chimes out enthusiastic approval. Except for Erik. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he stands sullenly next to me. He tries to cover his reaction by taking a long draught of wine, but then he looks down at his glass in deep introspection. Most tellingly, he says nothing while everyone else reminisces about their favorite Christmas traditions with their families.

"I grew up in Oregon, and every Christmas our family went traipsing through the woods owned by our neighbor, finding and cutting our tree!" Jeremy's smile lights up even more than normal.

"My Mom would make sugar cookies with us to hang on the tree. She was real traditional," Joe shakes his head in happy reflection, "You know, maybe it was because we were so poor…but it was fun, all of us kids making the decorations out of paper and pipe cleaners every year for the tree and presents for each other!"

"My parents had Christmas tree decorations they had collected throughout their lives, even from their own childhoods going back to the 1950's. They would tell the story behind each ornament as we would put it on the tree," Matt gets a catch in his voice for a moment, "It was fun hearing our family stories and seeing the presents stacked high under the tree!"

"Well, my parents always decorated our Christmas tree the same each year, too," Terese's voice is soft with emotion, "with stars and suns and moons. Made of everything from stained glass to German blown glass, even Mexican hammered tin. The tree just sparkled!"

Looking up at Erik, I worry about his silent demeanor, withdrawn deeply into himself. Then, for the first time a shocking thought occurs to me. I wonder whether he has ever celebrated a Christmas holiday in anything like a normal manner, with holiday decorations, specially baked cookies and candies, gift-giving and the gathering of friends and family. What were his Christmases like, there in the dank cellar, five stories under Paris. . .alone? The thought makes me shudder and tears sting the corner of my eyes. I brush them away, and look around the people seated in a semi-circle in front of the fireplace to see if anyone noticed. When my gaze reaches Erik, I find him studying me. He saw my tears and his eyebrow rises in deep curiosity. I'm painfully aware that with our discussion of joyous Christmases past, we have unknowingly hit a very sensitive nerve with Erik. I'm at a loss and decide to try and change the subject…but that is not to be.

"How about going out to the woods tomorrow and cutting a tree to decorate?" Jeremy proposes cheerfully, "What's Christmas without a tree to decorate?"

"Well," Grace hesitatingly responds, 'The tradition of Christmas trees came from Germany. The Prussians and Germans were at war with France only a year ago. And, since their army still occupies territory around Paris, it might not be politically correct for us to have a tree for Christmas. Perhaps we could skip the tree this year and just cut branches and make garlands and wreaths to hang in the great hall and dining room."

Horatio rubs his chin thoughtfully, "Yes, I think you have a point there. That sounds like a better suggestion until we're more grounded in the cultural issues. What do you think about Grace's suggestion, Erik? What's customary in France? Trees, or garlands and wreaths?"

I hold my breath, waiting for Erik's answer and fearing that Horatio has unknowingly put him on the spot. When Erik doesn't answer right away, I intercede, "Horatio, you know, Erik hasn't been back long enough in France to really get a feel for what the political climate of such things may be. I agree with Grace. Let's keep it simple and just do the garlands and wreaths this year!"

"Ok. If the women are of one mind on this, how can I disagree?" Horatio chuckles in defeat. "We'll go out in the forest tomorrow morning and cut branches. I saw some wire in the storage room where the carpenters store their tools. We can use it to tie the garlands and wreaths. Erik, would you help out?"

Erik looks up for the first time and clears his throat, "Yes, Horatio, I would be glad to help out. It will be an…," I hold my breath as Erik pauses for many moments before concluding, "unprecedented experience." I wonder what's going through his mind right now. If only I knew what memories were being dredged up, perhaps painfully, from his shadowy past.

"I'll ask the cooks to make some traditional French pastries and cakes for the Christmas Eve party," Grace seems to be on a role, "What does everyone think about duck with all the trimmings for the dinner?" Everyone approves and starts talking at the same time, adding more suggestions for the menu, except Erik, who just watches and takes frequent sips of wine.

"How about music and dancing?" Joe's enthusiasm is contagious, and everyone agrees that is a necessary part of the celebration.

Horatio cheerfully assents, "That sounds great. Maybe we could engage several musicians to play music during the evening!" then with a cockeyed grin, Horatio adds, "But I don't know that any of us are able to dance to the music they would play! Waltz anyone?"

"Actually, you don't have to hire any musicians!" Joe blurts out in his usual foot-in-mouth way, "we planned ahead and brought our own music!"

Everyone freezes when Horatio asks in a deadly calm voice, "What do you mean by that?" Horatio is now glaring at Joe.

Joe gets the deer in the headlight look. "Well…uhh…well, we knew Christmas was coming, and that we'd be away from our families, so we sort of got together and decided to bring one thing that would make us a little less homesick! We smuggled in a small MP3 player chock full of music from our time, miniature speakers and batteries!" Joe's now grinning sheepishly. I can't believe he's admitting to intentionally bringing contraband. Even I know they are prohibited from having anything from the future that could bring attention to us.

Predictably, Horatio explodes and asks who is involved. Matt and Jeremy both confess to being part of the conspiracy, but decline to implicate Russ. Horatio proceeds to cite chapter and verse of the rules the men have violated by their actions, vowing he will find some appropriate discipline for this breach. After he finishes making this point, an uncomfortable silence descends. His lips twitching in suppressed humor, Erik looks over at Jeremy with mock disappointment at Jeremy's breach of rules. Jeremy flashes back a look of comradely warning. I wonder why Erik finds Jeremy's predicament so amusing and why Jeremy gave Erik that look.

Then, I'm distracted from that thought when I notice Terese is also studying Jeremy, but the look on her face is not, by any means, censure. More like…I struggle to find the word. Then I realize how to describe her look: rapt. For just a moment, her feelings for Jeremy are not masked.

During the uneasy silence, I begin to worry that our Christmas celebration has just been scuttled. That's when Grace comes to the rescue. "But, Horatio, they just smuggled in an MP3. It's so small, it can be hidden in a pocket, and when the batteries die, it won't play music anymore. If it were ever found, it would simply be a worthless oddity. Really, it's not a mistake they will ever repeat since there will be no opportunity, so why not let us play the music? You know, they can't exactly call home and talk with their families or get cards and letters from them. What's the harm in having one last evening of music we all love? Music that helps us through this first Christmas away from home?"

I listen to the tone in Grace's voice. It's particularly soft and pleading, and there's something else in it, too, which I cannot quite pigeonhole. At any rate, to my great surprise, Horatio concedes, "Alright, Grace. What is done is done. And, since it cannot happen again, we might as well make the most of it, use up those batteries and have done with it!" Then, looking at each of the three men, Horatio demands, "Is there any other contraband that you brought here?" Each of them shakes his head and affirms, "No, Sir!" Erik shifts uneasily next to my chair and continues to say nothing, making me wonder again what is going on.

"Well, there is one problem with playing the music," Terese observes. "It's not only that it sounds totally alien to this century, it will be coming out of a tiny box, with no visible musicians around. I think that would freak out the servants here in the chateau. How do we cover that little technicality?"

Finally Erik speaks up, startling me. "Well, this is a Catholic country, and most people attend mass on Christmas Eve. I could give all the servants the evening off, and _perhaps even the entire night and next day. _They could be with their families. It would be a kind gift for them and would mean there was no one in the chateau to overhear the music you wish to play on this machine."

Horatio agrees with this proposal, and Joe declares we are capable of attending to our own needs and preparing our meals on Christmas Day. Grace points out that will give everyone an entire day to listen and dance to the music they miss so much, and to relax and be themselves.

I remain a quiet observer during this discussion, trying to figure out what Erik's motivation is for his suggestion. I think he's truly considerate toward the servants and would think of their welfare by suggesting they get off an entire day, but feel he also has some other agenda. I cannot fathom it right now, but know I'll figure it out, sooner or later.

Horatio turns to me and asks politely, "Well, Laura, you've been very quiet. What's your vote in all this?"

Glancing up at Erik, feeling his emerald, hypnotic eyes reaching into mine, I reply, "Yes, I agree with the plans! Especially the music. I look forward to hearing that!" A cheer goes up, and it's decided. Erik, of course, doesn't do anything so undignified as cheer, but I'm caught off guard to see him break into a glorious smile. I wonder—_what_ is he up to?

The remainder of the evening the discussion revolves around plans for this very special, one-time-only, Christmas celebration. Then, something else happens that is out of the ordinary. When the clock strikes nine, Erik puts his glass on the buffet and leans over, whispering in my ear, "Laura, with all the festivities tomorrow, and possibly little sleep tomorrow night, I think it best to turn in early tonight." I blink up at him. He usually doesn't escort me to my room until 11 o'clock, wanting us to spend some time alone in the Great Hall after everyone else has gone off to bed. Suddenly, he wants go to bed two hours early? Now, I'm really wondering what's up, as I reply, "Of course, Erik. We probably do need a good night's sleep tonight. Tomorrow will be busy!"

As we leave the Great Room and pass by the doorway into the dining room, we notice the elderly butler polishing the silver soup tureen at the table. Erik excuses himself for a minute and walks over to the elderly man, apparently to give him an order. The servant immediately stands and walks into the kitchen, then Erik returns to me, escorting me up the stairwell to my room.

When we get to my room, Erik takes my elbow and turns me around. Pressing me against the door, one hand cradling the back of my neck and the other caressing my waist, he pulls me to him. His warm lips, tasting faintly of Chablis, cover mine, and our deep kisses soon leave us breathless and wanting more. Tonight when he pulls back, his face exposes not only smoldering need, but something else—determination. I gasp. Does he want to come into my room…_now_? Is that why we have come upstairs so early? Is this going to be _the_ night? I wait, my mouth going dry, not knowing what I should _say…wondering what he will_ _do._

Endless moments pass as I wait for Erik's next move. But he just sighs and strokes his fingers through my unruly hair that has broken out of the bounds of many pins and hangs over my shoulder. He brushes his cheek against my temple and inhales deeply. After a tender kiss on my hair, he steps back unexpectedly. "Laura," he says softly, "I really must go. There is something I have to do."

Surprised at what he just said, I strive to understand this uncharacteristic behavior, "There's something you must do? I thought you wanted to go to bed early."

"Well, yes," clearing his throat, "I am on my way there, but I have just this one matter to take care of first."

Now I'm really curious what he has up his sleeve. "What is so important at this hour? We always spend this time together," trying to mask my disappointment.

"I know, Laura, but there is a pressing errand I must attend to. You will understand in time."

"Will I see you later this evening?" This is not turning out as I thought—had hoped—it might.

"Well, that depends. Perhaps if I am done early enough," his evasive answer makes me even more suspicious.

"Good night, then, Erik," I sigh, no longer hiding my feelings at his leaving so soon…of my wanting him to stay. Then trying to find some comment to cover my obvious disappointment, I add, "I hope tomorrow will be very memorable!"

Erik's eyebrow arches and his eyes sparkle mischievously, "Yes," he agrees, "I hope it will be _very_ memorable!"

Even before I have closed my door, he turns and disappears down the stairwell. How strange! He said he wanted to turn in early. My mind begins to whir with speculation. What in the world is Erik plotting now?

_Jeremy's POV:_

Surprisingly, Erik and Laura excuse themselves for the evening. As they walk out of the Great Hall, I note the time. Just as I thought. It's early, only 9 o'clock. They are always the last ones to go to their rooms each evening. To give them privacy, I usually read a book in the dining room until they go upstairs to their rooms, then wait another fifteen minutes before retiring to mine on the third floor.

Erik's a night person. He _never_ goes to bed early. After mulling it over for a few minutes, I grudgingly decide that I need to check this out. Terese is seated on the large couch between Joe and me, listening attentively to Joe's tale about a prank his brother played on him one Christmas. She is focused on Joe, laughing and seeming to enjoy his story. Since her back is turned to me, all I can see is the shock of curly hair that cascades down her back. She told me that she gave up trying to pin it up, and just tied it back with a ribbon in deference to current fashion. It looks so soft that I want to reach out and touch it.

Sighing in frustration, I shift on the seat and decide there's no time to wait for Joe to finish his story. I cough and interrupt, "Excuse me, but I need to turn in early. I could use some sleep before my guard duty tonight!"

"Really? You have guard duty tonight?" Terese frowns as she watches me stand to leave. Carrying more meaning than her question indicates, her voice has a distinctly disappointed edge. For some reason, it makes me happy that she doesn't want me to leave.

"Yes, I have a three hour shift tonight from midnight to 3:00 am. I should get some shut-eye first."

"I see. Well, at least tomorrow you can sleep in. There is no training session for the next two days," she smiles, but I detect regret in her eyes. I certainly hope so. I hope she doesn't want me to go, but—figuring out what Erik is up to right now has to take priority, so I just smile and reluctantly leave.

As I pass through the doorway of the Great Hall and turn to go upstairs, I catch a glimpse of Erik's black cloak flaring out of the hallway that heads toward the back of the house and the stables. Grabbing my own cloak and gloves off the ancient hall tree, I hurry after Erik, but remain far enough behind so that he doesn't know I'm following. If he knows I'm tracking him, he may pull one of his disappearing acts, and I don't want to lose him.

Sure enough, my suspicion was right! Erik goes out the back door and heads straight for the stables. I watch him through the panes of the leaded-glass window, but don't open the door until he's entered the building. Then I fling the door open and run, stopping just outside the stable entrance to stealthily peer in.

Only a few yards away, Erik is mounted on his black stallion, which is prancing with nervous energy. The stable boy isn't far away, holding the reins of my saddled horse. I realize the jig is up and walk into the stable. Erik leans his elbow on the pummel of his saddle and gives me a royal smirk, "Well, Jeremy, what kept you so long?"

My only response as I mount my horse is a snort of disgust that he knew all along I was trailing him…that I would follow him.

"So, Erik, where are we going?"

"To Paris, of course!"

"Paris? Why Paris? It's nighttime!" I tilt my head in question.

"Haven't you heard that Paris is the City of Lights? Its social life only increases at night fall."

"Ok," realizing that arguing with him is futile, "What do you plan to do in Paris?"

"I hope to pick up a Christmas gift from the jeweler!" he gives a devilish grin and spurs his horse, launching out of the stable doors into the night.

I urge my own horse into a gallop, closely following Erik and thankful that the weather has been relatively mild this week and the temperatures are in the low 40's. Our cloaks are buttoned closed, so they hold in our body heat and both of us wear our gloves and have our cloak hoods up over our heads.

Instead of following the road, we take the well-used horse path across the meadows, cutting miles off the route that the carriage must use. Erik sets a steady pace that the horses can maintain without too much strain. The trail is easy to follow, one which Erik and I used several times to travel into Paris before Laura arrived.

As we ride, I look up at the night sky. There are few clouds, and the stars seem particularly bright tonight, even though the moon is almost full. I give a brief nod of thanks to the moon for doing such a good job of lighting our way since Erik sets a steady pace through the trees, but speeds to a full gallop in the open fields. The last thing I need is for Erik to fall from his horse and break his fool neck.

After an hour, we reach the streets at the edge of Paris proper and the sound of our horses' hooves clopping on cobblestone, echoes loudly off the buildings and competes with the clatter of iron wheels on wagons and carriages. In about fifteen minutes we turn onto one of the wide new boulevards that have generous sidewalks lined with brightly lit gas light globes hanging from umbrella shaped street poles. Erik is right. The street bustles with people shopping at stores that are probably open later than usual for Christmas. The restaurants, bars and hotels that line the street overflow with people coming and going, celebrating with holiday cheer before the more somber, religious rituals will have to be observed.

I am not surprised when Erik turns into the same livery stable where we left the carriage on our trip earlier this week. Turning our horses quickly over to the care of the stableboy, Erik races down the street, and I surmise that our destination is the same jeweler's shop where we ordered Laura's ring. When we reach the tidy shop on the corner, like many of the shops along the boulevard, it is still open.

Erik rushes into the shop, with me close on his heels, but we come to a sudden halt. The little old man isn't behind the counter. Instead, a young, nattily dressed man looks up and smiles warmly, clearly hoping for a lucrative sale. Anxiously, Erik introduces himself and asks to speak with the elderly man.

The salesman shakes his head apologetically, "I am sorry, Monsieur Mercier, but he took ill with a cough two days ago." Then with an obsequious smile, he continues, "But, I am his grandson, and I will be honored to assist you. What may I show you? Are you seeking a Christmas gift for a member of your family, or perhaps for a lady?"

"Yes, for a lady. But I am here to pick up a ring that I ordered from your Grandfather earlier this week. It was to be ready three days hence, but I thought perhaps he may have already finished it since the next two days are holidays. At least, I had hoped…" Erik's voice trails off, and I get the full picture now. His Christmas "gift" was the ring so that he could propose to Laura! Yep, that's good timing, and as far as I am concerned, the sooner, the better.

"Oh, I see. I am sorry, Monsieur. I know the ring of which you speak, but my Grandfather took ill on Thursday, and he had not yet finished it. However, I stopped by his home this evening at dinnertime. He is definitely much improved, and said he would come into the shop on Christmas day to complete your order so that it would be ready for you the following day." He holds his hands up in apology, "you may be assured that my Grandfather is a man of his word, and it will be ready when he promised!"

Erik's face says it all. He is devastated. It's obvious that he had pegged his hopes on getting that ring and proposing soon, probably on Christmas Eve. This calls for Plan B, and as a SEAL, we are taught to switch strategy and tactics when necessary. "Erik, how about buying a ring that is already made?" I point down at the glass case full of what appears to me to be properly elegant rings with a variety of suitably expensive gemstones. Surely one of those would work just as well. Obviously, I'm grossly mistaken.

"What? Give Laura such a ring just for the sake of convenience?" his shocked expression tells me that I just committed the screw-up of the year. I smile sheepishly and shrug, deciding that anything I say might dig the hole even deeper.

"I would be happy to show you our variety of ladies' rings. Many have quite exquisite settings…" the young man doesn't finish his statement. A black shadow descends over Erik's face, silencing the young man whose sentence ends with a noisy gulp.

"No! I must have the ring as I designed it, with the exact stones that I chose." Erik's tone is no-nonsense, and the young man nods his head in agreement, spitting out his reassurance that the ring will be ready on Tuesday—without fail.

"I will be here shortly after noon to pick it up. I trust it will be ready!" Erik states, turns on his heels and leaves the shop. I race to catch up to him, but he hardly notices me. He's clearly preoccupied with his disappointment that he wasn't able to pick up _the _ring. I can't say that I blame him. He certainly has waited long enough, and considering what he and Laura have been through, they deserve a break rather than more delays.

My mind is going over all the roadblocks that have been put in Erik's way, so I don't notice the carriage pulling up to the curb, and three very drunk gentlemen staggering down from the coach. Unfortunately, Erik is barreling down the street in such a preoccupied funk, that one of the men drunkenly sways into Erik's path, running straight into Erik. The well-dressed young man is bowled over backward, as if he has hit a brick wall, and his derriere lands in a pile of fresh horse droppings on the street.

The other two other men launch an attack at Erik who handily side steps them, using the side of his boot against their backsides, propelling them through the open door of a restaurant. By the time I get to Erik, it's all over. The carriage driver is helping the young man up and brushing off his pants. The two men in the restaurant turn around and shake their fists at Erik, spewing out colorful language, but sizing up the situation—and Erik—they wisely head for the bar and order drinks.

Erik's only words to me are, "Well, what took you so long? The fight is over!" and his lip curls in a self-satisfied smirk as he turns and strides off. We hastily pay the livery boy and mount our horses. I watch our backs closely until we leave the outskirts of Paris and get safely into the countryside, fearing that friends of the men might come looking for us to settle the score. But no one follows, and for once, luck is on our side. Or is it?

The ride back to the chateau is wild. Steadily picking up speed, Erik drives his horse furiously, the hooves pounding the ground, tearing up chunks of earth that fly into my face as I ride closely behind. Jumping a small stream, he spurs his horse to a full gallop through the meadows, barely slowing through the forest where dark-fingered branches reach out to unseat us.

Following what seems to be a towering dark banshee reflected in the moonlight, cloak billowing and snapping wildly behind him, I wonder if Erik's trying to kill both of us on this crazed ride through the winter night. _(See footnote below!)_

_Terese's POV:+_

Silver light filters through my window, spilling over the white bedclothes that lie loosely around me. The moon seems to have found me even here. Just the way she used to follow daddy and me when we drove in our car, she's followed me across the centuries, no matter that I've traveled light years in a single night.

At the touch of her beams on my skin, my eyes close with memories of the past five days. The moment I laid my eyes on him...

Time _stopped_ when I saw him standing there. An ordinary looking man. Tall. Not the stereotypical dark and handsome like Marek or Matt. But with something extraordinary in his spirit, and a look in his eyes that seemed to come from an infinite place.

Then his solid touch when he reached for me and helped me to my feet...I almost couldn't speak.

But he knew me.

And I missed him in Seattle.

I stood there, watching him like a new star rising on my horizon. It seemed I could read each thought as it crossed his face...and that I heard something in the resonance of his voice...something I've waited for a very long time to hear.

When the timeless moment dissipated, we went to work, his mind picking up the abstract concepts and technical details of the quantum technology with no noticeable strain, memorizing the codes, troubleshooting. We spent five days in the underground room—Horatio, he and I.

But the feeling that began in the timeless moment has not gone away. It surfaces unexpectedly throughout the days, and time suspends again when our eyes meet across the table, or the room. I miss him whenever he leaves. But when he returns, I feel him even before I see him. And I know.

The feeling rises, finding its way to my tears. It's just the way I thought it would be...only I didn't anticipate the pain it would bring. Something deeper than tears wells inside my being. Tears are the outermost layer, pushed to the surface with each swell of the sea of emotion beneath them, and my body shakes with the pressure of each wave. Rolling over in my bed, I push my face into the pillows and let the tears run from my eyes into the linen. It's not right. I should not be loving someone so far away.

"_You'll just know," _Daddy said.

Yes, but the weight of it...the depths of this _knowing_...is breaking my heart.

Closing my eyes and letting the moonbeams embrace me, I think of the dance tomorrow evening, wondering what it might be like to be caught in his arms...to be that close to him. Suddenly I realize that there will be an abundance of men at this dance and very few women. I wonder if Erik will dance with anyone but Laura. And will she dance only with him? Either way, with so few women to go around, I'll be taking my turns with Joe and Russ and Horatio and Matt most of the time, rather than Jeremy.

Wrapping one of the quilts around me, I crawl out of bed and walk across the wooden floor bathed in moonlight, to the door. I open it quietly, and step out onto the small balcony, tugging the quilt tighter around me to ward off the cold. Leaning against the railing, I tilt my head back, trying to lose the horizon and the edges of the building from my peripheral vision.

If only I could travel there at will...out there where the light is all blue and silver, with all the beings that inhabit the sky so real and close. As a little girl, asleep at night, I was able to reach that place. But even in dreams, the stars have a way of feeling close enough to touch and staying just out of reach. In all my midnight travels, I never, ever touched a star.

But now I _have_. I've touched him. I know in my soul that he is the one my father tried to tell me about. My very own star. But I am not sure how he feels about me. All I know is that my soul is inextricably tied up with a man who feels so close, but will remain beyond my reach for a very long time.

Looking up for comfort in the sky, I easily find my archer there. Beautiful, as ever. Since sunset tonight, he has climbed from the horizon to the height of the sky. I stare at him there, poised with valor, his arms stretching the bow back in eternal readiness. What I would give to be riding with him through the starry night.

I am lost in the sky picture feeling the wind in my hair when I hear hoof beats coming from below. Broken from my reverie, I look down and see two dark riders, their shadowy figures crested with moonlight as they ride at breakneck speed across the meadow from the cover of the trees toward the chateau. As they streak through a patch of moonlight a dark flying cape and a moonlit mask gives away the identity of the first rider. Their pace does not slacken as they near the stable. Then suddenly the rider in front slows and his horse careens to a halt. Right on his tails, the shadow swerves deftly and whirls his horse to a stop. Jeremy!

Erik dismounts with his cloak furling behind him in the wind, his black steed still prancing wildly after being brought to a full stop out of a dead run. Jeremy, still mounted, is all deftness as he allows his horse to burn off excess steam, and in the fraction of an instant that the light glints off his riding coat, I am stunned with how magnificent he is on horseback.

But what are they doing streaking through the dark at midnight? Do they do this for the thrill? Have they been cooped up all day and feel the need for a harrowing midnight ride through the woods?

Jeremy dismounts and holds the reins of the two horses who are still trying to cool their heels. The man in the windblown cape seems to be highly agitated as they enter the stable.

I can't even imagine where these two have been, or why they went, what they have been doing, or what might have gone wrong. I hope it is nothing dreadful.

When they exit the stables, the men match strides, talking in heated debate. Jeremy seems to be trying to calm Erik down as they walk toward the chateau and disappear from view. +

_Jeremy's POV:+_

I take the long flight of steps two at a time to the rooftop, a good half an hour late for my guard shift. Erik is safely settled in his room now...I think. He's finally calmed down from his furious midnight ride back from the city. I hope I managed to sooth his agitation over not being able to get Laura's ring tonight.

I, too, hated Erik having to put off asking Laura to marry him; after all, unpredictable events always seem to cluster around Erik's proposals. I wish he'd been able to get that ring. The sooner he proposes the better. My nerves are getting at least as jangled over this as Erik's.

Grasping at straws, I pointed out to Erik that it would only be a few more days before we would all be returning to Paris to pick up the costumes for the masque ball. The jeweler promised the ring would be ready, so he can propose that evening. He closed his door, dismissing me with a snort of resignation. Hopefully, he will be able to sleep tonight. But I intend to keep a careful watch during my shift, just in case he gets restless and decides to go on a "phantom" excursion again. You never know what he might conjure up next. Not that I could even see him in the dark though, I muse wryly.

Luckily Horatio had the shift before me. I will probably not have to explain my being late. He certainly saw us leave, and no doubt ride in a few minutes ago. But Horatio and I seem to have a tacit understanding between us now. I'm free to use my own best judgment with Erik without being grilled on it. However, I'm sure that Horatio has put two and two together and come out with four often enough.

Upon reaching the rooftop, I am taken by surprise to see Matt standing with his back to me, facing the east side of the chateau, which overlooks the stables. I wonder if Matt saw us ride in, or has he just taken over for Horatio while I've been with Erik in his room. Either way, I have some explaining to do.

"Sorry I'm late, Matt," I try to catch my breath from the vigorous climb. "I'm here now, you can go...but thanks for being willing to take my shift."

Matt turns with an amused smile. "Your shift? I'm not taking your shift. I've been up here since 9 o'clock."

"Oh! I thought Horatio was on tonight."

"Uh…he was...but, I relieved him of his duty," Matt's eyes narrow sheepishly. "I was having some difficulty figuring out how to spend the time tonight, and figured Horatio wouldn't mind passing the night somewhere other than on the top of a _tower_."

I eye Matt quizzically...curious what he might be implying.

"Sure enough!" Matt rolls his eyes, "he took me up on the offer."

Oh! It's making sense. I step beside Matt who's hiding his amusement behind a thin, nonchalant façade, cross my arms and stare out over the eastside of the estate, nodding my head. Then Matt and I suddenly glance at each other and break into sly smiles.

"So Horatio's got better things to do than _stand_ watch until midnight, huh?"

A slight grin tugs at Matt's mouth as he nods, looking straight ahead. Matt has never been the best at masking his emotions. He can appear to be smiling, even when he has a straight face. He can also look sad, even when he smiles. But when it comes to what he's thinking, that's entirely different. You never know what might be percolating in his mind. Matt is a deep thinker. It's not that hard to read his feelings, but it's extremely difficult to read his thoughts.

I'm beginning to get an uneasy feeling. I know Matt has been die-hard in love with Laura, but I wonder how he's coming to grips with what we all know and expect to happen soon...a proposal from Erik. I swallow, realizing Matt no doubt saw Erik and me leave on our midnight ride. He hasn't asked where I was, or why I was late, which means he's got a pretty good idea. After all, he's had several hours to think about it.

Matt came with the Team to France, thinking he was leaving Laura behind. Forever. And now, here he is living in the same "house" with her 24/7...with _Erik_ and her! And if Laura and Erik are married soon, Matt's got to find some way to deal with _that_. There's no way around it. He's got to get over Laura.

And that makes me uneasy. How..._exactly_...is he going to get over her? I can think of a few ways. A few ways that are not likely. And, I can think of another possibility, but that makes my gut tighten up. I don't like the thought of Matt noticing Terese.

"Well I guess I'll leave you now!" Matt says. "Gotta hit the hay."

I nod to him, then step closer to the parapet at the edge of the rooftop and scan the area around the chateau. I suddenly freeze when I see Terese standing out on her balcony, two floors below. Wrapped in a blanket, she's leaning against the wrought iron rail, staring out into the night sky, the moon highlighting her hair, turning it silver. I didn't see her when I rode up. But then, I wasn't looking.

"How long has she been down there?" I ask off-handedly as Matt nears the stair. He turns and glances at me.

"For a while," Matt shrugs. But he looks at me as if he wants to ask me something, but turns and continues down the stairs.

Damn, I wish I knew what was going on inside Matt's head. I resume my watch over the east side of the chateau, glancing back down at Terese. So she must have seen Erik and me ride in, since her balcony faces the stables. Funny, I didn't even notice her above me. But, I was a bit preoccupied with Erik.

I watch Terese until I can't stand it anymore, then I make my round to the other side of the rooftop and scan the outlying grounds as far as I can see in the moonlight. All is well. Nothing moves but the sway of grass and trees. I wish something _would_ move. Something to keep my attention on the grounds instead of the balcony on the other side of the chateau. I lean against the parapet, resting my forearms on the cold stone.

Oh. Apparently Terese is not the only one feeling the need to stare at the sky tonight. Laura too, is wrapped tightly in a quilt, sitting on a chair outside the French doors of her room. Well this should be interesting. I half expect Erik to appear on the balcony and find her there. Now I'm not sure just which side of the chateau I should keep a closer eye on. The moment I move to one side, what might happen on the other? I push up off the wall and begin to make my way clockwise around the perimeter of the roof. I look north for a few minutes. Nothing, as usual. Then I make my way back to the east and look down. Terese is not there. Shoot, she must have finally gone inside because of the cold.

As I search the stable area and the surrounding grounds, I see something move. Erik? Scrutinizing the figure's gait, I realize it isn't him. It's Matt. Well that doesn't surprise me. Matt has a habit of taking long walks when he needs to think or get something worked out of his system. Apparently he didn't get enough walking done on his guard duty. I wonder how long he stood around watching Laura…or was it Terese?

I wish she was still on her balcony. Was she stargazing, or having trouble sleeping too? If I'd known she was still up, I would've invited her up here with me.

As Matt disappears into the shadows near the tree line, a door creaks open below me. I look down to see who else might be restless and needing some night air.

"Don't worry, Grace. I'm not going out. I just need to cool off." Horatio's voice wafts upward on the night breeze.

I don't think I was supposed to hear that. But, the wind is notorious for carrying voices to unexpected places and ears. I dare not laugh aloud, or the wind will betray me, too. I continue on to the south side of the chateau's roof and lean on the parapet again.

Far away the wind seems to whistle in the trees, and I recall the eerie midnight ride with Erik. There's nothing like riding like a bat out of hell through the woods under a full moon, especially with an apparently headless winged creature flying through the night ahead of you. In the air I hear hoof beats again, and the howl of the wind through the trees. Then they fade on the night wind and everything seems quiet.

Quiet that is, except for the distinguishable sound, captured by the wind, of snoring coming from Russ' room. Well, he's having no trouble sleeping. And he always sleeps with his window cracked. That sound isn't unusual.

I'm kind of wishing I could just drop off to sleep. After long days of training in the basement and tailgating Erik, I could have used that shuteye earlier tonight. Although, if I'd had the evening off I sure wouldn't have spent it sleeping. I would have taken Terese out on a moonlight ride. Just tonight I was getting up my guts to ask her. Finally I thought I saw that look in her eyes again. The look from the very first day. The very first moment, when time stood still, and I forgot everything else. I forgot the fact that I'm a special agent on a minimum five year assignment, second in command and expected to take the lead in the event of Horatio's absence. I remembered all that, later.

I just can't be feeling this way. I can't care for someone I might never see again. I'm not even sure how she feels. And I can imagine that she will be "married with children" five years from now..._if _I ever go home.

I thought I saw how she felt in her eyes, but that might have been my imagination? How strong does a feeling have to be before it's the real thing? I wish I could ask Erik about this. No, actually he's probably not the one to ask. I don't think he makes much distinction between "reality" and what he feels. Matt's the one who knows. He deals with the chasm between his feelings and reality every day.

I wonder what Matt is working through tonight. Everyone knows that he needs to find a way to get over Laura. But somehow I don't like the idea of Terese being the one to pull him out of it.

I think of the dance tomorrow, of her dancing with everyone but me. The thought of her in Matt's arms makes my stomach knot. It's a good thing I have guard duty tomorrow night. If I ever held her in my arms, I don't know if I could let her go.

Now what's that sound? Someone, or something, is stirring below me. I look down at the balconies and see no one. Listening closely, I hear a strange noise. I vaguely recognize the sound, but it doesn't seem to fit with the surroundings, and I'm having trouble placing it. Leaning farther over the half-wall, I see Joe hanging out of his window. His head is swaying rather rhythmically, and suddenly I recognize the sound. He's swishin' spittin' to a very non-nineteenth century beat. Ah, so he's listening to his MP3 player! Yeah, well enjoy it, Joe. Horatio is going to make you pay.

I'm getting a kick out of listening to the variety of things Joe can do with his mouth, and the occasional whispering whine of his voice which gives away some of the lyrics he's listening to. Then his voice fades, and I am just about to move on to the west side of the roof when Joe comes out on his balcony in a nightshirt and starts dancing in the moonlight. This I cannot miss. Joe twists and turns, jigs and jives...unaware that anyone is watching him. His shoulders bop and his mouth gets going again. Wow...this guy is good. But if he knew he had an audience...

I look around for something to throw, but find only a pebble on the rooftop. Picking it up, I imagine what Joe's reaction will be. I take careful aim and drop it directly beside him.

Joe jumps, startled.

Whack!

Oops, that wasn't part of the dance!

Thump, thump, Stomp. Now he's holding his foot and doing an entirely new number.

"Hey what's all the racket?" Russ calls from the room next door. Half asleep and thoroughly annoyed, he pokes his head out his window.

Craning his neck, Joe looks up at me with an aghast expression, and then back at Russ. "Nichs is tryin' to kill me," he spouts in half angry, half amused tone.

"Oh, for crying out loud, shut up and get your arse to bed," Russ growls. "And knock off the racket." Then he slams his window shut with a loud bang that would wake up the dead.

I have stepped away from the edge of the roof so that Joe cannot see me anymore, and at this point I don't think he will risk shouting curses at me from two floors below. I hear him thump a little as he limps back through his door and mumbles a somewhat stifled "dang blast it you bloomin' idiot." Most likely meaning himself, I laugh quietly.

I make my way to the west side, wondering if Laura is still on the balcony and what I may have missed while I've been preoccupied with Joe's midnight antics. Will I catch Erik and Laura in a lover's kiss? Sadly, she's alone, standing at the rail, looking out toward the surrounding woods. She seems lost in thought, wind catching locks of her hair that have escaped from the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. I scan the outskirts of the grounds again, then see Laura turn and go inside. Just as her door closes, I notice a movement in the shadows at the far end of the balcony that her room shares with Erik's. I immediately lean farther over the edge of the parapet trying to see what caught my eye, but nothing is there now.

Moving quickly to the north side, I peer down onto the balcony in front of Erik's suite. There he stands, still as a statue, wrapped in his cloak, a sheen of starlight gleaming off his hair. I can nearly feel the energy rising off him like smoke from a smoldering fire. Something sad stirs inside me. Tonight, for the first time, I caught a glimpse of him watching Laura from the shadows. Wishing, longing. Hoping. Yet invisible. In my heart I don't want him to have to wait any longer. It's painful to see him that way...to know how long he has lived as a Phantom.+

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Footnote: Please be aware that no horses were harmed either by Erik, or in the writing of this chapter.

And, kudos to our wonderful editor, Anna!!


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Thank you to each of you who leave your comments!!** They are truly appreciated. We value our loyal fans dearly, and we are very happy to read the comments of new fans and fans who have lurked and are now coming forward. All your comments are read and enjoyed and taken seriously! In the next week I will try to post a brief response to each of you. Some of you have raised very excellent points and suggestions concerning the book which is being written and is coming along well. But, briefly, I want to confirm that the book will be a different and far richer and more intense telling of this story, with greater realism in both the court and historical settings.

So…now for Christmas Eve!! This becomes a very special celebration. And, as it turns out, contraband abounds! For Erik and Laura, it will be unforgettable, and by the way, this is an M chapter…

* * *

**CHAPTER 49, CHRISTMAS AND CONTRABAND, by Phanna,+ KFC++ and Phanfan**+++ 

_December 24, 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Erik's POV:+_

Twining the wire around the spruce bough and attaching it to the mantle over the smaller of the two fireplaces in the Great Hall, I am saturated with its pungent scent. This is the last of the greenery to be hung. Turning around, my eyes sweep the expanse of the Great Hall and foyer adjacent to the stairwell and dining room. It is bedecked with garlands of pine and spruce, draped gracefully along the walls and around the tall windows. The myriad shades of greenery are magnificent to behold, and the fragrance of fresh, newly cut pine brings a freshness to the stale, musty stone walls of this old estate.

My eyes settle on Laura who is on the other side of the room, tying ivy and bows to the evergreen. She is wearing my favorite dress of forest green that so exquisitely compliments her ivory complexion and makes her dark eyes even lovelier. Her maid has fashioned her hair in a chignon softly tucked at the back of her neck, but in the bustling activities to decorate for our Christmas party, several stray curls have managed to escape and hang gaily around her face. My heart warms each time we glance at each other. What happened last Monday night between us—her unguarded surrender and the expunging of my feelings of rejection and abandonment—have been constantly in my thoughts. That touched me more deeply, more profoundly, than anything else has in my entire life.

The disappointment in my unsuccessful journey to Paris last night preyed on my mind all night. I could not sleep. After I heard the others talk of Christmas at dinner, I realized that I should have timed my proposal to Laura for tonight, for Christmas Eve. That had not occurred to me when I ordered the ring because Christmas has never been important in my life.

I remember Christmases with my foster parents but they had been uneventful. Even though my foster father had been a kind man, my foster mother had never cared for me. She made my life as miserable as she could behind his back. And I learned soon enough not to complain or her rage would heighten, and she would design more subtle, more pernicious ways of tormenting me. She did not allow me to participate in the holidays. Because of my face, she made it clear that I was not to attend church or go into the village. It shamed her that I lived in her house. Only the money they received regularly for my care had overcome her reluctance to take me in, clothe and feed me. There was no love except what my foster father bestowed upon me when we were alone.

When I lived at the opera house, Antoinette tried as best she could to include me in the festivities during the holidays. In the early years when Meg was a child, I would sneak to the church where Meg and she would go for midnight mass, but after a few years, I had even stopped doing that. We exchanged small gifts but there was never the festivity I see unfolding in the chateau today.

When everyone talked about Christmas and told stories they remembered from their family celebrations, I could not relate to that. As they were talking, I perceived that Christmas was special to them, to Laura, and I suddenly realized it was the ideal time to ask her to marry me.

Last night I was determined to go into Paris and bring the ring back with me so I could propose tonight. But it was a futile effort. By the time I left the jeweler's store, I was in a fury. I have only myself to blame for not planning this better, so I paced all night until the sun began to replace the night sky. But, we go back to Paris on Tuesday, so that evening I will have the ring and ask Laura to marry me. I vow to myself that nothing will prevent my proposal from happening. Of this, I am certain!

At precisely 1:00, we walk into the dining room for the midday meal, and I escort Laura to her chair next to mine. This morning has been a flurry of activity as Horatio, Jeremy, Matt, Russ and I combed the surrounding forest and brought back a small wagon-load of greenery—pine and spruce boughs and sprigs of holly. We all enjoy the retelling of the trip including how Russ had disappeared in an avalanche of wet snow from several branches above his head. I join in the laughter at the memory of turning to Russ, only to discover that when he extricated himself he resembled a dog, pulled from the water, wet and bedraggled. Russ accepts the teasing begrudgingly.

Grace is also excited and talkative this afternoon. Her cheeks exude high color, and I cannot help but notice the way she continues to glance at Horatio. It reminds me of the way that Laura looks at me. That particular fact has escaped my notice until now, and I watch Horatio as he reacts to Grace. Indeed, it seems they care very deeply for each other.

Grace raises her voice to tell us what she has gleaned from her maid earlier today. "I talked to Yvette, and asked her about the local Christmas customs." Grace leans forward so she can see all of us around the table. "She told me it's traditional for a Nativity scene or crèche to be displayed in each home. The figures are usually made of clay and are called 'santons.' They even have Christmas markets throughout France that specialize in selling these santons."

"I wish we had time to shop and find a crèche and santons. That would be lovely to set up in the chateau." Laura's enthusiasm for Christmas has been apparent all morning as she decorated the greenery.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Grace responds, "That's exactly what I thought, so I asked Yvette if we would be able to find one at this late date. She said one of the maids had seen a crèche tucked away behind a trunk in the cellars. So I had her bring it up, and she helped me set it up in the Great Hall just before lunch. It's quite large and very elaborate. All the figures are there: the three Wise Men, the animals, the shepherds, the manger, Joseph, Mary and the Baby Jesus."

Horatio asks, "Did she say anything about a Christmas tree?"

"Yes, she said they don't use Christmas trees in France. But they do burn a Yule log during the season."

Joe speaks up, "There's one already set up in the fireplace of the Great Hall. I saw several of the servants placing it there while I was gathering all the extra candlesticks I could find to take to the ballroom for tonight." Then Joe asks Horatio to pass the tray of meats again.

"Erik," Jeremy looks over at me, "I presented the Christmas bonuses to each of the servants and told them they can leave at 5:00 o'clock this evening. I also said they needn't return until late evening on Christmas day. That gives them a full day off."

"And, it gives us a full day to play our music and do whatever we want to!" Joe happily chimes in. I say nothing, but for once, I quite agree with him.

"Thank you Jeremy for taking care of that." Horatio and I had decided this morning to hand out a generous bonus to each servant. It is still difficult for many of the families after the events of this last year, what with the war and the Commune chaos.

Russ and Terese comment about how happy the servants appear as they move about the chateau. They are busier than usual cooking food and filling the pantry to sustain us until they return Christmas night.

"By the way, Grace, did Yvette mention what they would be preparing other than the duck we requested?" Joe always seems most interested in the food that is served.

"Um huh," Grace swallows a bite and looks around the table, "She was saying that there are several tradition Christmas foods. Her family is from this area, and they always have oysters and duck."

"Oysters?" From the look on Joe's face and the tone of his question, Joe does not seem to be pleased with that. As for me, it is a delicacy that I enjoy at this time of year.

"Yes, oysters," Grace grins. "She also said her Grand-mère always spends the entire week before Christmas making special pastries. Yvette assures me that the cook here in the château has been preparing many of these over the last week for our feast this evening. And, I did talk to the kitchen staff. They will set the buffet up right before they leave at 5."

"Ah, then this is the perfect time to broach the subject." Horatio surveys the faces of Jeremy, Joe and Russ. "I have decided what the disciplinary action for having brought in the contraband will be."

I study the three men with great curiosity as they stop eating and look at Horatio with concern written on their faces. "The four of you will have KP duty during the servant's holiday. That includes preparing and serving the food on Christmas day and cleaning up the kitchen." He lets that statement hang in the air for several seconds, then adds, "Please make sure one of you informs Matt when he comes off duty."

The men look at each other, communicating some secret message between them, then Joe starts to chuckle with Jeremy and Russ joining in. "I think we might be able to handle that Horatio!" Joe responds. I notice that Grace, Terese and Laura exchange glances also. Amusement dances in Laura's eyes as she tries to stifle a grin.

Terese tactfully changes the subject, "Did Yvette tell you any of the other French traditions for Christmas?"

"The children set their shoes in front of the fireplace before they go to bed in hopes that they will be filled by morning, either by "le père de Noël" or "le petit Jésus." Grace seems to have become an expert on Christmas in France, I observe wryly as she continues with her barrage of information, "But most of the holiday season is religious. Everyone attends Midnight mass where many of the churches and cathedrals have a crèche or manger. My understanding is that the whole city comes alive with the sound of Christmas carols and bells."

Russ adds, "I remember some history about the French Christmas song 'Oh Holy Night.' I used to spend my Christmas vacation with my cousins on Nova Scotia, and we all attended St. Mary's in a small town called Church Point. That church is fascinating. It's the largest wooden building in North America, believe it or not! Father Michael was the priest there, and he was always telling historical anecdotes."

"Anyway, around 1850 a parish priest in France asked Placide Cappeau, a local poet, if he would compose a poem for Christmas Eve. Basing his poem on the Gospel of Luke, he wrote, 'Cantique de Noel.' He then approached a friend, Adolphe Adams, who was a successful composer in his own right to ask if he would set the poem to music. It was played only weeks later at the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve that year. Even though it became one of the most beloved Christmas songs in France, the church denounced the song eventually and tried to stop it from being used."

"Why did they want to do that if everyone loved it?" Jeremy asks.

I answer his question. "The reason was because M Cappeau joined the socialist movement, and it was discovered that the composer, M Adams, was Jewish." I look around at their surprised faces. "But the French have always had a rebellious spirit, so we continue to sing it."

"Yes, they did…uh, do." Russ glances around quickly to see if any of the servants overheard his comment. But the servants have learned they need not hover over us during mealtimes when we are having discussions.

"John Sullivan Dwight brought the song to America, and it became popular during the Civil War, especially in the North. Dwight felt the words reflected his own views on slavery, especially the lines: "Truly he taught us to love one another; his law is love and his gospel is peace. Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother; and in his name all oppression shall cease."

"I can see why he would relate to those words," Horatio adds approvingly.

"Yes, and there's also a legend that says a French soldier during the Franco-Prussian War stood up on Christmas Eve and began singing this song. A few minutes later, a German soldier stood and in return began to sing. The legend is that for 24 hours there was peace."

Nodding my head, I add, "It is not just a legend. Everyone in France who lived through that horrible war and siege last Christmas knows it to be true." Everyone turns to look at me, and I see the astonishment on their faces. What is to them history, is to me a very personal, traumatic memory.

Russ begins again, looking around to make sure there are no servants in the room and lowers his voice, "In 1906, Reginald Fessenden spoke into a microphone and was the first man to transmit his voice over the airwaves. It was Christmas Eve, and he read the gospel of Luke. He ended that evening by picking up his violin and playing 'O Holy Night.' It was the first song that was ever played over the radio!"

"I didn't know any of that, Russ! You missed your calling! You could have been a history teacher!" Joe says while slapping Russ on the back. As Russ responds by jabbing Joe in the ribs, I shake my head disapprovingly. Thankfully none of the servants are present to witness such behavior. These Americans are not adapting readily to the proper behavior for wealthy gentlemen.

I have been considering what can be done to instruct them in the manners of our culture before the masque ball. There is only one person who I feel can perform a job of such magnitude in a very short time, and that is Antoinette Giry. Yes, I have decided to pay her a visit when we go into Paris on Tuesday. And, of course, I have been worrying about her and Meg and want to know how they fare.

The talk around the table now turns to the event that we have planned for this evening. Joe seems to be in charge of procurement for everything that is needed. I have noticed that he does this job extremely well. We have had many chances to use his particular talent.

Grace, Terese and Laura will be in charge of the buffet meal, helping the servants set it out before they leave. I ask Laura if I may assist her in any way, but she assures me that my assistance is not required. Since I have a few details I must take care of, I excuse myself. Excited voices float through the hall and follow me up the stairwell until I reach my room. I, too, have special plans for this evening and need to prepare.

Upon entering my room, I take the key out of my pocket and walk to the huge oak armoire next to my bed. The armoire contains a locked compartment for valuables, and I have indeed been hiding some irreplaceable items there ever since I arrived from the future. As I unlock and open the compartment's door, I smile in satisfaction and reflect that Joe is not the only one who smuggled in contraband.+

_Jeremy's POV:++ _

I should be getting up to the tower. It's 9 o' clock and the much anticipated, contraband Christmas Eve dance is about to begin. The ballroom is "decked with boughs of holly" and other greens we found in the woods. It's also filled with a golden glow lent by a great host of candles that Joe scavenged from all corners of the chateau. I have thrown on my overcoat and am about to make my exit for the evening, but not before stealing a glimpse of Terese in this festive setting. Ah, there she is, across the room standing in front of a huge candelabra, lighting the last of the candles, her beautiful gown shining in the soft light.

Not being in the underground room with her today has left me fully aware of the distance between us. Even though Horatio was always with us during training sessions, that room had a way of making me feel that time does not exist, and neither did the distance between our worlds. But when we left the room, reality always returned.

Early this morning when I came off night watch, I stopped outside Terese's door before going into my room. I just wanted to feel that she was not that far away, that the only thing separating us was a wooden door. But, when I lay in my bed staring at the secret panel that leads to the hidden stairwell, all I felt was the chasm of time that separates us like the space between our rooms.

Once during the night I thought I heard Terese going down the stairs, so I got up, threw on some clothes, and went down after her. But when I reached the underground rooms, she wasn't there. Everything in the room seemed to be just as we left it earlier that evening. As I went back up to my room, the sense of her being near wouldn't leave me. But things always seem strange in that stairwell. Wondering if I'd dreamt it, I crawled wearily back into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Then I dreamed Terese and I were standing in moonlight, her eyes shining like stars, but just as I leaned down to kiss her, the sun rose, and she was gone in the mist. I woke to find a servant starting the fire in my room and snow falling outside the window.

The snow fell all day, and it's still falling tonight. I see it coming down heavily outside the gaily decked ballroom windows, giant swirling flakes illuminated by the light shining from the outdoor lamps that add a holiday glow to the outside of the chateau.

With a last glimpse toward Terese, I turn to leave and go up to the tower, but nearly trip over Matt who somehow has materialized beside me without my noticing.

He regards me without a word. His eyes are following Terese, and there's a glint in his eye that I haven't seen in a while.

So I haven't been imagining it. He's taken with her, too. I feel a pang. If it were any other woman he was eyeing, I'd be the first to slap him on the back and say "go for it." Instead, I feel regret that Matt has even noticed Terese, and that makes me feel guilty. What Matt needs most in the world right now is to be noticing someone besides Laura. What kind of friend would begrudge him that?

Matt glances at me, a smile playing at his mouth, "Special lady, don't you think?"

I nod, not saying a word.

"Beautiful," Matt continues.

"Yes, absolutely," I agree.

"Intelligent, too!" Matt's on a roll. "And blonde," he finally looks my way.

"She is not_ blonde_." I say, defensively.

Matt suddenly looks back at Terese. "She's not blonde?"

"Well, yes, she's blonde, but she's not _blonde_."

"I didn't _say _she was _blonde," _Matt explains. "I just said her _hair_ was blonde. Blonde is beautiful...gorgeous. Especially in candlelight. And have you seen the way moonlight turns it from gold to silver?"

I swallow hard. Yes, I do remember. Now I really wonder how long Matt was staring at her last night before I showed up at the tower.

Which reminds me, Joe's up there now, no doubt chomping at the bit to get down here and dance. "Well, I better get going, Matt."

His brow furrows, and to my surprise he seems hesitant. "Jer, do me this one favor will you? Let me take your shift."

I stare blankly at Matt, trying to reconcile his request with the things he's been saying about Terese.

"Matt…why would you want to do that?" I study him, not understanding.

Matt turns to face me and the playful look has turned almost pleading. He shakes his head, "Damn it, Jer, just let me take it. I really need to be...elsewhere tonight."

Did he just say what I think he did? I do a double take. Matt wants to trade his evening of dancing with Terese for a night on the tower in freezing temperatures and snow?

At my puzzled expression, Matt shrugs. "I guess I just don't do blonde."

Suddenly I'm pained for him. It's got to be about Laura. Terese just isn't Laura. It's that simple. He's not getting over her. While part of me is relieved that I misread his attempts to coax me to stay downstairs tonight, another part of me panics at the realization that if Terese can't take his mind off Laura, there's not much hope in sight. I glance over Matt's shoulder to where Erik is smiling down at Laura and holding her closely to him. She's returning Erik's attention with nothing less than a rapturous gaze. I get the picture.

"Do we have a deal?" Matt asks, watching the pieces coming together in my mind.

I nod toward the hallway, and we walk out through one of the arched doors. Once out of sight, I take off my overcoat and hand it to him. "Ok, Matt, you take my watch. But only because I think I understand why you can't be here tonight."

As Matt takes the coat and walks off, I stand near the door wondering if I've done the right thing. I almost feel guilty for being here, and suddenly nervous. I'm going to dance with Terese. All week I've told myself that if I'm ever going to hold her, if I ever kiss her, it will be in my dreams. I cannot act on the attraction that I feel for her. Our worlds are too far apart, and even if our feelings are somehow mutual, acting on them would only create an impossible situation.

I'm not sure I can be here tonight without losing my resolve. I know that once I have her in my arms, I'll lose all sense of time and place, all perspective. My heart pounds just thinking of it, and I feel omens of the pain that could haunt me afterward if I let myself feel this way. To her, it might be just a dance, but to me...

The music has started and as Horatio takes Grace in his arms, Russ wastes no time inviting Terese to be his first partner. I sting with jealousy as he touches her arm, her waist. As they begin to move, her back is to me, and I can't see her face. Thank heavens Russ isn't looking at me. I feel like I'm gawking, and decide that I can't watch Russ dancing with Terese at all.

I walk over to a buffet table that's set up here in the ballroom with so much food it sags under the weight. In addition to a large variety of wines, there is also a punch bowl—for some reason Erik insisted we provide a non-alcoholic drink as well.

My eyes scan the cheeses, breads and fruit spread out on silver trays. However, I realize that I couldn't eat another bite after the rich dinner earlier this evening. I go straight for the wine and pour a glassful, drinking half of it down in one gulp. Its mellow warmth spreads quickly throughout my body, and I grudgingly confess that maybe Erik is right about his preference for wine. It is very good.

I turn around, deciding to go over and chat with Erik and admit that maybe his selection of drinks for the party was a good choice, but stop dead after taking just a few steps.

Erik and Laura are sitting on the settee near one of the fireplaces, but the heat emanating from that area of the room is not coming just from the fire. They aren't watching the dancing at all. Laura is snuggled into Erik's arms, and they have eyes for each other only as they are engaged in some intimate discussion. Both appear to be utterly oblivious to anything else that is happening in the ballroom. I turn on my heel. There's _no_ way I'm going to interrupt them.

Just then Joe rushes up the stairs and slides across the newly polished floor. "Hey! The party can start now!" he shouts, unaware the music has only stopped between songs. "I get her first, Russ, since this was all my idea. You can have her for the next one. Bug off!"

Russ just smiles and politely bows out of Joe's way. I hear Terese's laugh, but Joe doesn't get it. Alright Joe, I muse. Be careful where you put those hands of yours. And don't step on her feet.

I look back at Erik and Laura. They're still ignoring everything else in this room. I doubt Laura will be dancing with any of us guys. In fact, I wonder how long before they will leave and find a place more private.

When the song nears its end, I realize I'm either going to have to dance or invent a reason to leave. Just as I am trying to think of what that reason might be, Joe's hand slithers around Terese's waist and up her back as he thanks her for the dance. Suddenly I can think of no good reason to leave. If Terese is going to dance with men all night anyway...one of them should be me.

I walk toward her, and just as Horatio is about to whisk her into the next dance, I cut in.

I bow.

She curtseys and she takes my outstretched hand as the next song begins. I'm glad the music is slow, and I pull her close, wrapping my other arm around her.

"I thought maybe you didn't want to dance with me," she teases.

"I'm certainly not a salsa king like Joe, and I don't even usually set foot on the dance floor," I look her right in the eyes and with a playful smile. "...but tonight I just couldn't resist."

"Oh!" she laughs shyly. "I thought maybe there was some lady far away in another time that you were wishing was here.

I shake my head, smiling, "No."

But inside I know that in just a few days she will be gone, and then I _will_ be standing around wishing for a lady from another time. It's less than a week until the masque ball...I wonder where she'll be that night... and if someone is waiting for her to come home. Tonight in the candlelight, her eyes sparkle like the jeweled pins in her hair. I've never been so close to her before...close enough to see the flecks in her chestnut eyes, the individual lashes around them. The tiny lines at the corners, formed by laughter and many smiles. The way her golden curls fall from the elegant upward sweep of her hair... But even as I longingly peruse her face and pull her closer, feeling her move with me to the music's easy swing...my ears are atune to the words of the song.

_Maybe it's much too early in the game_

_You know, I thought I ask you just the same_

_What are you doin' New Year's Eve?_

_Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight_

_When it's exactly 12 o clock that night_

_Welcoming in the New Year...this New Year's Eve_

_Maybe I'm crazy to suppose_

_I could ever be the one you chose_

_out of a thousand invitations you'll receive..._

_Ah, but in case I stand one little chance_

_Here comes the jackpot question in advance_

_What are you doin' ... New Year's Eve?++++_

I can't imagine how much more ironic this song could be. When I let go of her hand so I can wrap my other arm around her, her hands brush lightly against my jacket as she reaches up to put her arms around my neck.

"So what _are_ you doing New Year's Eve?" she asks coyly.

I return her playful smile, thinking of the costumes Erik designed for us to wear for the masque ball. I could see her as a gypsy. "Unfortunately, I'll be attending a masque ball…without you."

"A masque ball! Who will you be masquerading as?"

I hesitate for a moment, not sure if I'm at liberty to divulge the characters Erik has designed our costumes, and I think they're to be a surprise." Then, just because I have the opportunity, I lean close to her ear and whisper, "...but I have heard that Grace is going as a gypsy."

She looks up, smiling wistfully. "I wish I wasn't leaving. With my wild hair, I'd make a great gypsy. And riding to the ball under a big yellow moon with a band of gypsies would be so much fun."

"Well, I'm not actually going as a gypsy."

"Oh? What will you be going as?" she begs to know.

This is another opportunity to touch my face to her hair, so I lean down again and whisper, "A sort of rag tag sailor." The feel of her curls against my skin is intoxicating. "So if you came with me, you'd have to not mind the high seas."

She pulls her face away and looks up, eyes shining. "I wouldn't mind!"

"Have you ever sailed?"

"Only in my dreams," she admits with a disappointed frown.

I hold her gaze for a moment, wrapping my arms a little farther around her, thinking of her dancing somewhere else...in some one else's arms. "What _will_ you be doing New Year's Eve?" I ask softly.

She smiles and hesitates before answering. I wrap my arm a little farther around her and pull her closer.

"Unfortunately, probably not much. Maybe soaking in the tub at home, with candles and champagne, if I'm not working overtime."

I pray she didn't feel the jolt that ran through me when she described that scene. But I know by the subtle smirk on her lips she saw my momentary surprise.

"But more than likely, I'll be at the lab."

"Or maybe..." She looks up, her eyes dancing. "I'll drive to my favorite scenic overlook and lie back on the hood of my car and stare at the stars."

"So, you're stargazer?" I ask, regaining my composure.

"Whenever the sky is clear," she beams, "How about you?"

I wonder what she'd say if I told her I love the stars in her eyes better than any in the sky. I shrug, liking the feel of her arms resting on my shoulders. "Sometimes I lay out on the ground and stare at the sky until I go to sleep."

"You sleep under the stars?"

"Oh, once in a while."

"There's nothing like it," she smiles knowingly.

I nod, although I believe there might be a thing or two that could top even that. I'm suddenly having visions of starry nights and green grass, and her lying on the ground looking up at me the way she is now. Then the snow falling outside the window jerks me back to reality.

Damn. Time. It's never right.

And all too soon the song is over. Joe gives Grace up to Russ and heads straight back to Terese.

"Thank you," I whisper in her ear, letting my face brush against her cheek. Our eyes meet in pleasure for a moment before I let go of her. But Joe is waiting, so I grudgingly step away, realizing that with four men and only two women, we have to take turns.

I wander back to the buffet table and pick up my glass of wine and fill it up. As I'm nursing both the drink and my disappointment at having to share Terese, Horatio joins me, pouring himself a brimming glass of wine. We stand next to each other in commiseration that our women have been stolen away.

In an attempt to lighten our moods, I say off-handedly, "Contraband certainly brightens up an 1871 Christmas Eve, doesn't it?"

Without letting his eyes ever straying from Grace, a smile begins to break through his disgruntled demeanor. He looks at me with a grin that insinuates he's not entirely innocent himself.

Instantly I pounce. "Horatio, you didn't by chance bring in any contraband of your own did you?"

His sharp gaze turns sheepish as it shifts to meet mine.

"Have you?" I press.

Horatio's eyes do not flicker in the least, but he can't conceal the mischief there. Without comment, he looks away, and I perceive that our one-sided conversation is over as far as he's concerned.

But I know that I'm onto something and decide to push the issue a little further. I accomplish this wordlessly just by leaning forward and staring laser beams at him.

At last his eyes shift back to me, and he raises his eyebrows as if in question.

I raise my own in silent response, but he offers no answer, no more clues.

"Don't ask...don't tell..?" I query.

A smirk nearly escapes his tightly controlled lips, but still no response.

I decide to take another tack, "Horatio, has it been feeling a little hot to you at night? I can't figure it out. You'd think the temperature would be very chilly by midnight in this drafty old chateau. But lately when I'm on watch, no matter how cold it is, people seem to need to open doors and windows to cool off."

He continues to return my gaze as he finally replies, "Are you saying you don't think that being on top of the watch tower is the most exciting place to be at midnight? That you've spent too many nights up there alone and would prefer to be elsewhere tomorrow night?"

This takes me off guard. Horatio completely refused to answer my questions about contraband, and now he's turned my veiled implications back on me.

"Are you offering me tomorrow night off guard duty?

He smiles.

"Horatio, you're a fox. But I'll take you up on it."

I bolster myself with a long drink of wine, then turn back to watch Russ and Joe dancing with our women. Looking across the room, I see Erik and Laura totally absorbed in their own world. How ironic! For once, Erik is the only one who has the woman he loves in his possession.++

_Laura's POV:+_

Erik and I are snuggling in a cozy silk-covered settee near a fireplace that is adjacent to the ballroom dance floor. Everyone else is dancing to 21st century music, courtesy of the MP3 playing at full blast. Jeremy is currently dancing with Terese, and Horatio with Grace, but that isn't preventing Russ and Joe from letting loose with their jumps, bumps, gyrating arms and manic foot moves.

Ever since the servants left, all 19th century manners have been flung aside, and the evening has been relaxed and free-wheeling. The buffet dinner that was prepared before the servants left covered the side board and overflowed onto two other tables. The roast duck, oysters, all the vegetables, sauces, breads and pastries were prepared to perfection, and the hot dishes were placed in silver serving dishes with lids, so they stayed warm throughout the meal.

With the wine flowing freely, dinner was cheerful to the point of being raucous, as everyone talked freely about the world they had left behind, especially their memories of Christmas. I noticed that Erik spoke little, but listened intently to everything that was discussed. For once he seemed interested in the conversation and joined in the laughter instead of watching from a detached distance.

After dinner was over, and Jeremy, Russ and Matt completed their KP duties with a lot of kidding and advice from the rest of us, everyone moved to the ballroom on the fourth floor. The MP3 was brought out, hooked up to its miniature speakers, and the cds handed out so everyone could see the selections available and make their choices. No time was wasted getting the music and dancing started. For me, it has been such a joy to hear the music that I love. I thought I would never hear it again, and I realize this may be the last time, so I listen as if to absorb the waves of sound into the very cells of my body, trying to keep them forever a part of me.

I let out a laugh as I watch Grace dance gaily with Horatio, only slightly impeded by her long skirt and doing a rather more ladylike version because of her gown. Terese has donned an elegant 19th century gown for tonight, but still manages dance moves that I can tell from Erik's expression he's never seen before.

I'm relieved that Erik is enjoying the energy of the modern style dancing. When I notice his eyebrow go up in amazement over a move that Russ has just made, it also occurs to me that he probably perceives these gyrations as bordering on unacceptably undignified, and I laugh to myself.

Jeremy looks over at us and calls out, "Come on Erik, you and Laura should join us!"

Erik smiles but shakes his head. "No, I think this is not a style of dance I would be able to adapt to." I take his hand and kiss it tenderly, smiling into his eyes. So, we continue to watch everyone else dance. Terese and Jeremy, Grace and Horatio, Grace and Russ, Terese and Joe, Grace and Horatio, Terese and Horatio.

I'm enjoying the music, but as the evening goes on, it only makes me homesick. I begin to wonder what my friends are doing. And my parents. I miss them. Christmas was always special in our family. All the phone calls back and forth and the presents exchanged through the mail, and my flying to Ireland these last several years since my Grandmama and Grandpapa passed away, and Mom and Dad retired to their farm.

Russ makes the next music selection and walks toward us. He stops in front of me, glancing a bit nervously first at Erik, but gets up his courage and asks, "Laura, would you like to dance?"

I can feel Erik shifting uncomfortably next to me. "Why thank you for asking Russ, but Erik and I were just talking about leaving and spending some time in front of that Yule log in the Great Hall." I smile at Russ as I gently squeeze Erik's hand. When I turn, his eyebrow has lifted, and his lips are trying hard not to grin.

"Sure, I understand. Maybe later." Russ shrugs good-naturedly and walks off, heading for Grace to ask her to dance.

Erik and I exchange deep, knowing looks, and he stands offering his arm to me. As we walk toward the door, Erik stops and motions to Jeremy. When Jeremy arrives, Erik says something into his ear that I can't hear. Jeremy nods and smiles, then Erik takes my arm, and we walk down to the Great Hall.

The flames blaze brightly as they lap voraciously around the huge Yule log that will take several days to be fully consumed. We walk directly to the long oak sofa that is placed comfortably close to the fire. The pillows arrayed across its stark angles make it soft and inviting, and I settle into them with Erik. Waves of warmth from the fire and from Erik being so nearby, spread a luxurious contentment through my body.

"Thank you, Laura."

"For what?"

"For not dancing with Russ when I wanted so much for us to be together this evening." The sparkle in his eyes discloses more than just appreciation, it belies a much deeper joy, and my heart skips a beat in response. "The servants have gone and there will be no interruptions this time!" Erik adds slyly. Our eyes lock, and his lips are soft and gentle when they cover mine. Our kisses deepen as I cuddle into his embrace.

Wrapped in each other arms, we are watching the flames of the Yule log jump and dance when Erik reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out two wrapped gifts and places them into my hands.

"Erik!" I reach my hand around the nape of his neck and pull him down to me as I place a lingering kiss on his lips.

As I unwrap one of the gifts, my hands start to tremble, and my eyes blur as tears run down my cheeks when I see what it is. "Oh my God!" And I throw myself into his arms.

He hands me his handkerchief to wipe my eyes, "Thank you so much. I didn't think I would see this book ever again. You know, it doesn't exist in this century," my voice trails off as I look down and see a copy of _The Prophet_ by Kahlil Gibran. I open it and am even more shocked to discover that this is my book! I give Erik a puzzled look.

"Laura, your parents gave it to me as a keepsake on the last day, when we said our goodbyes in the hospital. I knew it was your favorite book because you had told me that on the island when we read from it."

"I thought I'd left everything behind. This means so much to me, to hold in my hands something so special from that life. You could not have given me a more precious gift."

Erik then kisses my temple and whispers, "You have another gift."

When I remove the paper and ribbon, the slim volume of poems by Rilke falls into my lap.

"How?" Once again I'm curious because I remember that this had been in my briefcase. I'd been reading Rilke's comforting words because Erik was going to leave me.

"Counselor Sebbied brought it to me in the hospital. She found it when she went through your briefcase to look at the files. I came across the poem you had marked with an orchid. The trace of your tears was still there," He brushes his lips across my temple again. "I had both of these in my pocket when I came through the time transporter. I hoped to give them to you…that you would make it back here…to me."

I turn and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and thankful that he'd brought these irreplaceable gifts across time. Then it hits me.

"Erik, these are contraband!" I can't help but laugh, now understanding the look that passed between Erik and Jeremy last evening. "But I promise not to tell on you!" Erik responds by tickling my side until tears are again flowing, but from uncontained laughter.

"Oh, I am sure Horatio will figure it out eventually," Erik replies as he finally stops his assault on my ribs and lets me catch my breath, "He overheard when I read the Rilke book to you in the hospital room."

For the first time Erik has spoken about the days he spent with me while I lay in a coma, and that causes us to fall into silence and hold each other tightly for solace.

After many silent minutes, I reach into the large pocket on the side of my dress and place a package in Erik's hands. On my trip into Paris, I had found an elegantly bound volume of Shakespeare's Sonnets. I watch as he opens it.

"Laura, it is extraordinary. I will cherish it." He gives me a long luxurious kiss.

I then lay my head on his chest and ask him to read to me. He chooses several sonnets from the Shakespeare volume, and the passages on love from The Prophet. I notice that he sets the Rilke aside on the small table next to the sofa and does not read any selections from it. I wonder if that's because it would bring back too many sad memories. I hope reading Rilke had helped him as it had helped me. Perhaps some day I'll ask him, but not now. Now, I just want to luxuriate in the contentment of this moment.

As he reads, the rumble of his deep voice lulls me, and I relax in his embrace, wanting this to last forever. Forever…that leads to my hope of marriage and a life spent in intimate moments such as this. I sigh and push away my thoughts of a proposal. Sometimes I wonder if Erik has changed his mind, but then a caress of his hand or lips tells me that the proposal will probably happen when he has planned it down to the tiniest detail.

After reading for a while, Erik proposes we have some tea and éclairs. I agree, although I am reluctant to leave the comfort of his arms even for a few minutes. So I hurry to the dining room and prepare a tray filled with tea, cream and sugar, along with éclairs and other pastries returning quickly to our cozy spot in front of the fireplace.

As I set the tray down on a table in front of the sofa, I notice Erik's boots are on the floor next to the leather side chair and his jacket, waistcoat and cravat are neatly folded and laid across its back. Turning around, I discover that Erik is reclining on the sofa, propped up on his elbow. Several pillows are piled high in the corner, providing a cushioned support for his shoulder and head. More pillows are arranged in similar fashion in front of him, as if to invite me to join him.

Erik's smile is warm, his eyes twinkling, when I ask, "Would you like me to fix you a cup of tea?"

In response, he says nothing, but pats the cushion in front, directing that I come to him. I remove my slippers, and when I sit down, he hands me another small gift. I take it in my shaking hands and examine the beautiful deep green velvet jeweler's box, holding my breath as I open it.

"Erik!" I am astonished at the beauty of a delicate golden necklace with a pendant in the shape of an orchid, set with tiny pink stones, green emerald leaves and tied with an obsidian bow. "It's exquisite!" It reminds me of the pink orchids he always gave me.

"Let me put it on you." His fingers are warm on the nape of my neck as he fastens the delicate chain. When I sit back and turn to look into his eyes, their color has deepened. He slowly pulls me down, and I stretch out beside him on the sofa. As he cradles me in his arms, a deep sigh escapes me.

"What is it, Laura?" Erik asks with a kiss to my neck.

"It just feels so good, here in your arms, knowing that we have the evening to ourselves with no interruptions. At least if Jeremy follows the orders I suspect you gave him and keeps everyone away!" I give Erik a knowing grin as he chuckles guiltily, "I'm not sure I like living in a house where there are so many people."

"Yes, I know. I suppose it is necessary, but I, too, miss having privacy," he looks at me and his breath catches as he adds, "And being with you _alone_."

His fingers travel along my cheek, ending on my lips, tracing them. I relax into his arms, breathing in the scent of soap and the faint smell of wood smoke on his skin, which is exposed in the 'v' of his open shirt.

We begin with slow kisses, taking pleasure in each other's bodies, relishing the intimacy we haven't been able to share since I have arrived.

Tenderly we rediscover each other, releasing our suppressed ardor gradually, wanting to savor each touch, each moment. His hands move slowly up and down my back, stroking and massaging me gently. I see wonder in his eyes, and I know mine reflect the same.

When he unbuttons the front of my bodice, he's surprised to discover that I'm not wearing the usual corset. Erik pulls back and gives me a knowing smirk, and I bestow my best cat-ate-the-cream smile. He isn't the only one who can plan ahead.

Slowly he unlaces the ties down the front of my linen chemise, folding back first one side, then the other, as his eyes linger on my exposed skin. His fingers glide smoothly down my neck and over the curve of each breast. His lips soon follow, and I gasp with the sensation of his lips touching, kissing, everywhere. My back arches toward him, and a yearning need, a cycling, intensifying coil of heat and tension gathers below my stomach. Our exploration of each other becomes bolder, more anxious and hungry.

The glow from the firelight has turned Erik's skin to golden bronze, and I touch his skin with my fingertips wondering if they will burn. Yes, my fingers burn, but it's from the heat inside, the passion that's overwhelming both of us.

When I run my palm over his chest, he tenses, then places one of his hands over mine and slides it over the soft dark hair of his chest, moving both our hands together, sensuously…downward… I hold my breath in anticipation as he directs my touch, slowly guiding my hand over his manhood. I can feel it straining against his trousers, then a low rumble vibrates from his chest, a sound that reminds me of a lion, growling.

I trail my other hand along his side, glorying in the valleys and curves of his taut muscles. Capturing his eyes with mine, they tell him wordlessly that I want only him. Underneath my hand I can feel the hammering of his heart, and I'm no longer able to control the rocking movement of my hips against his.

I can feel the warmth from the fire as Erik lifts my skirt and runs his hand slowly up my thigh and across my hip. He fingers trace circles gently, hypnotically on my belly, causing shivers of pleasure. I place my hand over his, and guide him lower. Then lifting my hand, I reach around him and press on his lower back, tugging at him, trying to pull him over me, but he remains by my side. His hand has lowered and is caressing and stroking my center, and I tremble and groan with the sensations he's invoking with his insistent touch.

"My love," he whispers into my ear.

My heart is racing, and my breath comes only in short gulps of air. I can feel the tension building, and I hold him in a fierce grip, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulder. Finally an internal explosion bursts, rippling throughout my body, and I kiss him deeply as my hips convulse with abandon against his, "Erik!" He pulls me closer and continues our heated kisses, whispering "Laura" into my mouth.

Suddenly Erik's head drops into the curve between my neck and shoulder. I hear his ragged moan as his body tightens, then he shudders against me in ecstasy. As I hold him tightly, I realize that my impassioned movements have unexpectedly released his climax as well.

The room is quiet except for our heavy breathing and the sudden noise of a piece of charred wood falling away from the larger log. Erik's arms still hold me closely, and I curl up with my head on his chest, listening to the fierce pounding of his heartbeat that matches my own.

We whisper to each other, sharing words of love…wondering when we will again have time alone. Erik continues to stroke my back and kiss my temple. I feel his warm breath in my hair as he speaks, and I know this is one moment I will always remember.

Erik's breathing soon becomes deep and even, and I realize that he's fallen asleep. I study his face, lovingly memorizing each feature. His lashes are dark, and though I can only see one side of his face, the creases around his eyes are gone now, because sleep has removed them. I run my hand over the dark stubble along his jaw and into his long sideburn. His hair is dark, thick and ebony black. A small lock of hair falls across his forehead, and down, over his mask. Gently I brush it back, and kissing his full, soft lips as he sleeps, I am overwhelmed with love for him.

Before I close my eyes, I wonder if someone might find us in this compromising position. But I don't care. I am right where I belong, in Erik's arms.+

* * *

+++Phanfan wrote sections interspersed throughout the text and edited.

Song lyrics of: "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" Frank Loesser


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: First, apologies for taking longer to post this than normal. I have been on vacation for the last ten days, and just returned home late last night. And, for the previous weeks, I have been intensely involved in writing the book version of The Epic Case. I have just finished a chapter in which Erik reflects on his life up to age 20. His life and experiences are very different from any you have ever read in the other stories and incorporates the details of everyday living which you have been reading in Book Two of the Epic Case. The story is also intensely personal to Erik and what he experienced during his critical teen years…explaining how he developed all his incredible gifts, but also how he received the emotional scars that haunted him in adulthood…It was a powerful and emotional experience, just writing that very long chapter (it will be almost 60 pages in the book). By the way, within a couple weeks, we will have a website for the book and over the next couple months will post some of the beginning chapters so that you can all see how the retelling of this story takes it to a very new and exciting level!!**

**Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, and we are so happy to see new readers finding and enjoying The Epic Case! Welcome!! We hope you will post your comments each chapter to let us know your thoughts!! And…pink cupcakes to each of you loyal readers who always post your review comments!! You are truly appreciated!!**

**Finally, while I've been busy writing the book chapters, our Epic Case team has been busy writing chapters for this version, and we have actually written and posted FIVE chapters on our private forum ahead of where we are here on this one. **

**So, first, if any of you would like to inquire about joining our private forum, just PM me!! That forum is dedicated to Erik and all things POTO, but we have many forums for a wide range of topics and discussions, including the symbolism seen in the movie of POTO and even astrology lessons.**

**Secondly, since we are so far ahead in our writing, I will do the same thing I have done before: For the next **_**four **_**chapters, I will post the next chapter as soon as ten reviews are posted!! So…it's up to you now!!**

**On with the story! Christmas is only just beginning at Chateau Mercier! Christmas is always a special day…and this one is turning out to be particularly memorable! **

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****Chapter 50, Part 1 What Child is This? By KFC+ & Phanna++**

_December 25, 1871, Chateau Mercier_

_Christmas morning, early hours_

_Matt's POV:+_

I breathe in the cold air, wishing it were raining. Who said towers were prisons? Tonight this tower is my freedom. What I wouldn't give to be out in a good storm. Pouring rain, lighting, thunder, even hail...the works. Maybe then I could forget.

Nothing comes out of the sky but snow. Gently falling flakes start small, then become large and heavy. It's beautiful, the new snow falling on top of the already deep covering on the ground, the rooftops and ledges of the chateau. I just let it fall on me, running my hands through my hair to brush off what hasn't already melted and seeped through to my skin. I'm glad I took Jeremy's shift tonight. He doesn't know what he's missing, I think wryly.

I can hear the dance music, faintly. The MP3 is blaring as loudly as its little plastic speakers can manage. Laura was beautiful tonight...like every night. I didn't need to look when she came up the stairs to the ballroom. I can see her with my eyes shut. I wish I couldn't. I wish she would go away when I close my eyes.

I make out the strains of familiar songs. And some are mine. The one playing now is one I saved after hearing it in Laura's car. I brought it because it reminded me of her.

Laura's been here for over a week now, but I can't keep from looking at her. I still need to see her alive to ward off the horrible memories. The more I see her smile, the more the image of her covered in blood fades in to the background.

During the two weeks our Team was here before she came, I woke up every night in a cold sweat, still seeing blood, and still trying to save her. But, even though I had a terrible time sleeping, I knew that sticking with the Team was the right decision. I came to France for one reason...to serve the cause in Laura's honor.

When we heard there was a possibility Laura would be brought back, I went into shock. I didn't know if I wanted to believe she might survive, only to be disappointed. But there was nothing I wanted to see more than Laura, living, breathing, moving...smiling...and to know that somehow I had managed to help save her.

Once I began to hope, the nightmares grew less horrific and instead of losing Laura in the elevator, my dreams lasted at least until we got her to the hospital and into the operating room. My last visions before I woke up were always of the clock on the wall, and the door she might come through if she survived the surgery.

The day Laura finally arrived in France, I was afraid I was dreaming again...that she wasn't real. My heart stopped when I saw her standing in the field, shimmering like an angel who'd just materialized out of the air. But it wasn't until Erik brought her to the carriage, and I found her pulse and felt her heart beating, that I was sure this wasn't another dream that would end with me trying frantically to save her life.

We arrived at the gamekeeper's cottage, and I held my breath as Laura stepped out of the carriage, awake, alive, and smiling. Then nothing mattered, but the way she felt in my arms. Holding her was a like a lovely dream...but over all too soon. Erik stood behind her. That's when reality hit, when I knew that fate had taken the wheel, and my life was heading down a long lonely road. Not that I wasn't lonely already, but now I would have to be alone while love was both within my sight and beyond my reach.

Now it's the days that I wish I could escape, rather than the nights. Every morning I wake up and remember that she's here, alive, and in love...with Erik. And I will see them at the breakfast table. How do I move on when she's here with me? How can I dedicate myself to my work when living side by side with the woman _I _love also means living and working side by side with the man _she_ loves? Sharing their home, their table, their celebrations, their life. The only mercy is that my agreement was for five years, rather than the lifetime commitment I would have sworn.

I don't know what can pull me out of this. Having a lovely woman like Terese around has only made me fear that it might not be possible for my heart to be swayed from Laura. I expect Erik to propose to Laura soon, and maybe their marriage will help me lay this to rest. It will either help, or it will make learning how notto feel, a necessity. It seems I will have to learn.

Unexpectedly I hear someone coming up the stairs. I look behind me and am surprised to see that it's Jeremy.

"Hey Matt. You still alive?"

I'm not sure why he's here. Maybe things didn't go well enough with Terese, and he's restless. "Yeah...what's up?"

"I'll take your shift now. When I gave you mine I didn't realize you'd be spending a double nightshift out in this weather."

"Oh no need...I wasn't looking for a trade."

Jeremy laughs. "You're soaked, man... get yourself inside and dry off. Why didn't you start the fire? It looks like you have been standing out in the snow all night."

"Yes, and wishing it was a blizzard! I like being out in the weather. It keeps me tough."

"Yeah well it's turning into a blizzard now. And you've been up here seven hours already. I'm not going to bed while you rack up 3 more hours out in it. Goodnight, Matt."

"Did things not go so well with Terese?"

Jeremy looks up from the pile of firewood he's preparing to light. "Terese has nothing to do with this."

"Oh so things _didn't_ go so well." I say doggedly.

Jeremy grins at my persistence. "Things went fine, other than having to share her with a big old Texas snake."

I laugh. That's a picture. Joe snaked around Terese.

"Do I have to throw you off this tower?"

"No...I'm out of here." I smirk and hurry down the stairs.

Running my hand through my wet hair, I shake snow off my coat and stomp my boots before entering the chateau at the main level. In the hall I pass Joe who's on his way out to the stables. This is his usual habit each morning. We exchange a few words before he heads for the door in the kitchen.

I head for the Great Hall to dry off in front of the fire that might still be burning there. I find the room almost dark, and the fire banked, but the Yule log is still burning. I stoke it up and before long, it's blazing. Taking off my snow soaked overcoat, I stand with my back to the comforting heat, but find myself staring at the sofa where Laura sits with Erik in the evenings.

I turn around to face the fire, rubbing my hands together and staring into the flames. They are beautiful. Warm and sensuous...they make me think of Laura. Why does everything I look at remind me of her? This has to stop... I can't live this way.

I look up from the flames and turn my back to the fire again to peer around the room. My eyes fall on the clock sitting on the buffet. But, it reminds me of the clock in my dreams, and I glance away.

By the time I'm dried off and warm, the fatigue of the sleepless night is beginning to catch up with me, so I sit down on the sofa. On the side table rests a book that I immediately recognize as one Laura read in the car during the last few weeks of the trial. Rilke. What's it doing here?

Picking up the book, I study its cover. I remember the title. Laura didn't read it aloud to me like she did her other books. She just mentioned that I should read it sometime.

I also recognize this as the book I saw in Laura's hospital room. I recall almost picking it up there in the hospital, but feeling that since it didn't belong to me... I shouldn't touch it. This triggers more memories. Some sad...and some sweet. The feelings I had being alone with Laura in her room while Erik was at the trial. Her room was sacred to me. That's where I made my decision to come back to France...for her sake. That's where I said goodbye to her, knowing I would never see her again. That's where I didn't say the truth aloud...but I think she heard anyway. And that's when I swear I felt her touch me.

Holding this book in my hands I almost feel her touch again. I rest my elbows on my knees and tilt the book down to allow some of the firelight to spread over the page. Feeling as if I'm in a sacred place within the pages of this book, my eyes skim over the text before I focus on the words...

_How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples? _

_The myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses? _

_Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses, or only waiting to see us, once beautiful and brave. _

_Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us. _

_So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen, if a restiveness, like light and cloud shadows passes over your hands and over all you do…_

_You must think that something is happening with you,  
That life has not forgotten you, _

This page is stained with tears. I wonder if they were hers.

I lay back against the cushions, remembering the endless hours, the days in the hospital when there was no hope that Laura would live. Still, she left behind words of courage in the pages of this book. These were not empty words. She lived, breathed, and cried each one, yet what she read here seemed to have given her the hope, the faith to go on.

That's what I need now. Hope. Faith.

I tilt the book back into the light and read the last lines again, trying to absorb the words,

_You must think that something is happening with you,_

_That life has not forgotten you,_

_That it holds you in its hand_

_It will not let you fall.+_

_Joe's POV:++ _

The wind catches the door, yanking it out of my hand and slams it against the wall of the château. _Damn, it's cold_, and I snatch the door and push it closed behind me. I try to keep the wind from grabbing at my cloak by pulling it tighter as I walk toward the stables. For the last two days we've had snow, keeping most people indoors during the day, seeking the warmth of the fireplaces. Even the servants only venture out to do the necessary chores.

Taking a nice hot shower would have gone a long way in warming me up this morning, but I had to use the pitcher and bowl in my room. The water on the top was frozen, and I had to crack through it. I nearly froze to death, and the whole time I was washing up, I fantasized about a long, hot shower.

That problem will soon be solved though. I already have plans drawn up to construct a bathroom on every floor of the chateau. They'll contain all the necessary equipment, toilet, bidet, tub, but I will also be adding one more feature. Showers. The 19th century is desperately in need of showers.

During these last few weeks, I've been drafting a lot of plans. I'll be creating a plumbing system in the chateau. I'm going to work on the kitchen also, and set up a laundry room where I can rig up something a little more efficient. After the chateau is done, I'll be putting my plans into place for the out buildings and stables. Everything will be getting the 'Joe' touch!

Suddenly, my feet begin to slide out from under me, and I do a little dance move to regain my footing. Not quite as fun as last night, but it does make me smile as I glance toward the tower to see if I can spot Jeremy. I saw how Jeremy looked at Terese last night and couldn't resist dancing with her every chance I got.

Even though the wind is still strong, the sky is blue this morning, and the sun reflects off the pristine white snow causing me to squint. What I wouldn't give for a pair of sunglasses, I chuckle dryly to myself. I trudge through the two feet of snow, creating a furrow behind me from the chateau to the stables.

I want to check the horses and make sure they're ok in this weather. Being raised on a farm in Texas, I still have that habit of caring about the animals. And rising early. When I was a kid, my day started before the sun came up, helping around the farm. My two older sisters were up early also, doing their chores. I always walked Susie to the henhouse to collect eggs, heading for the barn from there. Janey stayed in the house and started breakfast with mom. Dad and Tommy were up as well, Tommy doing the milking with dad helping. Tommy was still young and had a hard time stripping the udders after he milked them.

We didn't have a lot when I was growing up, barely eking out a living. But, we made it through with a lot of hard work, and sticking together. Our family was always close, enjoying each other, and not worrying about what we didn't have.

On our farm, my chores were mainly the livestock. It seemed that I had a talent for animal husbandry. And I didn't mind being around them, sometimes they seemed part of the family. We kept a few other animals, a scattering of pigs, two milk cows and a henhouse full of chickens, one landing in the stew pot occasionally. Plus that damned old scrawny, vile-tempered rooster who serviced them all!

Mom also raised a few sheep, mostly for their wool which she cleaned, carded and spun into yarn. She would sell the skeins after dyeing the yarn with her special concoctions in the large vats filled with the colors she created from nature. Sometimes I'd trundle along with her when she'd collect all sorts of objects from the wooded areas around the farm including berries, bark, leaves and roots. She would also use vegetables from her garden such as beets, and one time I even saw her experimenting with onion skins. She was quite creative. Hmmm, guess that's where I came by my talents.

I also have a knack for fixing anything that needs fixing. It was a challenge, but I was able to keep the old farm equipment that we'd inherited from my grandfather, running. Well, most of the time. And, if I couldn't fix it, I was a whiz at bartering. It might take me a while but most of the time I can pretty well come up with anything that's needed.

One time dad needed a part for the old John Deere, and he just couldn't afford it. Well, I'd found a bike in the dump that summer and brought it home. I fixed it up, salvaging parts from another bike I had in the barn. After giving it a paint job as a final touch, it looked pretty good. We had a local flea market, so one Saturday I took it over to see what I could get for it. The bike didn't sell that day, but the man set up beside me was interested.

When he saw the bike wasn't going to be sold, he approached me, "That's a mighty fine bike, son. I have a nine-year old boy at home who would love it. Would you be interested in trading for something I have here?"

It took me a while, but I looked everything over and finally settled on an old oak dresser. He was genuinely surprised I'd chosen a piece of furniture in trade. The dresser looked like it needed to be tossed on the trash heap, peeling paint, and one of the drawers all busted up. He agreed to drop it off at the farm later that day.

So my next project was to work on that old bureau. I confirmed the bare bones were sound when I examined it in detail at the flea market, so I started striping away the layers of paint, fixed the drawer and re-stained it. If the before and after could have been put side-by-side, you would never have believed they were one and the same.

Mrs. Benton owned a shop in town called 'Elderly Things,' and I knew she liked to buy quality furniture. After I talked to her, telling her about the dresser, she looked it over and bought it on the spot. Dad had his part for the tractor that night.

Shaking my head and smiling, I remember some of those times, and the warm memories they evoke. When I reach the stables I step through the side door where the snow has been tromped down a mite. The building smells strongly of horse and manure. Several of the horses nicker at me, knowing I've brought each of them a treat. I meander down here every day when I get time off or before everyone else is up, like this morning. As I begin to amble down the line of stalls, I stop and talk to each horse, handing them my treats of dried apple.

The kitchen staff has a large root cellar filled with dried vegetables and fruits put aside to get us through the winter along with shelves filled with jars of jellies, jams, pickles and such. There's always a large portion of the land on this estate that's turned into gardens, now only vegetable, but in the next few years there will be flower gardens growing again as well. There are groves of trees here, apple, pear, cherry and plum as well as large areas of berry bushes. This estate has been well chosen. It will grow fine crops.

When we arrived in December, there was no snow cover, and we were able to walk the grounds, assessing what was here. A small vineyard exists on the property, but looks like it will need some tending before returning to its original production of grapes. I've made particular note of the vineyard.

Jeremy will be heavily involved in the care and propagation of the plants and trees. His degree is in Environmental Conservation, and he minored in Sustainable Living. He already has copious plans that will begin during the spring for the land and forests. Everyone on The Team has been chosen because of their specialized education along with our military training backgrounds. We will each be able to help in areas to further The Program's goals, and ultimately turn the tide to make this time line a better place for future generations.

As I reach the stall where Erik's horse, aptly named Noir, is waiting impatiently for his treat, one of the horses behind me whinnies and stomps the ground. She seems a little uneasy. Of course, they're all restless. The groom and stables lads exercise them up and down the center area of the stables but like us, they enjoy the outdoors and become fidgety if made to stay indoors too much. Erik's stallion greedily takes his apple and then begs for more, trying to nip me in the process. Pulling my hand back quickly before I loose any of my fingers, I curse him under my breath. I swear the damn black stallion enjoys inflicting pain on me as much as Erik does.

The chestnut colored mare catches my attention again, still prancing around uneasily in her stall, her eyes now wild with fear. As I start toward her, wondering if there's some critter in there upsetting her, I hear a thump followed by a low moan. What in the world? It sounds human, and I rush over to see what's going on.

I stare down, dumbfounded at what I see. It's a young boy. Well, at least I think he's young. He's so filthy that it's hard to see his features, and his clothes are nothing but rags hanging from a body that is mostly bones. As he looks up at me, trembling, I notice that in his hand is the dried apple that I'd given the mare.

I stand for a few moments, not knowing what I want to do next. He's frightened, that's obvious, and I don't want him to turn tail and run. If he escapes and heads outside, I'm afraid he won't survive on his own. He looks half starved already, and he barely has any clothes on his back. Thoughts of my younger brother, Tommy, run through my mind. I remember he was always shy around people, but if you talked to him and joked around, he eventually responded.

So, friendly chit chat might work in this situation. Leaning casually against the door of the stall, I smile and speak to him in French, "Hi, my name's Joe. What's yours?" He's looking at me like I have two heads and plan to eat him for breakfast. Hmmm…let me go to plan B.

"I'm not going to hurt you. But that mare might. She's already unhappy that you're in there with her. Why don't you come out so we can talk?"

Nothing.

"Son, you needn't be afraid of me. I just mosey in every morning to visit and talk to the horses." His eyes loose some of his fear at the mention of the horses. Ok, that clue helps.

"Actually I enjoy talking to the horses, and they seem to like my company as well. Would you like to meet them?" The boy's eyes flicker to the rump of the mare next to him and back to me. He doesn't seem to be as wary, so I start my introductions.

"The little lady that you're sharing the stall with is Chantal. She's quite friendly and loves carrots more than she does apples, but she's going to have to wait until the garden comes in this year 'cause we've run out. And, looks like she's a mite upset you took her apple." The youngster's eyes look at Chantal then down at his hand holding the apple. His lips twitch.

"Babette is in the next stall." I nod my head toward my right. "She's a good tempered mare and never causes any problems or commotion. She doesn't care if she gets a treat at all, as long as I talk to her. She's also a flirt." I stop and look slightly heavenward and roll my eyes, trying to exaggerate the movement. "Hmm...do you think she's in love with me?" I add a wink for good measure, and the lad breaks into a genuine smile.

It's going to be ok. With a few more comments about the horses in each of the stalls and their personalities, including a warning about the black devil of a horse that Erik rides, his small, dirt stained face crinkles into laughter. I motion for him to follow me, telling him I'll introduce him personally, and he does.

When I notice he's limping quite heavily on his left leg, I cover my surprise. By the time I've shown him each of the horses, he's relaxed, and I return to my original question. "You know my name's Joe. Will you tell me yours?"

He hesitates as he stands with his back to the stall of a whiskey colored mare sporting a white five pointed star on her forehead. The mare suddenly leans down and nudges the boy in the middle of his back, causing him to stagger a few awkward steps forward, toward me. We both laugh, and shyly he volunteers, "My name is Jean-Luc Bucher."

"Hello Jean-Luc." I extend my hand, and he accepts it. As we shake, I can feel every bone in his small fragile hand. I feel a lump in my throat. "Are you from around these parts?"

"I have traveled from Paris, Monsieur."

"Call me Joe. Well Jean-Luc, did some one bring you out here?" I can't even imagine that someone would bring a child out to the country and just drop him off!

"No, Mon…Monsieur Joe. I walked."

"You walked?" Luckily, there aren't any flies near me because my mouth sags open in incredulity. "You walked from Paris?"

"Oui, Monsieur Joe."

I stare at him. How did this child survive? He has no meat on his bones. It looks like he hasn't eaten in a long time and he's young and fragile. As small as he is, I would guess his age to be around 9, maybe 10. I look at his clothes. They consist of an undeterminable colored shirt tucked into some lightweight trousers and a thin jacket that's nothing but a rag coming only to his hips. When I glance at his feet, I see shoes that can barely be called shoes. They're sodden and completely worn out. And his limp. Is it caused by the shoes or blisters on his feet? His blue eyes stare up at me, and I see his shoulders straighten as I give him the once over. He does have his pride then. I need to be careful here and not take that away from him.

"Ok, Jean-Luc. I'm getting ready to go into the chateau and have breakfast. Will you be my guest and join me?"

His hands tremble as he pretends to think for a moment, then shakes his head yes. "Thank you, that would be very nice. I would like that."

Watching him, I can't figure out any way to salvage his pride and offer to carry him through the two feet of snow outside. And on top of that, I'm pretty sure he's got lice. I saw him scratching at his filthy hair and various areas of his body. Lice are common in this century due to the lack of personal hygiene. Grabbing a woolen blanket off of a peg near one of the horse stalls, I sigh. "Here Jean-Luc, I don't think you realize how cold it is outside and the wind's likely to blow you away. I don't want you freezing to death before we can enjoy breakfast together."

He takes it gratefully and immediately wraps it over his head and shoulders. The large horse blanket falls to the floor. Well, at least he'll have the blanket to help keep the wind from carrying him away. I motion to the door, and clench my fists tightly to keep from picking him up in my arms so he doesn't have to walk through the snow with his limp and the worn out shoes.

The kitchen is warm from the fire that I started before I went to the stables. Jeremy, Matt, Russ and I have KP duty today. Jeremy is on guard duty this morning and won't be able to help. Russ is washing the dishes from the party and is almost finished. I hope Matt shows up soon.

Pulling a stool next to the fire, I make the boy sit. Handing him some dried apples to eat, I place a large kettle of water to heat over the fire. "Jean-Luc before anything else, you need a bath." Jean-Luc squirms at this, but I look over at him and reassure him that he _will_ take a bath if he wants to stay and eat. "It will also warm you up." I keep heating water and drag a wooden tub in front of the fireplace.

As Jean-Luc recites the reasons why one shouldn't take a bath in the middle of winter, Matt walks into the kitchen and stops, looking at me with a grin on his face, speaking in English so the boy won't understand. "Well, Joe, what have you drug in now?"

I laugh because I'm used to the ribbing. And, I do bring in a lot of strays, trying to talk Matt into looking at them if they need medical care. Some of them I shelter until they can get along on their own. I introduce him to Jean-Luc.

"Jean-Luc, Matt is our med…physician. And on top of that, he's a friend. Come sit with us, Matt."

Matt pulls up a chair, sits down and begins assessing the boy. I was counting on Matt coming in so I could get him to treat the lad. Matt and I convince Jean-Luc to let Matt examine him. Matt checks him for lice and finds not only head lice, but body lice as well. He leaves to get the necessary medicine to get rid of the varmints while I start filling the tub.

When Jean-Luc undresses, I assure him that he'll be given a new set of clothes as soon as he gets out of the tub. He nods his head in approval, and I have him throw the rags he's wearing into the fire along with the blanket. Matt returns, and I notice he's brought the pair of hair-cutting scissors with him.

I keep a running conversation going about the horses, how Jean-Luc and I had met in the stables, and how I invited him to breakfast. Matt picks up on what I'm doing to ease the boy, and jumps right in the conversation, telling him about the horse he rides and entertaining him with some stories about his own adventures.

We decide that one of the stable boys is just a little bigger than Jean-Luc, but his clothes will do until something else can be made. When I have fetched a set of clothes that Jean-Luc can wear, I take a chair nearby and watch as Matt gently, but meticulously bathes him, making sure to use the lice medicine as thoroughly as possible. I don't envy Matt this job.

Sanitation and cleanliness were the first problems he addressed when we arrived. Matt set up a routine to be followed by everyone who lives in the chateau, which includes regular exams to check for lice and any other parasites. Matt has also been educating the servants in personal hygiene, instructing them in simple cleanliness procedures to ward off many of the diseases that run rampant in this century. It's a little unorthodox, probably caused a lot of gossip at first, but they adhere reluctantly to the rules that Matt has imposed. Matt still has to bird dog them to do it.

Jean-Luc is standing in front of the fire, warming up, and wrapped in a large towel, his hair considerably shorter. Handing him the clothes, I set about gathering some food. I step into the cold pantry and grab butter and a small container of milk. Next I slice a whole loaf of bread, grab a spoon for the jar of blackberry preserves and walk over to the table where Matt has seated Jean-Luc. The boy is dressed already, gently easing socks over the bandages Matt has put on his feet. Jean-Luc's eyes light up when I plunk the food on the table in front of him. "Help yourself, Jean-Luc."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him drink the milk while I whip up a couple of eggs for him. He's wolfed down a half a piece of bread overflowing with the sweet blackberries, and he shows no signs of stopping. Matt makes him slow down and tells him to take it easy. As I set the eggs in front of him, I can't help but notice that although he's starving, he uses manners. I'm anxious to find out more about this slip of a boy.

The breakfast this morning is going to be simple. Anyone who makes it downstairs will help themselves. So I start gathering the breads, jams, fruits and cheeses, placing them on the cart to be pushed into the dining room, letting everyone serve themselves from the sideboard.

Russ has come over by then and joins our conversation. He's an only child, but grew up spending summers and holidays with a lot of cousins. He loves fishing, and regales the lad with fishing stories until he has Matt and me hooting about his stories of how the 'really big one' got away. Jean-Luc seems quite at ease with the easy banter between all of us 'guys.' He keeps glancing between us, watching what we say and do.

Russ begins to take the food into the dining room. When we've moved to where the boy can't hear, I ask Matt, speaking with a low voice in English, "So, what's his condition?"

Matt looks back at Jean-Luc, "He's very malnourished and is in need of some food packed with vitamins. Some of the limp you notice is from a broken leg that wasn't set properly. But, it's been too long and nothing will help except orthopedic surgery. He has multiple blisters and open abrasions on both feet, and I need to monitor those to make sure they heal properly. His nutrition appears to have been good when he was younger. His teeth are healthy, indicating that he wasn't always in this state. Do you know why he's here?"

"No, he was ready to make a dash for the stable door when I found him. I wanted to get him fed and bathed before I started asking him more questions."

"Well, Joe, whatever his story is, he needs care right now. There's plenty of room for him to stay so that's no problem. I wonder if he has family around here looking for him."

I shrug my shoulders. "I know as much about him as you do. Let's get breakfast set up, and we can talk to him."

Suddenly, the kitchen door is jerked open from the gusting wind. The early morning sun is behind the man coming through the door, and the wind catches his cape, throwing it up and around like it's a moving, breathing dark dragon with a life of its own. Jean-Luc's eyes widen in fear as he jumps to his feet, ignoring the blisters and sores that must hurt, his gaze glued on the man and the writhing cape.

When Erik raises his head and turns toward us, his mask stands out in stark whiteness against the dark color of his undulating cape. He turns to Jean-Luc, and we can see the puzzled look in Erik's eyes. Jean-Luc apparently cannot.

He has fainted.++


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful comments and reviews!! Well, yep, I know there are only 9 reviews, but today is the 4****th**** of July, and I thought this would be a nice gift from us writers of The Epic Case to all of you very valued and special phans of the Epic Case!!**

**I was reading through the text for final edits before posting, and realized that this Christmas story is not so strange after all for posting in the middle of the summer, on the 4****th**** of July. For the readers in the U.S., we are all celebrating a very special event in our country's history, the day over two centuries ago when a group of men had the unmitigated gall to say that ALL men (Yep…even that was a bit short-sighted…we women fit into this category as well!! LOL!) are created equal—that is, they should all have equal rights and be treated with equal dignity. That was a gutsy thing to declare, and they weren't doing it as an exercise in penmanship or esoteric philosophy. They were declaring that they would put their lives on the line to manifest that ideal in the real world!! We all know a revolution followed and succeeded. From that came a Constitution that created the first democratic government in recorded history, another very gutsy project. That is a project that is still in process here in the United States, and I hope on this day when we celebrate our country and its unique traditions that we remember the Constitution had a very precious Bill of Rights **_**protecting the individual from the government**_**. AND, the Constitution developed a system of government that divided power between the three branches so that no part of the government and NO MAN would have too much power. Today is when we honor the beginnings of our democracy and those are still the necessary ingredients to preserve it. **

**So, reading this chapter today, it dawns on me that Jean-Luc's story is the perfect example of what happens when leaders put their own greed and power first--everyone else pays the price. You see, the 1789 Revolution in France did not solve the problems of the vast inequity in wealth and privilege in France, and during the 1800's, there were three more mini-revolutions in France. The story of The Epic Case takes place the year after that third of these. In the year and a half before this Christmas, the fool hardy and egocentric leaders of Prussia and France took the two countries to war and the Prussians surrounded Paris in a Siege for about 5 months that resulted in great hardship and famine. That was followed by the third revolt, in the form of the Commune, and about 15,000 or more Parisians died during those two months (March through May, 1871). **

**As a lawyer, I more and more value the Constitution which was written by our founding father, as well as the Declaration of Independence, which is celebrated today…Those documents were written because the lessons of history, the oppression of the few with power and wealth, were well understood…. I will end my musings with a quote from Benjamin Franklin, one of our founding fathers:**

_**They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety. (1759) **_

**I hope this Christmas Story has meaning for you. It most certainly has a deep impact on Erik….**

* * *

**Chapter 51 A Christmas Story, by Phanna**

_Christmas Day_

_December 1871_

_Joe's POV: _

As I pick Jean-Luc up, the boy's eyes flutter open, and he looks wildly around, searching for Erik. Speaking calmly, I reassure him, "He's a friend." I glance up at Erik, hoping he'll confirm this so the boy isn't scared half to death. When Erik nods his head, and actually smiles at Jean-Luc, I tip my head in thanks.

"The mask is to cover an injury from the war." This is the accepted story that we've told everyone when asked about Erik's mask. I feel the boy's body relax slightly and set him on a chair.

Erik doesn't step closer but starts talking to Jean-Luc as he removes his cape and folds it over his arm. "I did not intend to startle you." Erik walks over to the table in the middle of the room. "What is your name?"

Jean-Luc stares at him, still a little wary. But he finally sits straight up and answers. "It is Jean-Luc Bucher, Monsieur."

"I see." Erik lips almost curl into a smile. "Jean-Luc Bucher have you had breakfast yet this morning?"

This time, the lad doesn't hesitate. "Oui, Monsieur, I have already eaten."

"Would you like to join us in the dining room so that I can introduce you to the other people in the chateau?" I blink. Erik surprises me by going out of his way to be nice to this child. I didn't expect that from him and assumed he wouldn't take any interest at all.

Jean-Luc looks wide eyed at Erik, obviously excited at this prospect. "Oui, Monsieur, I would like that."

"Come then. I will seat you near me." Erik holds his hand out to the boy. Jean-Luc hesitates for just a moment before reaching up and clasping Erik's hand as he scoots off the chair. When he takes his first step with his pronounced limp, Erik shoots a glance over at me.

Switching to English, I explain, "His leg wasn't properly set after it was broken. And on top of that, his feet are covered in blisters and sores. He really shouldn't be walking yet until some of those heal." I look Erik squarely in the eyes, not flinching, even though I swear my jaw aches in memory of our past confrontations for just a second.

He nods imperceptibly, bends down and picks the boy up on one arm, then carries him out the door to the dining room.

I look at Matt and see the surprise in his eyes also. "Uh, what just happened?"

"I believe that Erik has just taken Jean-Luc under his wing." Matt grins, and slaps me on the back as he gets up. "Yep, this looks like a perfect story for Christmas morning in this year of miracles if you ask me."

I didn't ask him, but I have to agree. This has been one hell of a year.

I follow, still shaking my head in wonder. Erik has totally caught me off guard this morning by his gentle treatment of Jean-Luc. We've had our differences in the past, and I've never had the chance to observe a compassionate side of Erik other than with Laura. I suddenly wonder if he sees a little of himself in this thin, raggedy boy.

I don't know all the details of Erik's life, but heard enough to know that it wasn't particularly pleasant. I know he was abused as a child, and wears the mask to cover a deformity that has always excluded him from the society of this era. People are still superstitious in this time, and anyone having a deformity may easily be accused on having the 'mark of the devil.'

Growing up in a loving family, it's hard for me to imagine anyone abusing, much less using a whip on a child, as they had on Erik. As a kid, I got spankings here and there, but nothing that even resembled a beating. And a whip!? Whips should be outlawed entirely, and _never, ever_, used on any of God's creatures, _especially_ a child. It's beyond my comprehension why anyone would consider it. Why would anyone treat a human being, in particular a child, like that?

When I stroll into the dining room, Matt's talking animatedly with Jean-Luc. Erik's gone, probably to escort Laura downstairs, and I notice he placed the boy between Laura's chair and his. Russ is seated across the table, also talking to Jean-Luc, but no one else has come down for breakfast yet. We decide to keep it informal, letting everyone do their own thing and eat whenever they wanted.

We were all up way past midnight, since the party lasted until the wee hours of the morning with everybody enjoying themselves. Well, at least I did. It was fun to dance and let loose for a while. I also got a kick out of aggravating Jeremy. I saw how he was looking at Terese, and took advantage of it by dancing with her as often as I could. Hey, a little competition makes things more interesting, right?

The music was great, and I'll be sorry when the batteries are entirely dead. Horatio has given me strict orders that the MP3 player and all accessories and cd's are to be secretly hidden where no one will come across them, even accidentally.

My thoughts are pulled back to the table when the boy laughs aloud at something that Russ just said. As I observe Jean-Luc talking to Matt and Russ, I realize he's a friendly child. I don't think he lived on the streets in Paris very long, and I don't think he's an orphan. After his initial fright, he responded to me and then to Matt and Russ without any hesitation. He enjoys the banter between Matt, Russ and myself and was only stunned with the sight of Erik because of the monster-like appearance his billowing cape had produced. I remember my own fertile imagination as a child, and how I could scare myself so badly that I would leap into my bed from as far away as I could, so nothing would reach out and grab my feet.

Hearing footsteps approaching the dining room, I turn to see Erik and Laura walk in. Erik must have told her about Jean-Luc because Laura smiles warmly when she's introduced to the boy. Jean-Luc studies Laura with a soft look on his face, and seeing that expression, I believe he must see a resemblance to someone he loves. Yes, this child has or had, a family, and I'd bet, a loving mother and father.

Suddenly, our attention is drawn to the door as a hearty "Ho-Ho-Ho, Joyeux Noël" rings out with gusto, heralding the arrival of Horatio and Grace. Horatio has managed to find a red hat and red 'coat' that looks suspiciously like a woman's dressing gown. But what's so hilarious is the pillow that he's stuffed under his shirt that makes him look like a pregnant drag queen. Everyone bursts into laughter. Except for Grace, who rolls her eyes. Eventually, though, she also joins in the raucous laughter.

When Horatio and Grace see Jean-Luc they look surprised, but welcome him cheerfully. However, the boy doesn't quite know what to think of Horatio, I'm sure. Horatio's in high spirits this morning, and Jean-Luc watches him as he sings Christmas songs to us, starting with _Jingle Bells. _He dances around the table on his way to the sideboard to fill his plate.

Grace kneels next to Jean-Luc's chair, speaking with him, smiling and telling him how much he looks like her cousin who lives in America. Jean-Luc breaks into a large grin and asks how old is her cousin and where does he live in America. Grace laughs, saying that he's almost 20 now, and he lives in a place called Oregon. Then she asks, "How old are you?"

Jean-Luc sits up proudly and announces, "I am 12." I'm surprised. I guessed his age to be 9 or 10. For almost the last year and a half, food has been scarce in France, especially in Paris, and sometimes not available at all. During the four month Siege of Paris a year ago, when the sheep and cattle that were herded into the parks in preparation were all eaten, the people were forced to eat many animals, including horses, dogs, cats and rats. Then even that source of meat ran out and starvation was rampant.

Jean-Luc continues asking questions of Grace. He wants to know all about America, where she lived, did she meet any cowboys or Indians, and are the Indians really red. Grace chuckles as she answers many of them, and says she will answer the rest of his questions later because she wants to eat and hear all about him. We all want to hear what circumstances have brought the lad here.

"Jean-Luc, you said you walked from Paris." I start out asking what has been bothering me the most. Horatio, Grace, Erik and Laura look at him, astonishment written on their faces. Matt and Russ had been briefed by me already.

Grace's voice croaks out, "You walked?!"

"Oui, Mademoiselle."

"Do you have a family there?" Laura asks this question.

"Non, but my mama and I lived there before…before..."

"Jean-Luc," Laura's voice is softer this time. "Why did you leave?" His eyes fill with tears and begin to roll down his cheeks.

Erik leans over and hands him his handkerchief. "Jean-Luc, do you want to wait to tell us your story?" Erik asks quietly as he studies the boy's face. Jean-Luc continues to cry for a few minutes but then shakes his head.

"Non, Monsieur, I will tell you now what has happened to me." He sniffles and wipes his nose with the handkerchief. "My mama and I lived in Paris for the last year because my papa died in the war." The damn war between the French and the Prussians has killed so many good men, like war always does.

"We lived in the small village of Giverny. My Mama and Papa farmed there for Monsieur Dubois. And then Papa had to go to war, and he never came back." He swallows, trying hard not to cry again.

"Mama and I could not do the work on the farm by ourselves and had no choice but to leave. So we went to Paris. Mama thought we would be fine. She was going to sew for people or do laundry, but…but the city was so full of other people who had nowhere to go."

Jean-Luc hangs his head and his voice becomes lower, his checks become flushed as he continues.

"We lived wherever we could find shelter, but most often we slept hidden in the alleyways, and occasionally in a deserted building. Mama couldn't find any work, and we were hungry, so hungry. We sometimes begged for bread but we could not always get it. So Mama would let…would let men…kiss her."

Everyone is trying to hide the horror of what Jean-Luc is telling us. Grace is shaking her head 'no' in disbelief while Matt closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. I see Erik stiffen, and Laura reaches out, gently holding the boy's hand. Russ is staring at his clenched fists. All I feel is abject misery at what this young boy must have witnessed as his mother tried to keep them alive during the horror of war, siege, and a city torn apart during the Commune.

Jean-Luc glances at me but doesn't quite meet my eyes. "On the farm, I cared for the horses for Monsieur Dubois so I went to the stables in Paris, searching for work, anything I could do to make money so Mama didn't have to do…that. One man let me work in his stable, mucking out the stalls and helping to groom and feed the horses." He small thin hands twist the handkerchief.

"One day, a horse became frightened and backed into a cart I was cleaning. The cart tipped over, and it pinned my leg underneath. The pain was really bad when they pulled the cart off, and I tried not to cry. The man who owned the stable came over, and said they would take me to the doctor. He said the doctor would push the bones back together, and that it would hurt a lot. When he did, I fainted." He says this in a low, hushed tone like he was ashamed he couldn't stand the pain.

"One of the older men knew where I lived, and carried me back to Mama. She took care of me, and my leg healed." I glance over at Matt, and he just shakes his head.

"After I could walk, I went back to the stables and asked to work again, but the man said he did not want a boy who was crippled working for him, and that I had already cost him more money than I was worth."

He stares down at his left leg, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. "He said it was bad for business. I tried to find work but it was impossible. No one wanted me. They said I could not move fast enough to get out of the way."

"Mama was so sad all the time. I know she missed Papa because I did too. She would cry, and I would try to make her feel better. It was hard being the man of the family." He shakes his head slowly.

"Then one night, when Mama went to…when she went out, she did not come back." Tears again roll down his cheeks, dropping on his shirt, and now he's sobbing so hard his body is shaking. Laura quickly leans over, picks him up and places him in her lap, cuddling him in her arms.

When his sad eyes look up at Laura, he chokes out the next words. "I could not find her. I searched and searched, asking anyone who would listen to me. They…" he hiccups in the middle of a sob, "they threw me out of our room into the streets because I could not pay."

He throws his thin arms around Laura's neck, and cries so hard that I have to take deep breaths to keep from crying myself. Grace isn't so successful, tears run down her cheeks, and she wipes them away with her fingers. Russ and Horatio are looking down at their plates, and I can see them swallowing hard, obviously deeply moved by what Jean-Luc is telling us. Matt is watching the boy, empathy written all over his face. Laura's tears run freely down her face as well, while she clutches Jean-Luc tightly to her.

I glance at Erik, who's watching Laura cradle Jean-Luc in her arms. In that moment, I see a deep sadness for Jean-Luc, but something else too. There's a longing there, maybe a wish that he'd been nurtured in that manner when he was young. I look away, uneasy that I've witnessed such a deep emotion that Erik has inadvertently exposed.

Laura rocks and comforts the child, making little 'ssshh' noises and letting him cry until his tears are cried out. Finally, softly she asks, in her still awkward French, "Jean-Luc, do you have any other family that will care for you, anyone that we can contact?"

He looks up at Laura and shakes his head. "Non Mademoiselle. When we were on our way to Paris, my Mama and I stopped at my uncle's house, hoping that he would help us. But when we reached his house, the caretaker said that he had died from the coughing disease, tu…tubu.."

Matt asks, "Tuberculosis?"

"Oui Monsieur, tuberculosis." He takes his time as he repeats the unfamiliar word. "He was not married, and so I do not have any family left. But it is of no importance. He was Papa's brother and did not like my Mama and me. I heard Papa say that my uncle claimed Mama ruined Papa, and that my uncle had disinherited him."

Erik moves closer to Laura, placing his arm over hers, holding the boy as well, "Jean-Luc, do not concern yourself with anything right now. You will always have a home with us." Laura's eyes go liquid as she looks at Erik.

The room falls quiet, everyone digesting what they've just heard. Turning to Erik and then to Horatio, Matt asks, "He needs rest. Where should we bed him down? At least for the next few days, he needs to stay off of his feet and let them heal. One of us can carry him around when he needs to go to the… I'll see to his personal needs until he gets back on his feet."

Erik's eyebrow shoots up, as if he hadn't thought of that particular problem. But, he hasn't lived an ordinary life and seems surprised to see all of us rally around the boy, contemplating his every need for the next few days. "Yes, that is a most excellent idea."

"Erik," I chime in, "there are extra rooms in the servant's quarters right here on this floor. Why don't we set one of the rooms up for him there? And any of us can help tote him around whenever we're downstairs."

Russ stands up and looks at Jean-Luc. "Do you read?"

"Oui, Monsieur." Jean-Luc shakes his head, "My Mama taught me. She said that it was good to learn as many skills as I could. I can also write and do arithmetic."

"Hmmm," is the only comment Russ makes.

Erik and Laura keep Jean-Luc company while Matt, Russ and I perform our KP duties. It doesn't take us long to put the food away and wash and dry everything. I'm going to relieve Jeremy soon for guard duty and want to help set Jean-Luc up before I go.

Matt and Russ gather a few blankets and sheets to make one of the rooms comfortable for Jean-Luc in the servant's area. They have a fire going in no time and the room heats up quickly. I stop in the library to choose a few books, hoping that I'll be able to find one that he's able to read. The library has an extensive collection, and I find several that should appeal to the boy.

When I return to his room, Jean-Luc recognizes _Robinson Crusoe_ by Daniel Defoe, and so I give him the book right away. I also hand him a large bowl filled with an assortment of dried fruits and nuts and another glass of milk. He ate earlier in the kitchen with us, but Matt has instructed him to eat small amounts at a time and not to overfill his stomach.

Russ is sitting beside him on a chair, talking with the boy. It sounds like he's trying to find out how much education Jean-Luc has and at what level. I won't be surprised at all if Russ steps in and continues his education. Russ has already talked about setting up a school so that any child may attend. He would like to make advancements in the education system and include some subjects that would begin to educate and prevent some of the disastrous political and environmental issues that have occurred in the 21st century.

As I start to walk out the door, I hear Russ asking Jean-Luc if he knows the complete title of _Robinson Crusoe_. The boy shakes his head 'no' and looks raptly at Russ, waiting to hear more.

"Well," Russ' voice sounds like an English teacher that I once had. She loved to read stories aloud, bringing them to life, and I sense that's exactly what Russ will be doing for Jean-Luc. I stop because I'm interested in the answer also.

"The complete title of this novel is T_he Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of York, Mariner: who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an uninhabited Island on the coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver'd by Pirates. Written by Himself_."

Smiling as I hear him telling Jean-Luc even more facts surrounding this book, I walk out the door. Russ always comes up with interesting information. I make a mental note to have him on my side in a game of trivia. Maybe he missed hs calling and really should have been a teacher or even a historian.

Matt has gone upstairs to get a few hours sleep. We haven't seen Terese. She's probably still sleeping. Jeremy and she were getting pretty close last night. I wonder if it'll get serious between them! If it does, how are they going to work that problem out! Can you say looong distance relationship?

But, thinking of their situation, reminds me of Zoe. She crosses my mind a lot, and I hope she thinks of me. I really enjoyed the time I spent with her. She was smart, witty and intelligent. And I found her clumsiness around me quite charming. Laughing about it, I still enjoy thinking back on those few days we spent together. I may act up and joke around, making everyone believe I like _all_ the ladies, but I wouldn't mind finding that special person to share my life and grow old together. I'd like to have a relationship like my mom and dad. They're still happily married after all these years.

When I talked to Terese the other day, I asked if she would mail a letter to Zoe for me when she returns to the future. Zoe will remember me, I'm sure. We connected when we met in the midst of all the craziness and uncertainty of those final days before I left for this mission. I'd like to see her again, and plan to look her up when I get back. But that's a long time away. With thoughts of our last impassioned kisses in that storage closet at the hospital, I sigh and head for the workout room.

Christmas day…to be continued!!


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: Thank you for your wonderful reviews and comments! Each one is appreciated! And, the next chapters are written! I'll continue posting as I promised before, when ten reviews for **_**this**_** chapter are received, then I'll post the next one, or in two weeks, whichever comes first… **

**Christmas Day is still in full swing at Chateau Mercier, with deep emotions evident everywhere.**

**But, is this just the calm before the storm? The next Chapter is entitled, "Disaster."**

* * *

**Chapter 52 ****Christmas Moon, ****by KFC and Phanna**

_Christmas Day 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

At lunch, Horatio and Grace announce they are going for their usual afternoon ride since the weather has cleared, and they want us all to join them. Grace calls it an 'over the river and through the woods excursion,' complete with a warm fire and hot drinks at the gamekeeper's cottage afterwards.

Joe jumps right in and whoops it up, saying that this, after all, is the last time the servants will be gone for a while, and we need to go out and 'play.' Everyone turns to look at him, wondering what he means by 'play,' but, we all readily agree, anxious to get out in the fresh air. We find out later what he had in mind.

The wind has finally died down and the sun is out, a scattering of clouds in the sky. Everyone is in high spirits, laughing and joking. Erik and Laura ride behind the group a little ways, and I have to turn around in my saddle often to make sure Erik hasn't taken off with Laura. He frowns at me when I check on them, but I just grin back.

The rest of my time, my attention is focused on Terese. She rides next to me, her blonde curls bouncing as she posts with the rhythm of the horse beneath her. She seems as bright as the sunlight, and smiles continuously...so beautiful.

We travel through the woods along the same trail Erik and I rode so hastily a few nights ago, and I'm amazed to see how the sunshine has turned the Sleepy Hollow woods into a winter wonderland. We've halted for few minutes to enjoy a particularly beautiful woodland scene when, unexpectedly, snow cascades down off of the branches of a tree, and falls all over Terese. She shrieks in surprise, then breaks into laughter. I lean over, trying to brush some of the snow off of her back and shoulders.

Matt, who is completely at home in the outdoors, seems bright today too, more at ease, and not as restless. Hopefully, he's sorted out some of his feelings for Laura and made peace somehow with his situation.

He told me about the boy Joe found in the stables early this morning. I sensed Matt was back in his element, as he related Jean-Luc's condition and what he's done to fix him up. Being needed makes all of us feel good, and Matt could use an extra dose of that right now.

Discovering the young boy has excited all of us. During lunch, we talked about practically nothing else. We believe this is our own Christmas miracle. For us, as well as Jean-Luc. He chose our stable, and Joe found him before he'd tried to leave, possibly going to his death. The boy is in bad condition, and everyone agrees with Matt, he wouldn't have survived much longer without intervention, Divine or otherwise.

Jean-Luc was sleeping soundly when we left. Matt was reluctant to leave the château while the boy might need him, but Russ volunteered to take guard duty, and I convinced Matt that he didn't need to be there while Jean-Luc slept. Besides, I knew the fresh air would do him good.

When we arrive at the cottage, Erik goes inside to start a fire. The other men walk around the cottage to see if the heavy snowfall has done any damage. Everything seems to be fine, and within minutes we see smoke rising from the chimney.

As we round the corner to the front of the cottage, Erik is just coming out the door with Laura on his arm. They are in their own little world, and Grace and Terese follow, smiling at the pair of lovebirds. I have the most insane thought about taking Terese's hand and leading her back into the cottage, just the two of us…together.

I'm still watching her when out of the clear blue, a snowball fight breaks out between Joe and Matt. Before I know it, Horatio and Grace have joined in, leaving Erik, Laura, Terese and me watching the snowballs fly through the air. So this is the fun Joe had in mind! I chuckle, noticing that Joe is a tad slower than everyone else at making snowballs. Hmm…Texas boy!

I've just turned to Terese when…_smack! _Horatio clouts me with a huge snowball...

_This means war!_

I launch into the fray and find myself rolling on the ground trying to pin Horatio down. The activity escalates quickly. I look around to see where Terese is in all of this, and that one moment of broken concentration costs me a blow to the side of my face.

Laura stands off to the side with Erik, who is regarding this frenzy with a high degree of amazement. I wave Erik over, but he stands stock still, not moving a muscle. Hmmm, no help from that quarter!

Terese doesn't seem to be anywhere around. Then I turn and see her curly head behind a growing wall of snow she and Matt are building as a barricade, all the while throwing snowballs and ducking the returns sent their way. Horatio escapes me to join Grace behind another growing barricade, which leaves me in the open and not a split second passes before I'm pummeled with Joe's rock hard ammunition.

He has snowballs tucked everywhere, in his pockets, in his coat and in his arms, ammunition to hit anyone he can reach. But I return every shot of his and manage to wallop Horatio a good one as well. I duck behind a nearby tree to stock up on ammunition while Matt runs out and takes on Joe. The entire war is carried out with the traditional backyard yelling, but with the military stealth and accuracy of seasoned Navy SEALs. It's the snow war of our boyhood dreams. Only now we're big, strong and stealthy enough to do it justice.

On the sidelines, I hear Laura's voice among the yells and laughter, calling out, "Grace, watch out! Behind you, Matt! Jeremy! Duck!"

I see another snowball headed my way and make a dash for Terese and Matt's barricade. Matt is out in front wrestling Joe into the ground and Terese is making snowballs, hot and heavy. She screams, thinking she's being pounced on by someone else when I dive over the barricade and plow right into her, throwing us both flat on the snow.

"I'm sorry." I gasp. "Are you alright?"

She is laid out on the ground, half beneath me, holding her belly and laughing. "Oh gosh, I thought you were Joe...I was just getting ready to kill him!"

Her face is wet from the snow, and her lips are incredibly enticing.

"I thought you were on my side, not attacking me!" she laughs.

I'm not sure how time stops when you're in the middle of a million mile an hour snowball fight, but it does. Terese lies on the ground with her hair all askew. Her eyes are bright as stars, and I want this moment to last forever.

Suddenly, I get smacked hard…on the back. It's Horatio, Joe and Grace hammering us with snowballs. Where the heck is Matt? I thought he had Joe down! I curl around Terese, protecting her while we're blasted, tempted to kiss her, but laughing too hard.

Then, abruptly, the barrage of snowballs stops coming from our attackers, and I look up to see Erik standing behind Horatio, Joe and Grace, hurling snowballs at their backsides as fast as Laura can make and hand them to him. Scrambling to my feet, I pull Terese up, and with Matt's help from the opposite direction, we push our advantage home. Within minutes, the other side concedes amid gales of laughter, totally outgunned.

We brush ourselves off, already soaked to the skin, and I notice Horatio spending a good bit of time dusting off Grace's derriere. I think of doing the same for Terese, but don't. Instead, I tousle the snow out of her hair as we head back inside the cottage.

The fire does warm us up, but not enough to dry our many layers of clothing. When we've finished our hot drinks and put the fire out, we ride back to the château, all of us cold and wet, anxious to change into dry clothes.

Terese's lips have a tinge of blue to them, so when we get back I insist that she take a nice hot bath. I make a fire in her room, and begin hauling hot water upstairs to fill her tub. When the job is done, I force myself to leave. But my mind conjures up all kinds of interesting thoughts and images of Terese sitting in that tub, and I glance wistfully at her door before stepping into my room.

_Terese's POV:_

I can't believe the sweetness of that man, to heat all this water and haul it up here before he even changed out of his wet clothes. I swish in the tub, letting the heat of the water seep through to my bones, while the warmth from the nearby fire keeps my neck and shoulders toasty and dries my hair.

I don't want to think about the fact that I'm leaving in the morning. But when I get out of this tub it will be time to go downstairs for supper, and then I'll pass the evening with everyone in the great room and say my goodbyes. Then after a lonely night, I'll be up early, even before sunrise, to ride out to the transport field.

At least Jeremy will be the one to take me there and to see me go.

Some things about this week, I never want to forget, and all of them are moments with him. I close my eyes, trying to recall in detail the second I laid eyes on him…how it felt when he first touched me. All the days we spent in the underground room working, his witty comments and keen observations, the quirky looks he gave me when I said something funny and the timeless look in his eyes when our glances met unexpectedly.

Then the night I saw him ride in with Erik under the moon, his natural ease with the horses, and his finesse with Erik.

And last night…every moment dancing with him…at first only inches away, and finally, so close. I still feel his arms around me, his hands on my back and my waist, his face against my hair, then my cheek.

Today in the snow, I almost thought he was going to kiss me. I wonder if he would have, if we'd been alone. Then again, if we _had_ been alone, we probably wouldn't have been lying in the snow like that. Or would we? I could have started the snow fight myself, and who knows what might have happened. I saw the way he tore right into the game, wrestling Horatio into the ground.

I loved the way I felt lying under his strong, protective body as he shielded me from the onslaught of hardened snow. That's a feeling I never want to forget. I felt like kissing him right then and there, while he took that pounding...

Suddenly, I awaken from my reverie. Was that a knock on the door? How long have I been sitting in this tub? I must have fallen asleep. The water has cooled considerably.

I can't go downstairs shivering, or Jeremy will think that all his work heating up this water was wasted. Carefully I climb out of the tub and wrap in a towel. The fire has burned low, but the coals are still very hot, and I dry off in the comfort of the radiant heat.

Now _that_ was definitely a knock.

Quickly, I reach for my robe and pull it around me, dropping my towel on the floor. Then I answer the door.

"What'd you do, fall asleep?" Jeremy teases. He leans against the door jamb as if he's been waiting for hours.

"Actually, yes! Did you knock just a minute ago?"

He nods, a whimsical smirk on his face as his eyes peruse the bath area in front of the fire… my clothes thrown over the chair, the empty tub, my towel on the floor in front of the fireplace.

His eyes settle back on me. "Since you've had a late afternoon nap, you'll be awake all night. How about when the evening is over and you've said your goodbyes...you dress really warm, cover up in a long cape, and meet be behind the stable."

"One of your midnight rides?" I feel my face light up.

"My midnight rides? What do you mean? If I'm not on night watch, I'm usually sleeping in the room next to you."

I narrow my eyes playfully. "I saw you and Erik ride in like a couple of headless horsemen the other night."

"Oh," he laughs. "Well that was a little unusual. But tailgating Erik is just part of my job. Don't worry, I won't be taking you through Sleepy Hollow."

I arch an eyebrow, "Will Erik be along on this midnight ride you're arranging?"

He looks at me pointedly, and smiles. "No."

"Just you and me?"

He nods, a spark in his eyes.

"Then I'll be there."

_Jeremy's POV:_

The sky has faded into a sea of shining lights, and the snow covered ground is glowing under a full moon. I'm a little nervous about this ride, but I love the night and the open air and want to share it with Terese, just to spend some time alone with her before she leaves. I am to take her to the transport field at 6 o' clock tomorrow morning, and despite all my reservations, I can't bear the thought of tossing and turning while she sleeps in the next room.

The horses have caught the night air and are eager to run. When Terese approaches through the shadows, I pull Sagan to a stop and get down to hold Matt's whiskey bay, Chiron, while I help Terese onto his back. The moon glints off of her hair, and the shadows follow the contours of her face.

"You ok up there?"

"I'm fine," she whispers. "Where are we going?"

"Wait and see," I smile up at her, then turn and remount Sagan. We start slowly, then pick up speed as we leave the château behind us, the snow crunching softly beneath the hurry of the horse's hooves.

Terese seems at ease on Chiron's back, so I let Sagan lead out with a little more speed, and we glide across the meadow toward the thinnest part of the tree line.

The land rises beneath us gradually for a few miles, then we ascend the slope of a long hill. Reaching the top, we slow the horses and finally come to rest overlooking the downward slope on the other side. The snow covered landscape fades to gray at the foot of the hill, but the sky above is crystal clear, the stars glittering like diamonds as we stand in the pristine silence. It is so hushed, even the air is like crystal, and the snow sparkles like the stars overhead.

I dismount quietly off my horse and walk to Chiron's side. Terese smiles as I help her to the ground, keeping one arm around her until I've gathered the reins beneath Chiron's neck. Then we walk.

Her cloak brushes against me as we take in the stillness of the night and the beauty of the moon on the new fallen snow. I can tell she is cold, and suddenly I want to turn and pull her against me and tell her everything I feel, everything I've been thinking... ask her for the answers to all my questions. But I let the moment pass.

Instead, we walk toward the trees, and I start cutting branches for a fire. I chose the deadened lower branches, pruning the trees as I go, but also cut some green boughs. I shake the snow off the branches, and Terese drags them into a large pile. Then I start the fire. Soon the flames are leaping, and the smell of burning wood fills the air.

"You seem right at home in the outdoors." Terese stands close to the fire, her face reflecting its warm glow.

"I spent a lot of time in it, growing up. Lots of nights out under the stars," I wink.

"Even in winter?"

"Well, not often in winter. But as a SEAL, I could survive out here for a long time if I needed to."

I work my way through the stack of branches, throwing the dead ones onto the fire, and tossing the greener boughs on the ground between us until there is quite a large flat pile. Then I whistle for Sagan, take a wool blanket from behind his saddle, and throw it over the boughs.

"Voila…make yourself comfortable."

_Terese's POV:_

I settle onto the makeshift 'futon' which _is_ surprisingly comfortable, and watch him stoke the fire. He knows exactly what he's doing. I guess a SEAL would know how to manage a fire. He gets it just the way he wants it then steps back and stares into the flames.

I sit with my arms wrapped around my knees, just looking at him, until he finally backs away from the fire and comes to sit down with me. I feel small next to him, but safe.

"You warm?" he asks.

I smile, wishing I was still freezing, and he'd wrap me up in his arms. "I'm good. It s a really hot fire. I'd never know it's 20 degrees out. I could probably stay out here all night."

A look of amusement twirks his mouth, and he reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear. I catch my breath as I feel his fingers against my hair, then on my skin.

"So tell me. How does a curly headed blonde, with a car to match her name, end up in quantum physics?"

I laugh, "Well, the name came first...then the hair, then the physics...and _then _the car. The Mercedes-Benz was kind of a joke, actually. A Christmas present from the Program."

"Wow. They must think highly of you."

"They said it was a token of their appreciation for my endless hours of work, overtime, and dedication.

"You mean you're a volunteer?"

"Not technically. But a lot of it ends up being volunteer work because I'm at the lab pretty much around the clock. I even sleep at my office quite a bit."

"That doesn't leave much time for other things."

I shrug. "I don't do anything else. I don't have family...and no friends to speak of other than the people I work with. But when everything you do is top secret, it's easier not to have a life outside your work. I really don't know why I even keep my apartment, other than to remind myself that I'm a person instead of a piece of lab equipment."

"Don't you ever take time off?"

"Well…" I smile, "Does this count? A week in France, with a whole new set of friends I didn't know I had... People who actually live in a house instead of a lab. Eat in a dining room...and celebrate Christmas!"

"You don't usually celebrate Christmas?"

"I don't have family around to celebrate with, and since things are always busy at the lab, it usually ends up being another work day...even though we have time off. I've been warned that it's not healthy, not to have a life outside of work. But I'm just not very interested in normal, everyday life. My life if bound up in other worlds, it seems. Or in trying to get there."

He looks at me thoughtfully. "Well you're here now."

"Yes. And it's been a wonderful. I wish it didn't have to end."

"Do you really have to leave in the morning?"

"Yes," I sigh regretfully. "I do. The price to open a time window is astronomical, and the paths both ways are set in advance. Like a ticket, you can change it. But it costs. The Program wouldn't shell out that much money just so I can stay a little longer."

The fire has died down, and Jeremy gets up to stoke it again. I love the way he moves, his ease and agility as he tosses the branches into the flames, the way his coat stretches across his back. And the way he stands, with the poise of a great man. A man you'd trust your life to, without a second thought.

"You remind me of General Washington, standing in front of the fire during the winter at Valley Forge."

"Oh," he eyes me quizzically, "Were you there?"

I laugh at his time travel insinuation. "No, I just remember the picture from the history books, of General Washington standing in the snow in front of a fire. You've got the long coat, the height, the noble stance, the courage and the brawn...everything but the hat."

He laughs. "...and the wig."

"Well, if it were snowing..."

He pokes at the fire some more, then turns with a smirk, and walks over to sit down beside me.

_Jeremy's POV:_

Terese's eyes dance with laughter as we banter back and forth. And she is good at it, so it's fun. Occasional glances at the sky tell me time is passing faster than it seems, and I wish for a way to prolong the night.

Then her voice turns soft and serious. "I can't believe my one and only time trip is over already. I'm not ready to go back yet."

"Maybe the Program ought to start giving you vacations to the past instead of cars that just sit in the parking lot," I observe with a smile.

"They got off cheap with the car. It's a drop in the bucket compared to the cost of time travel. I'm lucky to have had this one chance. The whole idea behind the StarLink we set up this week is to prevent non-essential travel. Cost effective ways to communicate and transfer supplies are our goal. I'm working myself right out of opportunities to vacation in the past." She stares into the flames. "Technically, even this isn't a vacation...It just feels like one."

"How so?"

"I'm with people who feel like friends and family. I'm having fun. I want to remember every minute of this week. Especially last night...and today...and tonight, with you."

_Tonight...with me?_

Last night I held her close during the last dance. I kissed her hair, but didn't think she felt it. Today in the snow, if no one had been around, I might have kissed her lips. But tonight we are truly alone, and it feels different. More real. More frightening. I'm not sure what to say.

"Show me a star."

She scans the sky, "Well...there are millions."

"Your favorite one."

She looks at me as if my words mean something special to her. "I have a favorite constellation, but he isn't in the sky tonight. This time of year, he rises with the sun."

"Sagittarius?"

She seems surprised that I'm familiar with the sky. But I'm trained to navigate and tell time by the stars, and probably know it almost as well as she does.

"Yes, the Archer. I've been watching him since I was a little girl. Every night that he's out, and the sky is clear, I imagine myself riding with him through the stars."

"Why is he your favorite?"

"I love him for his steadfast heart and his eternal courage. No matter what, he knows his path and follows it. His course is set, and his aim is always ready."

"Isn't he part man, part horse?"

"Yes, many cultures picture him as a centaur, and that's the image I love best. He has the regal poise that comes with the mastery of a dual nature.

A silence falls over us as we gaze at the heavens. Eventually Terese lies back on the blanketed boughs, and I follow suit beside her. We talk about the other constellations, and watch the moon travel across the sky, lost in conversation, and not caring.

"So you've spent lots of nights under the stars. Were you in the Boy Scouts growing up?"

"No. My father worked in the Forestry Service for the state of Washington. Many times he would take me along, most often when we had to ride horses to get to some of the more remote areas. It was always a special time for us, talking and just being together. He taught me to appreciate nature and how to conserve our natural resources for future generations. I eventually got a degree in environmental studies. Then when I joined the SEALs, everything he taught me about surviving in the wild was put to good use."

I turn toward her, "How did you get interested in what you do?"

"My father inspired me, showed me my path. He nurtured my love of the sky, and my curiosity about the places one could travel on the sea of space and time. But now he's gone, along with my mother. She died when I was born, and I have no memories of her, but I like to think she's watching over me."

She turns to me, resting her head on her elbow. "To me, the moon is my mother's face, and my father's voice is like a guiding wind. It's only by looking at the sky that I reconnect with those I love...and miss."

I watch her eyes fill with the pain of memories and decide not to ask her what happened to them. Instead, I find my hand reaching across to caress her shoulder, then her hair.

When I touch her face, tears spring to her eyes, glistening before they spill. I roll toward her and pull her close, holding her head to my chest like I've wanted to every day since she came. She cries as if she hasn't been held in a long time. I wrap my arms further around her, caressing her back and running my fingers through her wild curls.

_Darling, you can cry in my arms, but how am I going to let go of you? _

I feel her tears through my shirt. Her hand slides around my waist, and she holds me as if she doesn't want to let go either. It's as if a wave of painful memories has subsided, only to drown in the sea of our longing for each other... and the knowledge that we are on separate ships bound for opposite shores.

When she leans back to look at me, resting her head on my arm, my heart is a tightened lump in my chest. Her face is beautiful in the moonlight...tearstained...her eyes full of feelings and questions.

I want to answer them all, with my mouth on her lips.

I feel myself drawn to her, but hesitate. I don't have the answers. I don't know if there are any.

But she touches my face, and as I look in her eyes I feel that familiar suspension of time. Maybe just one question needs to be answered right now.

I lean down into her warm breath, and press my lips to hers, reveling in their softness as she gives in willingly to me. I feel her arms around my neck, then her fingers in my hair. The moment seems endless as we are lost in each other's kisses, answering the most urgent question between us.

I kiss her with the desire I feel every night when she's asleep in the room next to mine, with the fervor I felt when our eyes first met in the storage room, and with every emotion I quenched each time I told myself not to let this happen.

Finally we pull away enough to look at each other again, and my heart skips a beat at the tenderness in her eyes. I see joy, and the same wonder that I feel inside. Taking her face in my hand, I slide my fingers along her temple and her cheek, trying to memorize its softness and its contours, knowing that after tonight I may never touch her again. By the time my fingers reach her lips, the tears are back in her eyes. I kiss her again, to keep them from spilling, but feel their wetness on my skin.

"Jer..." she whispers. "I wish I knew how to make time stand still."

I touch my forehead to hers. "It does, whenever I look at you."

It seems as if our souls hang in mid air and could merge at the slightest breath. I cling to her, but somehow time catches up with us. I sense its urgent summons and finally pull away to lie on my back, rolling her toward me. She lays her head on my chest as I stare up at the sky. How did the night past so quickly? It's nearly time to take her to the field. We lie together as long as we dare, basking in the joy of our embrace, savoring each caress.

When we get up, I wrap the blanket around her and throw snow on the fire. Sagan comes when I whistle, and I help Terese onto his back, then swing up behind her. Chiron can find his own way home.

It is still dark, and the stars span the sky around us as we ride across the open hills. As we descend through a shallow valley toward the hidden field, the first traces of dawn creep over the horizon. "There he is," Terese points to the Archer just beginning to crest the opposite hill. We stop in the middle of the field, and I hold her, with my face against her hair as we watch the giant centaur rise. He is dauntless, even though his stars will soon have faded into the dawn.

Terese takes my hands inside her cloak and caresses them. Hers feel small and soft next to mine, and I hold them, tracing the delicate bones in her wrists as her palms slide against mine. Our fingers intertwine lovingly and I bury my face in her hair.

Wanting to feel her body and her breasts against my chest, I help her down and pull her to me again. We stand in the pre-dawn light, wrapped in each other's arms, trying to prolong each fragile moment.

"I don't think I can let you go." I tilt her chin up, my voice choking.

"I don't want you to."

Her lips are moist from our kisses, and I lean down to capture them again, twining my fingers through her hair as I find the graceful curve of her neck. My hands search her body, trying to memorize each contour as if she is going to fade right out of my arms. Then I feel energy rushing around us, and the air begins to shimmer.

"Is it time...?"

"Yes..."

I clutch her to me in a fierce embrace, kissing her desperately... Then the air around us tenses as the crystal transport pod tries to materialize. I have to step back now…to let her go. I tear myself away from her, and my hands fall to hers, caressing them gently as I release her. She holds my gaze as I step away…tears in her smiling eyes, and crystalline light shimmering around her. Then by degrees, time pales her image, and she is gone in the mist.

Shaken, I stare at the place where she was, feeling the emptiness in my arms…fearful that my memory of her face, and her form, and even her soul, will dissipate with time. I turn to see the sun rising over the hill. The moon has set, and all but a few stars have faded. I start to walk away, then with a catch in my throat, I look back... but all that fills the place where she stood is a ray of morning sunlight.


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful comments!! We so value our loyal reviewers, and welcome those of you who are new to The Epic Case! We read and appreciate each of your comments! And, thank you for your well wishes, too! And, I will post the next chapter after receiving ten reviews of _this_ chapter!**

**Now Christmas is over, and a trip to Paris begins with anticipation and hope…**

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**Chapter 53**** DISASTER, by Phanfan & Phanna++**

_Tuesday, December 26, 1871_

_Paris_

_Erik's POV:_

Our carriage stopped briefly at the book store when we arrived in Paris just before noon. Laura and Grace wanted to begin shopping there, with the understanding that we would pick them up at the dress maker's shop, three blocks away at 3:00 p.m. We agreed regretfully not to have lunch together since I have so many errands today. I got my last glimpse of Laura before our carriage turned the corner.

Matt and Horatio had followed us into Paris on their horses, and they rode off to take care of their business. Matt is stopping at the chemist's shop to order some medical supplies. Horatio is meeting with two other people from The Program who live in Paris, managing the investments for The Program, which are used to fund their projects in the 19th century. Russ had stayed on duty at the chateau, Joe remained with the women, and Jeremy is accompanying me, as ever.

Jeremy seems to be more somber and preoccupied than usual, not engaging in his usual banter. His amiable manner is absent today. Instead he is tense and silent. I surmise this has to do with Terese's leaving this morning.

Yesterday during the snow fight, I noticed when he was holding and protecting her from the onslaught of snow balls it was more than a friendly gesture. I can tell when a man is in love with a woman, and he has all the signs. I saw them looking at each other when they were on the ground. They most assuredly wanted to kiss each other. I thought I would give them the opportunity, so I asked Laura to make snowballs as speedily as she could. I thoroughly enjoyed launching a rear guard attack at Horatio and Joe, making certain that my missiles hit with powerful impact. When they turned toward me to fend off my barrage, I hope Jeremy made use of his opportunity. I was too occupied at that juncture to tell. I must say, throwing those snowballs was an edifying experience.

Now I watch Jeremy as he gazes out the carriage window, distracted and sullen. I know the ends I was willing to go to for Laura and me to be together. I watch him and wonder what he will do.

Our carriage soon pulls up to the tailor's store. Louis, one of the workers at the château, is driving the carriage today, and he remains with it at the curbside. The tailor proudly shows us the costumes for the masque ball. He has done a fine job and reproduced my sketches expertly. I compliment his attention to detail and pay for all the men's costumes.

As soon as Jeremy and I secure the boxes containing the costumes in the back compartment of the carriage, we go directly to the corner jeweler's store. I have been fraught with anxiety about this particular errand. I wonder if the jeweler finished on time or if the ring was executed to my design. These thoughts have plagued me, hanging ominously in my mind all morning as we drove into Paris. I hope he has not failed in his commission.

Bounding into the jeweler's shop, I am brought to a halt when I see only the young man behind the counter instead of the elderly jeweler, who I expected to be here. I cannot help glowering as I regard the young man.

"Ah, Monsieur Mercier! Bon jour!" he smiles nervously, "You have come to pick up your ring, have you not?"

"Yes, and I expect that it is ready!" my voice booms louder and more threateningly than I had intended. The young man visibly winces.

"Mais oui, it most certainly is ready! My grandfather regrets that he had a business meeting this morning and could not present his work to you personally, but the ring is most certainly ready!"

The young man takes a black velvet box from a locked drawer behind him. His hand shakes as he places it on the glass-topped display case. Holding my breath with worry, I reach out and open the lid. The air in my lungs escapes in one gasp of amazement. The golden ring is impeccable. The large pink topaz seems to float, slightly raised, in a mist of surrounding diamonds. The gold setting that encircles the stones has a subtle, embossed design of rose buds. Every detail is exquisitely crafted.

"Young man, your grandfather is truly a master jeweler. I am very pleased," with a relieved smile and not taking my eyes off the ring, I add, "Give him my deepest gratitude. He has executed my design perfectly." I pay the young man and place the precious ring securely into my waistcoat pocket. Jeremy has been waiting behind me, and when I quickly turn to leave, nearly walk into him, as he distractedly stands there, his mind clearly someplace else. I shake my head in confirmation. Yes, it is Terese.

Before we get into the carriage, I hand the address of our next destination to Louis. "Do you know where this address is located, Louis?"

He looks at it and frowns, "Yes, Monsieur Mercier, I do. I grew up in Paris."

"How long will it take for us to go there?"

"About twenty-five minutes," then he rubs his hand over his stubbly beard, "Are you certain you wish to go to this part of Paris, Monsieur?"

"Yes, of course!"

"As you wish," he grumbles back.

I get into the coach deeply disturbed by his comments. My knowledge of Paris is mostly of its underground maze of tunnels and the opera house. I have never been to this part of Paris, this arrondissement. Louis' reaction gives me grave concern.

At first we travel down the wide, new boulevards where the finer shops and restaurants are located. After ten minutes we turn onto a smaller street. The farther we travel, the poorer the neighborhood. The filth on the street is evident. Horse droppings are not cleared away, and rotting food and garbage can be seen, and smelled, when we pass the alleyways. After the sanitation systems I experienced in the future and the cleanliness of the château, which Matt meticulously enforces, I am disheartened. I wonder how people survive in these conditions.

I am particularly disturbed to realize that Antoinette is living here. After the fire at the opera house, Antoinette had to move out of her rooms there when it closed down. So, I helped her rent a small house in a respectable part of Paris. I lived, hidden, in the upper floor attic. It was really quite pleasant, with a large sky light that let in bounteous air and light. Of course, Antoinette and I kept my presence in the house from Meg. I would come and go only at nighttime when I knew Meg was asleep. During the day, I remained hidden in the attic, sleeping, reading, and listening to the bombs go off around the city, wondering if a stray one might land in my hideaway.

It had been a horrific existence for everyone during that time when the Commune held Paris in its grip. The government troops shelled the city, even the affluent neighborhoods, trying to reclaim Paris from the revolutionists.

After a month, our funds were getting low, so I ventured at midnight to make the trek back to the opera house and dig up my hidden box with the bulk of my savings. I did not know that the underground basements of the opera house had been taken over by the Communards and was being used both to store food and jail prisoners…as well as execute them.

When I got to the third underground level, I heard voices and footsteps approaching around a corner. Unfortunately, my luck ran out when I sought refuge in a room that had always been used to store equipment for the opera house. I discovered as I stepped inside that foodstuffs were being kept there by the Communards, and three of them were entering by the other door. I quickly used my Punjab lasso on one, startling him so that I could push him back against the other two and escape. But, in my mad race to flee down the corridor, I ran into another group of Communards. I was totally outnumbered. They knocked me down, pummeling me with their gun butts and kicking me with their boots.

Without any trial, I was summarily found guilty of spying and sentenced to be executed by a firing squad the next morning. Apparently, the first time they succeeded, and my body was buried there in the lowest level of the underground chambers, to be found many decades later.

Strangely, I am alive and well because The Program intervened and sent Jeremy, Russ and Matt to rescue me. I remember them barging into my room, holding me down and sedating me. The next memory is my waking up in a white hospital room, a hundred thirty-four years in the future. I continue to be amazed at my fate: that I am alive and well, having survived the Commune and my "death." Laura's face flashes in front of my eyes. It seems almost as if fortune may have decided to shine on my life after all.

When Antoinette was brought to the future to testify at trial, she told me that Meg and she had moved into an apartment when I had not returned. She never hinted at the condition of the neighborhood. The farther we drive down this dirty and destitute section of Paris, the more my heart sinks.

When I returned to France at the beginning of December, Jeremy and I had tried several times to locate Antoinette. Jeremy questioned the neighbors in the area where she had formerly lived, but they had not known her whereabouts. All our attempts were unsuccessful.

Finally, Russ located her. Horatio and he had traveled to Paris on business. Russ knew I was desperately trying to find Antoinette, so he returned to her old neighborhood and stopped in at the local tavern. An old man sitting at a corner table heard Russ asking about Antoinette and Meg. He motioned Russ to come over and was very cooperative as long as Russ kept the beer flowing into his glass. The old man obviously had paid attention to Antoinette and Meg because he had noticed young Meg's beauty. My stomach twisted when I heard this. This was the kind of man I sheltered Christine and Meg from in the opera house. My fear for them intensified.

Russ related that the old man knew where Antoinette had moved, but he wasn't certain _exactly_ where. Miraculously, for only a few francs the man's memory improved, and he was able to provide Russ with the address. I pray that I can find them today and remove them from here, from the bowels of the city.

When we reach the address we were given, Louis stays with the carriage and horses. They will need to be guarded in this area of the city. Louis picks up his horse whip and watchfully scans everyone walking on the street. Jeremy asks if he knows how to use a gun, and Louis grunts "yes." Jeremy lifts up the carriage seat and removes one of the extra guns hidden there. When Louis takes the gun into his hands, he nods his head appreciatively and settles into his vigil. Telling him that we will return soon, we approach the rundown antiquated building, which apparently has been divided into many apartments.

I knock on the door and a thin woman, carrying a tiny, squalling baby in her arms, opens the door with obvious reluctance. "What do you want, Monsieur?" she says, eying my mask suspiciously.

"You have nothing to fear," I say in my most soothing tone, "I am merely here to find a friend, Madame Antoinette Giry."

"How do I know you are a friend?" She challenges with more courage than I would have thought she had from her gaunt, hollow eyes and fragile form.

"I assure you, Madame, we are friends. To prove it, we will wait here and you can go to her apartment and tell her that Monsieur Mercier is here," I smile comfortingly, "that is all we ask."

She looks fiercely at me, not trusting me. Clearly she has not had a life where she could trust many people. I understand. I was once in that position myself.

Jeremy speaks up behind me with his gentle, reassuring voice, "Truly, Madame, we will wait here. If you would please do this one kindness for us."

She gives Jeremy a look of resignation, nods her head and closes the door. I wait many agonizing minutes. I hope we have the right address. I also fear what we will find. I cannot believe that Antoinette has been reduced to living here.

My heart leaps with relief when Antoinette opens the door. She shrieks in delight as we hug each other joyfully.

When she pulls away and studies me with her intense gaze, tears come to her eyes. "Erik! You are here!! You succeeded in coming…back!" she grins and winks knowingly, "You look so very good to my eyes, but you have lost weight." Looking over at Jeremy, she chastises him, "Haven't you been feeding him properly?"

Jeremy throws up his hands and defends himself, "We do the best we can. Laura has been working very hard at it!"

"Laura? Laura is here?" Antoinette's eyebrow arches in surprise, "Come, we have much to talk about."

Then, taking my hand, she leads us into the dark, narrow entryway and up the stairwell. The building is old and the carpet on the stairs worn in patches, but it is relatively clean. Antoinette explains as she leads us up several flights, then down a hallway to her room, that this apartment building is owned by an elderly widow. Only single women are accepted as tenants, and everyone works at keeping the building clean, despite its age and well-worn condition.

Finally Antoinette opens a door and leads us into a small room that serves as her parlor. When the door closes, she reaches up, throws her arms again around my neck, and hugs me.

Pulling back and wiping at her eyes, she proceeds to scold me. "I have been so worried about you!"

I smile down at this woman who is so dear to me. "It is good to see you also. It has been too long."

"Too long," she agrees as she waves us over to a small settee, directing us to be seated. She sits close to me in a small, threadbare arm chair.

Studying Antoinette more closely, I see that she has also lost weight, and her beautiful glowing skin is taut over the fine bones of her face. I realize she, too, has not been eating properly.

I cannot hold back asking her my most pressing question, "Why have you moved to this area of the city? It is dangerous here."

"So much has happened since I last saw you." She offers to take my cape, but I shake my head. The room is cold and there is no fire in the hearth. Only a pitiful stack of wood sits next to the fireplace. She sees me glance at it and hurriedly rushes over to try to light a fire.

"Do not bother. We will only be here for a short while." I already know what I am going to do about this. I will convince her and Meg to move to the château. In fact, I will not take 'no' for an answer.

She begins to ask me a question, but I stop her. "Please tell me what has happened to you and Meg first."

"This last year has been very hard for so many people. I should not complain. I was lucky that I had a little money set aside. At first Meg and I were fine. We lived at the house where you had stayed with me after we left the opera house. You did not come back one night, and I was so frightened. I saw your death notice in the paper. Then, they brought me foreword in time to your trial, and I knew you still lived."

I can see the white of her knuckles as she clenches her fist around her shawl, pulling it tighter for warmth, "Shortly after they brought me back from the future, Meg accepted a position in a dance troupe that travels and performs throughout Europe. She has been on tour for several months now. When she left, I moved into this apartment. It was all that I needed." She indicates the small apartment by waving her hand. "I have been able to sell some of my clothes to pay the rent." Her eyes do not meet mine, and I know that she probably has little money for food or firewood.

"Antoinette, you and I have gone through many hard times together." Reaching over, I take one of her hands in mine. "I have an incredible story to share with you. I am living at a château outside Paris with a group of people from the future, and Laura is here with me, too." She looks at me, studying my face, ascertaining whether she should believe me.

I continue telling her some of the events since we last saw each other in court, conveying how much I need her help now. I keep my explanation brief, because I do not want to linger any longer than necessary in this area of the city. And, I have the ring in my pocket and want to return to Laura as quickly as possible.

"So, I have come here to ask you to return to the château with me. I need your help to teach the Americans how to dance properly for a new year's ball we are attending," I cannot control a slight smile as I explain this to Antoinette. "They also need much instruction about proper manners and etiquette so they can fit into our society." I pause and turn serious when I add, "And I want you safely with me."

"I do not want to be a burden." Her shoulders stiffen, as she glares at me and insists, "I will not accept any charity." I admire this woman with her stubborn pride even as she lives in conditions such as these.

"Did you not extend your helping hand when I had nothing and nowhere to go? Did you not care for me when I was abandoned and desperate?" I make her look into my eyes as I speak.

"There will be no more talk of charity. I promise you that you will earn your wages!" I watch her expression soften as she relents. Good, she is not going to put up a fight!

"Well, then, let's be on our way. Give me a few moments to pack a valise. I have only that and a small box of my possessions." She bustles out of the room quickly, her step lighter.

I take the valise, and Jeremy carries the box when she returns to the parlor. She looks around, as if to verify she has left nothing, then turns toward the door. "Come then, let us not waste another moment here." ++

I follow her out the front door, shaking my head and smiling broadly. She stops briefly at the rooms of the young woman who had originally challenged us at the door. Antoinette tells her she is moving out and asks her to tell the landlady to keep the balance of her rent. After they exchange of hugs and farewells, we are thankfully out of that building. Jeremy loads her few possessions into the carriage hold next to the costume boxes.

Antoinette stops before getting into the coach and looks me up and down. You must eat properly to stay healthy, Erik. I suppose you have an adequate cook, do you not?"

Jeremy steps in to defend me, "Yes, we do!"

Good, I let out a sigh of relief. That should take care of that.

Then to my horror, Jeremy continues, "But I am certain that Laura will appreciate all your assistance in making sure that Erik eats well!"

As Madame Giry steps into the coach, her back to us, I turn and give Jeremy a glare that declares I will get even with him for that.

When our coach is on the way, I look over at Antoinette and feel relaxed for the first time today. All has gone well. The costumes were perfect, the ring superb, and we found Antoinette and are taking her back to the château to live with us. And, I know Laura will be glad to see her since they became friends during the trial. Antoinette will be a welcome addition to the household. I chuckle as I think of the new members we have added to our family in the last couple of days. First Jean-Luc and now Antoinette.

The ride back to the dressmakers to pick up Laura, Grace and Joe is filled with sharing stories and laughter. I pull out my pocket watch and realize that we are a few minutes early as we pull up in front of the dressmaker's shop. The carriage stops, and Jeremy goes in to find the women. He emerges carrying several boxes and packs them in the back compartment with all the other packages. When he gets into the coach he informs us that they finished shopping early and decided to go to a perfume shop on the next block, so I direct Louis to drive there. We may as well save them the walk back.

We turn the corner onto the side street and pull up to a shop with gaily displayed bottles and soaps in the window. However, our attention is distracted to the other side of the street. From the shouting and noise we can hear, it sounds as if there is a street brawl going on. Jeremy and I are sitting next to the windows on that side, so we look out to see what is causing the excitement.

What I see sends shock waves through my body and propels me out the door as fast as my legs can carry me. Jeremy is close on my heels. We race down the street. I cannot believe my eyes. Joe is lying on the ground, unconscious, a pool of blood around his head.

Grace is using unlady-like kicks to the groins of several policemen and fending them off, causing them to bend over in pain. Two others try to grab her from behind. She swirls and proceeds to incapacitate them rather efficiently. More policemen surround her, but keep their distance.

Even Laura is fighting against two policemen. I am horrified at what is unfolding before me. Each man holds one of her arms, and they are trying to force her into a wagon for prisoners. She struggles against them, her hair wildly loose, flying into her face, which has streams of blood flowing down it. From the carriage I had seen bruises and cuts on her forehead. My heart plummets into my stomach.

I fight my way through the throng that surrounds the melee. People are milling around, some calling out, others laughing and jeering. Many stand around, watching. Frantically, I push through the crowd, trying to reach Laura. I can feel Jeremy's hands on my shoulders.

When we get near the front edge of the crowd, I hear Jeremy's voice in my ear, "Careful, Erik. _Control yourself_."

I yell to the policemen, "What has happened? What are you doing with her?"

Laura turns around and sees me. Pulling desperately against the men who hold her, she cries out in terror, "_Erik_!"

I try to get to her, but cannot move. Jeremy's hands have grabbed onto my arms above the elbows, holding me from behind in a vise-like grip.

Despite struggling furiously to free myself, all I can do is call out, "LAURA!"

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**ar·ron·disse·ment** (ä-rôɴ'dēs-mäɴ') n. A municipal subdivision in some large French cities. 


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: Thank you for all your fabulous comments!! They truly feed our muse!! Again, I'll post the next chapter as soon as ten reviews are posted!!**

**Laura is being arrested and taken to a paddy wagon...Erik is barely under control...will he finally go Phantom?**

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**Chapter 54 The Point of No Return, Part 1, by Phanfan**

_December 26, 1871_

_Paris_

_Jeremy's POV:_

Running as fast as my legs can pump, I still couldn't keep up with Erik. He's got to be the fastest person I've ever seen. He was pulling away when we reached the crowd. Luckily, that slowed him down enough for me to catch up.

I had seen the same thing Erik did: Joe down, Grace karate kicking any man who dared to touch her, and Laura bleeding profusely from a head wound and being lead away by policemen. I knew exactly what Erik was intending, and I had to stop him before he got his foolish tail shot! As I followed Erik's mad dash to get to Laura, my mind was also racing, trying to imagine what the three had done to bring this disaster on themselves.

But my greatest fear and immediate problem was Erik, not the other three. Adrenalin pumped through my body as I prepared to do whatever it took to keep him from going Phantom. I could tell he was half way there already as he pushed people aside, shoving through the crowd of gawkers.

I finally caught up and put my hand on his shoulder hoping to slow him down, urging, "Be careful. _Control yourself_!" But, I could tell from the tone in his voice when he called out to the policemen, demanding to know what they were doing with Laura that his rage was escalating rapidly.

I knew then I had no choice. I had to stop him before he burst out from the protection of the crowd and caused a nervous policeman to fire first and ask questions way too late. If that happened and Erik was killed, everything we had worked for—_everything_—could be gone in an instant. And, that wouldn't help Laura one bit.

Then, Laura called out to Erik, and when he answered, I knew he was about to loose it, so, I did what I had to. I grabbed Erik above his elbows in a classic wrestling hold and dug in my heels. Of course, he fought me like a tiger.

"Jeremy! Let me go!" Erik hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Well, Erik, you aren't controlling yourself!" Everyone around us is now quickly backing away. But, Erik's strong, and although I have his arms pinned behind him, I'm losing the battle when the cavalry arrives.

Horatio's suddenly next to me, grabbing one of Erik's arms, as I continue holding the other. Good! Between the two of us, we have a chance of containing Erik a little longer. What we do then, I really don't know.

"Where'd you come from?" I say to Horatio between gritted teeth. I'm trying to ignore Erik. The things he's calling me right now, I'd rather not hear.

"I saw the carriage pulling away from the dressmaker's shop," then Horatio lets out a grunt as Erik's elbow hits him in the stomach. Quickly recuperating, he adds, "What the hell's going on here?"

"Damned if we know!" That's all I can get out between my tug of war with Erik.

Then, out of nowhere, Madame Giry's standing directly in front of Erik and with a no-nonsense tone says, "Erik! Be calm! I know one of the policemen, the officer. Let me handle this!"

Unbelievably, Erik stops struggling against us and stands still, panting hard and staring down at the little lady. "Laura must not go to prison, Antoinette!"

"I know! I know! Give me a chance!" she stares right back at him, unflinching under his scrutiny.

Each of us holds our breath as we wait for Erik's answer. Fire is shooting out of his eyes as he breathes deeply, trying to regain his composure. I'm still holding his arm, and his muscles are tensed like steel coils, ready for action. But, under the circumstances, what can he do except create more problems or get shot himself? I hope he listens to Mme Giry and lets her try whatever she has in mind.

I hold my breath waiting for Erik's reaction. He's says nothing, but finally nods his head. Mme Giry gives him that dignified smile of hers and turns around, calling out, "Monsieur Marquand!" she waves her hand at a rather short young man in an ill-fitting uniform, "Please, may I have a word with you!"

The young man immediately turns around, searching the crowd to find the person who has called out. When he spots Mme Giry, he smiles. Well, that's a good sign. I say a silent prayer that he's a _really_ good friend of Mme Giry's.

The young man in the baggy uniform rapidly approaches us, his unruly shock of blonde hair sticking out from under his cap. I can tell from the insignia on his uniform that he is a captain. That's promising.

"Madame Giry! What can I do for you?" the grin that goes along with his greeting is sincere.

"Rene! I know that lady you seem to be arresting! She is a friend!"

"A friend?"

"Oui, a good friend! As well as that lady," she points to Grace who is standing between several policemen who are staying back at a safe distance, "and that man." She points at Joe. For the first time I notice that Matt is bending over him, checking out his head wound. I didn't see Matt arrive. He obviously took in the situation and talked the policemen into letting him tend to Joe. Good for Matt.

"But these people are Americans! How do you know them?" The young man appears quite perplexed that Mme Giry is connected with these troublemakers.

"Let me introduce you to Monsieur Mercier," she turns and points to Erik who is standing there, steaming and glowering. Not the best first impression. The young man gulps. Mme Giry notices, so she hurries on with her explanation. "Monsieur Mercier was in America for a very_, very_ long time…"

I suppress a grin when I realize she's trying to make sure the policeman does not connect this masked man with the Phantom of the Opera.

"…and he was very successful there with his business," she continues without batting an eye at her playing a bit fast and loose with the facts. "He has recently returned to France and purchased a chateau and estate near Paris. These are his friends from America, and they are guests at the chateau. Monsieur Mercier is _also_ a friend of mine who I knew many, many years ago before he journeyed to America." Then she adds matter-of-factly, "I have had the pleasure of making acquaintance with all the Americans. They are very fine people. I am sure there has been some mistake here."

"Well, since they are your friends, I am very sorry to inform you that there is no mistake here. They have created a civil disturbance."

"How?" Erik growls, "How did they do such a thing?" He can no longer remain quiet. Horatio and I exchange nervous glances.

"Monsieur Mercier, it appears that the young lady with the dark hair intervened in matters between a married couple."

"Matters? What matters?" Erik snarls.

"Well, I was told that a husband had found his wife working as a clerk in a store. She had run away several weeks ago, and he, of course, was demanding that she return with him to their home. The young lady interfered in this matter between a husband and wife."

"Rene, what do you mean by interfered?" Madame Giry asks the very question that is on my mind.

"I have been informed that the young wife was objecting to being forced to go with her husband, and the dark-haired women shut the door of the shop and stood in front of it, apparently trying to block the husband from leaving with his wife," the young man speaks slowly, as if he's trying to remember all the things he has been told and put them into some cogent order.

"I have not yet been able to find out exactly how it started, but a fight broke out between the husband and that man over there, the American," he points to Joe. "The husband was knocked out. He has already been taken to the office of a local doctor. We were called, of course, and when we arrived were told that the young woman had instigated the confrontation, and that the man who was with her had rendered the husband quite unconscious."

He looks apologetically at Mme Giry, "Well, I had no choice but to arrest them for disturbance of the peace. When I took the young woman into custody, the man tried to prevent it. I apologize that one of our young policemen appears to have overreacted. He hit the American in the head with his gun butt. That is what rendered him in the condition you see."

Then he points to Grace, "And, the other American woman seems to also object to being arrested. She has now assaulted four of my men with her horrible kick." With an incredulous shake of his head, he asks, "Is that what they teach women to do in America?"

If this weren't so serious, I'd laugh. How do you explain Grace? Or modern American women? It would definitely be lost in the translation.

"Then what you are telling me is that the American woman was simply trying to keep the husband from taking his wife who did not want to go with him?" Mme Giry is beginning her defense of Laura's actions.

"Apparently, yes."

Erik's chilling voice cuts in, "How did she get the injury to her head?"

"I don't know. She had it when we arrived. She was not part of the fight between the men. I really don't know how that happened." The police officer frowns as if he was just thinking about that for the first time.

"And, you say that the men got into a fight. Do you know who started it?" Mme Giry sagely undermines the officer's assumptions about what happened.

"Well, no I don't."

"Who told you about what happened?" Mme Giry's questions are making headway. The young man's taking longer to answer her questions, as if he's beginning to doubt what he's been told.

"Well, frankly, it was two of the friends of the husband. They told me when he was being carried away to the doctor's office."

"So, they were not exactly impartial witnesses, were they officer?" Erik's tone is knife sharp.

The young man looks down at his feet, thoughtfully considering what's being suggested. "Perhaps not."

"Rene, how is your sister doing? Is her child beginning to walk?" Mme Giry asks. Now that was out of left field. What's this all about, I wonder.

"Marie is doing very well, and her little boy is not only walking, he is climbing. He climbs on everything! He keeps her very busy!" The young officer replies with a warm smile.

"I am so glad to hear that! Is she still living with your parents in the country?"

"Yes. And, she has become a seamstress. She is very good at it and has gained a good reputation for her work."

"It makes my heart very happy to hear that! Please tell her when you see her next time that I send my love. I hope to visit her in the spring."

"Yes, she would like that very much. If it hadn't been for you…" he looks uneasily over at the three of us men who are hanging onto every word and dying to know where this personal exchange is heading. Personally, I think Mme Giry has something up her black taffeta sleeve.

After a pause, the young man continues, "well, you know. If it hadn't been for you, she may not be alive. We will be forever in your debt."

Bingo! That's what Mme Giry's getting at. She's done something for this young man's sister, and the family is very appreciative, even 'indebted.' I have a feeling Mme Giry's about to call in that favor.

"Well, I was very happy I could be there to help Marie. As I would help any woman in such circumstances," then she lowers her voice, making it gently persuasive, "I suspect that was what the young American woman was trying to do. She was trying to help a young woman. Now she is arrested and sitting in your police wagon." When we hear Mme Giry's words, Erik and I turn our heads in the other direction, confirming that Laura has indeed been put into the wagon. Erik takes a step forward, so Horatio and I have to tighten our grasp of his arm. The energy broiling off him now is palpable.

"But this was different, this was the woman's husband who was bringing her home."

"You said the young lady did not want to go. My friend is from America, she does not know our laws, our society. I think she was trying to do the same thing for this woman that I did for your sister! You could not blame her for that, now could you?" Well, Mme Giry has made a very good case. All eyes are on the young man who is shifting from one foot to the next, still looking down, wrestling with his professional duties and his personal feelings.

After many tense moments, he looks up and announces, "Mme Giry, I am in your debt. I will grant your request. I will release the young lady and not press any charges against the three Americans."

"Oh! Thank you!" Mme Giry gushes and beams.

"But, a word of advice," the young man is now pulling himself up to his full height and reaffirming his authority, "perhaps you should have a talk with your American friends and explain our customs in France. They may not be so fortunate the next time." He adds with a knowing grin, "The next time the police officer in charge may not have had a sister whose life you saved."

Rene then turns to the policeman who had been standing a couple feet behind him and orders him to go and inform the police to release Grace and Joe. I chuckle. They never really quite had Grace in their custody.

Horatio looks over at me and asks, "You can take it from here, right?"

"Yes!"

With a brief pause to thank Mme Giry, Horatio hurries over to Grace and Joe with the policeman. Grace rushes into Horatio's arms, and they embrace, totally ignoring all the stunned onlookers. I see that Matt has bandaged Joe's head, and Joe appears to be conscious, although he's still lying on the ground.

The young police officer regards Mme Giry, Erik and me, and directs, "Please accompany me. I will order the young woman released."

Finally I let go of Erik's arm, relieved that the worst is over. Arriving at the police wagon, Rene snaps his orders smartly and authoritatively, to make clear that he will broach no challenges to his decision. A police officer unlocks the door on the wagon and opens it. Laura emerges with a stunned expression, her eyes blinking from the sudden bright daylight. Erik reaches up to help her step down. When she reaches the ground, Erik leans down and wraps his arms around her waist, trying to pull her to him and hold her in his arms. It doesn't happen. She cries out in pain.

"Laura! Where does it hurt?" Erik's voice is thoroughly agonized.

"Every where!" One of Laura's hands rests on her side, and the other holds a handkerchief to the gash over her eyebrow. She has wiped the blood off her cheeks, but some of it has dried in her hair, sticking it to her temple. Purple discolors her forehead and eyelid which is already swollen. It's heart wrenching to see her looking so pathetic and so very much in pain. Erik is dying to hold her, but dares not, so he leans down and tenderly kisses her on the forehead…the uninjured side. Then, placing his hand delicately on her back, he escorts her back to our carriage.

At the carriage, Erik carefully assists Laura up the steps, asking where he can touch her where it won't hurt. It's a laborious process, but Laura's finally settled into the carriage. Erik follows, sitting next to her on the seat, and Mme Giry sits across from Laura.

Before I get into the coach, Horatio calls out for me to wait a minute, and I turn around as Matt and he run up to me. Matt wastes no time and bounds past me, up into the carriage to check on Laura.

I ask Horatio the question that I've been dreading, "How's Joe? Will he be alright?"

"Yes, I think he'll be fine! Matt checked him over, and in addition to the cut on his forehead, he has a concussion. We'll know for sure by tomorrow, but Matt thinks he'll come out of this with no residual effects." Despite this news, Horatio seems distracted.

"What's up?"

"Well, we've hired that carriage over there and placed Joe on one of the seats so he can lie down on the way back. Matt will ride with him, to keep tabs on his condition." Then he shakes his head, "Grace is going to ride in the carriage with Matt. She has a bit of a sprained ankle," then looking sideways at me with a knowing grin, "apparently those 19th century boots aren't conducive to karate kicks."

Sympathetically, I reply, "I'm sorry about Grace's ankle. But, I confess, I'm sorry, too for the four policemen!" We both laugh for the first time since this furor began.

"Well, at any rate, Grace wants me to be with her on the trip back, so I'm riding in that carriage."

Why does this not surprise me? "Yeah, I understand." Before I can add anything else, Matt steps out of the carriage and gives his report to Horatio.

"Laura has a gash over her eye, and it's swelling, but I don't think she has a concussion or any permanent damage to her eye. What I'm more concerned about is that she may have a bruised or possibly even cracked rib. She was pushed down, and I suspect she has other bruises, too," the concerned tone in Matt's voice is matched by the distressed glint of anger in his eyes.

"Good God, man, what happened to her?" Horatio blurts out.

"I don't know the details. Only that the man hit her and knocked her over. She fell against a counter, and that's when I think she cracked some ribs. She's in a lot of pain, and I don't have any medicine with me," Matt runs his hands through his hair, frustrated that he can't do more for Laura now.

"I didn't bring a medical kit into Paris today," then with an exasperated grimace, Matt adds, "I thought all we'd be doing is shopping. I'll never make this mistake again. Wherever I go, my kit goes with me!"

"Well, it appears that Erik is not the only one who'll be creating unexpected excitement for us," Horatio pointedly glances from Matt to me, "Laura's having adjustment problems to the 19th century, and I think she's going to have trouble playing the prim little lady."

"But Horatio, Laura's a fighter," Matt's voice has an unusual edge, "She defended people and took on damn dangerous cases, too. I saw what she did in her law practice. How would we feel if we were suddenly told to ignore everything we knew, forget and walk away from all our training and abilities, all the things we care about? Just how would _we_ feel?"

Horatio and I stare at Matt. He isn't known for outbursts. He's usually cool and calm, but there's raw emotion underlying his words. I'm beginning to wonder if he'll ever get over Laura.

Pointedly changing the subject, Horatio slaps my back, "Well let's get this show on the road. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner we're back at the chateau, the better. I've had all the excitement for one day that I can stand."

As I watch Horatio and Matt trot off to the other coach, a nagging gut feeling tells me that this day's excitement might not be over yet. I'm wondering what Erik's going to feel about what happened to Laura. I wonder if he'll have unfinished business with a man who dared to hit her. As I climb into the coach, I wonder what will happen next.

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Thank you for my brilliant editor, Phanna!!


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N: I apologize that this did not get posted yesterday, but it wasn't because I didn't try!! I started early in the afternoon and continued into evening, but it would not post because they were doing work on the website. Although it is a temporary inconvenience to both the writer and readers, I do appreciate that they have been making improvements, which have made it easier for the authors to post the stories, as well as edit and track them.**

**Thank yous and pink cupcakes to each of you who have been writing such thoughtful and detailed reviews! Each one is read by me and passed on to the editors!! We truly appreciate your taking the time to let us know your thoughts about our story.**

**So...now...Erik has Laura safe with him, but has the dust really settled? **

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**CHAPTER 55**** The Point of No Return, Part 2, by Phanfan**

_Paris and Chateau Mercier_

_December 26, 1871_

_Jeremy's POV:_

I take my seat next to Madame Giry and directly across from Erik. Looking out the window, I see the carriage carrying Horatio, Grace, Matt and the unconscious Joe pull around us, heading back to the chateau. Our carriage lurches forward, following closely behind.

No one speaks. Instead, Erik, Madame Giry and I stare at Laura who is nestled in the corner, her head leaning back, resting on the top edge of the cushion. Her eyes are closed as one hand continues to hold a handkerchief over her wounded forehead. The handkerchief she holds is evidently not the blood-filled one I saw when she was walking to our carriage. This one is cleaner, and there's only a blood stain where it touches the wound, which has not yet stopped bleeding.

Laura looks terrible. Her hair is strewn around her face and shoulders, tangled and bloody near her injured forehead. A darkening bruise is already encircling her eye, visible beyond the covering handkerchief. The bodice of her dress is torn on one side, and the lace at the bottom of her skirt is hanging off and stained.

Erik sits next to her, his anger barely contained. He studies her with a look of helplessness, evidently not knowing what to say or do under these totally unexpected, almost bizarre circumstances. Of all people, who would have thought that Laura would be in the middle of, in fact, the cause of, a knock-down, drag-out brawl? But then, Laura has always been a fighter of sorts. Good grief, she stepped in front of a bullet and saved Erik's life. I'm beginning to suspect that she may be a lot more feisty than any of us realized, and I'll have double duty trying to keep her out of trouble as well. I suppress a grin as it occurs to me what a pair Erik and Laura are making. Good God! Heaven help me!

As the carriage rattles through the congested streets of Paris, we remain silent, letting Laura rest. The loud clacking and clanging of the wheels of passing carriages, as well as people calling out and talking on the sidewalks is noise enough. So, each of us is left to our own thoughts.

I look over at Madame Giry. She's surreptitiously watching Erik. Her face does not hide her grave concern. She knows Erik very well, and I can only imagine what she's thinking about his reactions to this hellacious situation. Actually, I feel the same. I'm very worried about what Erik will do.

I've always suspected that Erik eliminated Buquet because he'd become a threat to Christine or Meg or the women in the opera house. I know Erik is very protective of the women around him. I still think he made that trip from the dome of the opera house to the flies above the stage and took care of Buquet himself. But, I will never tell anyone of my suspicions. I still wonder if I'll ever know for sure. At any rate, I also have grave concern about what Erik will do about a man who has actually assaulted Laura. Somehow I don't think the man who struck Laura will get away without a visit from a vengeful phantom. And, I don't think I'm going to get much sleep for the next couple days…and nights.

I can't help but feel sorry for Erik. He sits next to Laura, holding her hand, his eyes full of pain and confusion. I have a gut feeling he's blaming himself for not being with her, to protect her. He turns her hand over and studies her palm. It has scratches across it, and the skin is scraped away under the thumb. That probably happened when she put her hand out to break the fall when she was pushed down. Then, as if totally oblivious that Madame Giry and I are watching, Erik lifts her palm to his lips and kisses it gently. For the first time, a tiny smile flickers across Laura's mouth. I look out the window, embarrassed that I witnessed their intimate moment.

I continue gazing out the window to give them some privacy. Soon we're at the edge of the city and leave the paved roads, crossing over to the more bumpy dirt roads of the countryside. We haven't gone a mile when the carriage hits a rut in the road, jarring all of us and throwing us up off our seats slightly. Laura lets out a yell of pain. Erik goes ballistic and hammers his fist on the coach ceiling, yelling out, "Damn you, slow down and do not hit any more ruts!"

"Sorry, Monsieur Mercier," we dimly hear the driver's nervous voice, "I will be more careful."

The carriage immediately slows to half the previous speed, and when we go around a curve in the road, I can see that the carriage with the other group is now well ahead of us. Bending over and opening the small compartment door on the front side of the bench between Madame Giry and me, I remove two pistols and set them between us on the seat. Madame Giry gives me a questioning look, and I explain, "Just in case."

"What?" Startled, Laura's eyes pop open.

Realizing that I had spoken in French, I quickly switch to English and point down at the guns, "Just in case."

Laura asks anxiously, "What do you mean by that, Jeremy?"

"Well, everyone else is in the other coach, which is now quite a ways ahead, so I just want to be ready in case we run into any trouble."

"What kind of trouble would that be?" I was hoping she wouldn't ask that.

"Well, according to the police, the man that did that to you got messed up a bit by Joe. That man had friends hanging around. I just want to be ready in case they decide to follow us and cause trouble."

Laura lowers her head and looks down at her lap, clearly distraught. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring all of this on you." Tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

Dismay etched in his expression, Erik asks, "What happened?" then lifts her hand and gives it another kiss, "Please tell me."

Laura begins slowly, hesitantly, "While Grace was finishing her purchases at the soap shop, I went ahead, across the street to the millinery shop. I was trying on hats when this man barged in and began yelling at the shop clerk. I soon realized she was his wife, but he was jabbing her in the shoulder with his fist, threatening her."

"There was a policeman standing just outside the shop, so I ran out and asked him to please go in and help the woman." Shaking her head in disbelief, "he said he would not, that it was a matter between a husband and his wife. He said that he was there to help the man retrieve his wife who had run away several weeks before. Then, we heard her scream in pain, and I just knew he'd hit her. I was shocked!" Laura's voice is now shaking with emotion, "I went back into the store to see if I could help."

"What did you think you could do?" Erik seems puzzled at Laura's reaction. I'm not. I can guess where this is going.

"I didn't know, exactly. I just knew I had to try! I couldn't stand by and see a woman beaten or forced against her will!" Laura's anguished voice is heartbreaking to hear. "So, when I went into the store, I saw the man actually holding his wife by her hair and dragging her from behind the counter. And, it was plain to see that she was expecting!! She must have been at least four or five months' pregnant, and he was manhandling her!"

"How is it that he hit you, Laura?" Erik's voice is soft but I can tell he's trying to control his emotions.

"Well, I was standing just inside the door, next to the counter. The man stopped in front of me and told me to get out of his way. He was yelling at me in French, and I couldn't understand everything he was saying. I tried to say that he should be careful, that his wife was with child and hitting her was dangerous to her and the baby."

Madame Giry lets out a small gasp and shifts in the seat next to me. "What did he do when you said that?" she asks gently.

"Well, that's when he hit me. His fist came at me so fast I didn't have time to duck. I just remember seeing the blur of his hand and the large gold ring on his finger. It had a large stone in the center. That's what hit my forehead and cut it open," she pauses for a moment to steady her quavering voice. "He hit me so hard that it slammed me against the sharp corner of the counter. I reached out to break the fall, and that's when I scraped my hand on the wood floor."

"What! Are you kidding? You mean he sucker-punched you?" I'm astonished.

"Sucker punch? What does that mean?" Erik's eyebrow is low and menacing over his uncovered eye.

"It means that the man hit Laura with no warning, before she was prepared or could defend herself."

Broiling anger begins to roll off Erik, and he says with a hiss, "I will take care of this."

"No, Erik! Please!" Laura suddenly realizes what Erik intends to do.

Erik shakes his head and reassures her, "Don't worry about it. I know what must be done."

"No, you must not do anything! Please don't seek revenge! Not for my sake! It must end here!" Laura searches Erik's face, but we can all see the set of his jaw. He has definitely made up his mind.

"It is not for you to worry about." Erik's voice is gentle, but he is clearly rebuffing her request. This is not going well.

"Erik, promise me you won't go after this man! I don't want any more trouble." Laura's voice is nothing less than pleading.

"You must let me take care of this," Erik's voice is now stern. "You are no longer living in the future." Erik actually pats Laura's hand. "I will handle this as is befitting of our customs. That man needs a lesson."

"But won't the police take care of it? Won't they charge him with assaulting me?" Laura is desperate now.

"No, they will not!" Erik's now beginning to lose his cool.

"Why?"

"Because the man was not at fault."

"What do you mean, the 'man was not at fault'?"

"Well, he was in his legal right to get his wife back, even if by force."

"So hitting me was not wrong?"

"Yes, of course, that was wrong, and he will pay for it! I will make sure of that! But, under our laws, he was within his rights to take his wife with him, and you were interfering." Uh-oh. Erik just put his foot firmly in his mouth. Sometimes it's not good to be quite so blunt with the truth.

Laura's eyes are now as big as saucers. I'm holding my breath, wondering where this is going and having a very, very bad feeling about it.

"_I_ was interfering?" The shock in Laura's voice tells me Erik is in deep, deep trouble.

"Well, actually, yes," Erik clearly hasn't learned yet how to hold his tongue, and he's digging the hole deeper, "you stepped into a private matter between a husband and his wife."

"Private matter? But it was happening in a very _public_ place!" Laura is clearly incredulous at this statement.

"Yes, but nonetheless, it was a private matter," Erik is trying to soothe Laura who he now seems to think just needs a lesson in 19th century culture. Boy oh boy, is he wrong.

"Erik! He was hitting her and dragging her by the hair! How is that a matter just between a husband and wife?! That's physical abuse!" Laura's voice rises a decibel. Not a good sign.

"You see, a wife does not have the right to run away from her husband and her home, which is what this woman had done. So, he was trying to bring her back," Erik seems to think he's explaining this logically.

"But, she didn't want to go, and based on what I witnessed, I don't blame her! He was a monster! Why should she have to go back to a husband who is abusive?" Laura's mouth is hanging open now, somewhere between total disbelief and shock.

"I know that seems very wrong to you, coming from the future," Erik is now beginning to understand that this isn't going well, "but at this time, the law and the custom is that the husband is the head of the house. A wife must do what he bids." The queasy feeling in my gut tells me that Erik is winning the battle of cultural correctness, but going to lose a much more important war.

"Really?!" Laura's sarcastic retort tells me there's trouble coming like a head-on collision.

"Well, yes, that is the way it is. Regretfully, of course." Erik is now trying to soothe Laura's obviously ruffled feathers. "So, the police will not file any charges or take any action against him. He will be considered to be in his right to retrieve his wife, and you were blocking that, so there will be no charges against him."

"And, is that how you see what happened? Do you think I was in the wrong?" Laura asks testily. Now _those_ are loaded questions. I hope Erik considers his answers very carefully. I wish I could kick him to give him a forewarning, but everyone would see me do it. This may be the 19th century, and Erik might be right about the current law and customs, but Laura is a 21st century woman, and she cannot shed all her feelings and beliefs in the two weeks she's been here.

"As unjust as it may seem to you, and as unjust as it may very well be, that is the current law and the socially accepted custom," Erik answers unwittingly.

"I _see_!" Laura's tone says it all, train wreck straight ahead. "Well, if a husband can do whatever he wishes with his wife, including beating her, as far as I'm concerned, I would never, ever, marry under those circumstances!" Crash!

I look over at Erik, who's staring at Laura. As her words sink in, I can see the blood drain from his face until the uncovered side is as white as the side with the mask.

Laura then slips her hand out from Erik's and leans back into the corner of the coach, turning her head away and looking out the window.

Erik looks helplessly across at Madame Giry who shakes her head sadly. All I can think of is that Erik is sitting there, with the engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket, and Laura just declared she will never marry under the laws as they now, undeniably stand. Poor Erik!

The remainder of the trip to the chateau has a distinct arctic chill about it, and not just from the December weather, which is rapidly turning windy and threatening a storm. Laura continues to look out the window, her back to Erik, and he sits in abject misery. Madame Giry keeps looking at both of them, with deep sympathy pouring from her expression.

Just as I think matters cannot get any worse, they do. When we pull up to the château, Matt is standing there, waiting for us. The other carriage isn't in sight, so I assume they have arrived well ahead of us, and Joe has already been carried to his room, and Horatio no doubt is busy taking care of Grace.

As soon as the carriage comes to a halt, Matt throws open the door and reaches in to help Laura out. Before Erik can do anything, Matt's assisting Laura down the carriage steps, and as soon as she touches ground, takes her arm, gently escorting her into the chateau.

Erik quickly gets out of the carriage and turns to help Madame Giry. By the time I've also exited, Matt and Laura have disappeared through the front door. I call out to Louis, the driver, and ask him to bring in all the packages. Then, I turn and follow Erik and Madame Giry into the house. We catch up with Laura and Matt half way up the stairwell. Erik's shoulders are stiff with resentment as he observes Matt supporting Laura while she laboriously climbs the stairs.

When we reach Laura's room, Matt and Madame Giry go in with her, but when Erik tries to follow, Laura's maid, Jean, steps in the way and gives him a disapproving wag of her finger. She explains it's not proper for him to be in Laura's room, whereas Matt is known to be a doctor. Erik snorts his frustration, but leaves.

I stand outside Laura's door, watching Erik pace endlessly, seething. We can hear the wind rattling the shutters on the stained glass windows in the stairwell nearby as the storm begins its assault on the château. A servant scuttles fearfully past us, as he lights the candles in the hallway sconces at dusk. I wonder if he's reacting to the storm or to Erik's foul mood.

Then the door to Grace's room opens, and Horatio steps into the hallway. Erik's eyebrow shoots up, but he doesn't comment.

"How's Laura doing?" Horatio asks with a worried tone.

"We don't know yet. Matt has only been in there about fifteen minutes, and we don't have his report yet."

Horatio watches Erik pace back and forth several times, assessing his state of mind. "Erik, I'm sorry about what happened to Laura. But, I know Matt will take good care of her."

Erik comes to a dead stop, looks at Horatio and says nothing. He just turns and continues wearing out the path back and forth in front of Laura's door.

I try to draw Horatio's attention away from Erik, asking, "How's Grace doing?"

"She's much better. Her ankle is bandaged and propped up. She'll be fine in a couple days!"

"Good!" I smile for the first time, "I'm glad to hear that."

Horatio then turns and goes back into Grace's bedroom. When the door shuts behind him, Erik stops his pacing next to me and asks, "How does _he_ get away with being in Grace's room?"

I shake my head, "Well, because there are no servants around to witness it. Good timing."

I see a glint in Erik's eyes, then he turns away and resumes pacing. I try to decide which is driving Erik more crazy: Laura's injury, their argument, or Matt's being in her room tending to her and Erik being excluded. Taken altogether, this is a huge blow for Erik, but so far he hasn't gone _totally_ phantom. I keep hoping he won't.

Finally after almost an hour, the door opens and Matt emerges into the hallway. Erik storms over to him and demands, "How is Laura? Why has it taken so long?"

Matt seems taken aback for a minute at Erik's abruptness, then responds calmly, "Well, Laura is in a lot pain. I examined her," I notice Erik wince when Matt says this, "and I can't be certain without doing an x-ray, but I think her ribs are just bruised and not cracked. They'll be very tender for two or three weeks. I've told her not to wear her corset for the next several days."

"I used a butterfly bandage on the cut on her forehead, and then covered it with a typical 19th century bandage so that the servants won't question it. That should allow it to heal with only a very fine scar," Matt sighs regretfully, and adds, "It will fade with time, but probably never go away totally. The bruise around her eye and cheek are rather large and turning quite a nasty black and blue. I gave her a sedative and painkiller, and she's now sleeping soundly. She'll need to be kept very quiet and in bed for the next several days."

Erik listens to Matt's diagnosis, his fists clenching open and closed.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I did everything I could," Matt seems to feel that Erik is mad at him. And, that could very well be part of it.

"Yes, thank you. I am sure you did your best," Erik gives Matt a formal nod and turns on his heel, heading for Laura's door. He enters without knocking, and I follow right behind, wondering what he's going to do next. Halfway across the room, Jean steps in front of him, shocked at the intrusion.

"Monsieur Mercier, you should not come into Mademoiselle's private room!" she protests futilely. Erik walks past her without a glance and strides over to Laura's bed.

Madame Giry is sitting in a chair next to the bed, obviously keeping a vigil over Laura. She stands when Erik approaches, and also admonishes him, "Erik, you should not be here. Laura is asleep. There is nothing you can do for her right now."

Erik also ignores Madame Giry and doesn't stop until he's at Laura's bedside. I stand at the foot of the bed, watching Erik, hoping he'll contain himself. That's when I see the look on his face. Laura is dressed in white, just like in the hospital, and her quilt is also white. Erik's face goes ashen, as his expression reflects a dread that tells me he's remembering all those days when he watched Laura dying.

He reaches out and takes her bandaged hand, stroking it gently and gazing into her sleeping face. I have never seen a man so in love and so bereft. I say nothing and step back, fading into the shadows. Erik just stands and looks down at Laura for many minutes, then Madame Giry puts her hand on his shoulder and whispers, "I think it is time for you to go and get some rest. Laura will be fine. She is _not_ going to die."

Erik leans over and gently kisses Laura's cheek, lingering there a moment. Then he turns and walks resolutely out the door. I nod my head in thanks to Madame Giry and follow Erik. He goes straight to his room and slams the door, shaking the ancient wooden frame.

I immediately knock on Grace's door, and Horatio opens it.

"We've got a problem," I waste no time.

"Yes?"

"I think we need to put a close guard on Erik tonight. We need someone posted in the hallway, as well as someone posted downstairs in the underground rooms in case he uses the hidden stairwell and tries to leave the château through the tunnel. I'm afraid he may go after the man who hit Laura."

"I see," Horatio rubs his chin. "Let's have Russ guard the underground room, you take the tower duty so you can watch in case he goes out over the balcony, and I'll stay here in the hallway tonight."

I realize that allows Horatio to also be near Grace, "Yes, that sounds like the best plan," I agree with a knowing grin. "I'll go and relieve Russ right now so he can get down to the underground rooms right away!"

"Fine!"

Racing up to the rooftop, I relieve Russ and send him to his guard duty, below. Luckily the tower is on the side of the château above Erik's balcony, so I take refuge there as the wind howls around me and the winter rain pours down.

I won't be making rounds on the perimeter of the rooftop tonight. I'll only stand in this one spot, watching in case Erik tries to go over his balcony. Looking at the cold blackness of the storm, I pray that I won't have to take a midnight ride tonight.

_Laura's POV: _

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The drumbeat won't stop. I pull myself out of the depths of enfolding darkness, struggling to wake up. My head seems to be hammering, and I keep hearing an incessant beat like a drum.

Coming out of the swirling pool of unconsciousness, I become aware of the sound of rain pummeling the windows, and the wind battering the shutters against the stone walls. I rub my forehead, only to discover it's covered by a bandage. Even my hand has a white bandage, and suddenly everything that happened floods back into my mind.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Why is there such an incessant pounding? I remember that Matt gave me a sedative. Maybe that's why I keep hearing this noise. I turn my head and gaze toward the fireplace, only to discover that the fire has burnt down to a small blaze with flickering embers. I must have slept for several hours now.

The thumping happens again, and I realize it isn't caused by my headache. I wait for several moments, and it repeats again. This time I'm able to focus on the direction the sound is coming from—the French doors that open onto the balcony. Someone must be knocking on them, but who would be out in this storm?

Then it dawns on me! It must be Erik! I struggle to sit up, pausing to let the room stop spinning. When it does, I pull back the quilt and swing my legs slowly over the edge. I look down for my slippers, but don't see them anywhere. Easing my bare feet down onto the carpet, I reach over and pick my robe off the chair next to my bed. I carefully wrap the silk garment around me, but don't put my arms in the sleeves. My side hurts too much, and I don't want to move any more than necessary.

Walking slowly over to the French doors, I pull back the heavy drapes and try to see out. The night is pitch black and the torches that usually light the outside of the château have blown out. All I can see is a dark figure in a hooded cloak that whips wildly in the wind and rain. I take a step closer and reach out to unlock the latch on my door. At that very moment, the wind whips the hood off, and there's no white mask on the face that looks back at me.

Oh my God! It's not Erik!

I take a step back. My knees begin to wobble and give way under me just as the dark, foreboding figure pushes his shoulder against the door and breaks into my room.

My throat tightens as I try to scream but then a swirling pool of unconsciousness rises within and overtakes me as I collapse.


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N: Profuse Thank Yous and Pink Cupcakes to each of our reviewers!! You're all fabulous!! **

**Well...Erik is at his wit's end!! He is stewing and fuming! And...just who is breaking into Laura's room?! **

**Hang on! Roller coaster ride--just ahead!!**

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****Chapter 56, Down Once More, by Phanfan**

_December 26, 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Erik's POV:_

Boom! My bedroom door slams behind me, shuddering from the force of impact. My fury can no longer be controlled. I need to smash something. Resolutely passing through my bedroom and into the adjacent sitting room and parlor, I pick up an old urn off the mantle and throw it will all my might into the blazing fire, releasing some of my pent-up energy as I watch it shatter.

Then putting both hands on the mantle, I lean forward and look down, breathing heavily and watching the fire lap at the glazed surface of the broken pieces, sending up colorful sparks.

I cannot believe this is happening…_again_. Images of Christine in a wedding dress and Raoul tied to the portcullis replay in my mind. Memories of Christine taunt me. Once more I am back there, sitting in my chamber in the lair, and she is putting the ring in my hand, then backing away and leaving, grasping Raoul closer as she stands in the boat just before they disappear from sight.

This _cannot_ happen again! The image of Matt holding Laura, helping her up the stairs haunts me. Knowing that he was with her, touching her, taking care of her is agonizing. And, Laura declared she will not marry under the circumstances of our current law and customs! Or does that mean she will only marry a man from the 21st century who comes from her culture? Or never marry at all? Mon Dieu!

I know Laura! I know how strong-willed she is. Perhaps she intends to leave France now, to travel to the east coast of America! Perhaps she plans to obtain a college degree there so she can teach! Or worse, perhaps she will take a ship to the west coast of America and study to be an attorney again. I have heard they allow women to become attorneys in the west. That was always an absurdity, a joke here in France. Another peculiar American oddity. But I know Laura. She would do that. Looking up at the twin urn at the other end of the mantelpiece, I grab it, smashing it violently into the fire.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How could I be so stupid? When Christine removed my mask the first time, it sent me into a rage! I called her a prying Pandora, a viper, even a little demon! That frightened her. I could see it in her face and no matter what I did after that, I could never overcome her fear of me.

All I had wanted to do was explain our society to Laura, so she would never again interfere between a husband and wife and put herself in jeopardy as she did today. I was terrified that she might have gone to prison. She could not even imagine what that would be like, what would happen to her there! I was just trying to explain that she should not interfere in such matters, that she would be considered to be the one in the wrong, and that _she_ could be the one arrested and placed in that vile, despicable place!

When I assured her that I would take care of this, she even objected to that! Why does she not understand that is how these matters are handled? Men deal with such affairs between themselves, privately. I will pay a visit to that repugnant excuse for a man! He needs a lesson, and I will be the one to administer it to him. He will answer for what he did to Laura! Reflecting back, however, it is undeniable that what I said made matters worse. But what should I have said?

The tongues of fire have now almost consumed the broken pottery, and I turn around and begin pacing the length of the sitting room. Thinking. What can I do?

Walking up and down, across the thick Persian carpets, past the ornately carved tables and richly upholstered settees and chairs, I ponder the differences between Christine and Laura.

Christine cared for me as long as I sang to her and wore the mask, presenting an elegant façade. She loved my music and my lavishly furnished lair with all the golden candelabras.

But she could not understand the trauma she caused when she took off my mask. Laura always understood. The first time we met in her office, I thought Laura was reaching up to remove it, and I turned reflexively, hitting her accidentally, just as I had done that first time with Christine. But Laura did not cry or back off or fear me because of my instinctive reaction. She stood her ground, looked back at me with those beautiful, dark, compassionate eyes…those eyes that reflect her soul.

Over and over Christine fled from me, but Laura never did. Instead, Laura stepped in front of the bullet intended for me and saved my life, sacrificing her own.

My offer of love and a life of sharing our music was not enough for Christine. Christine chose Raoul who provided her with security, social status and wealth. The ultimate irony is now that I have those things to give —security, social status and wealth—they are not important to Laura. She has always accepted me for who I am, and I have no doubt she loves me. But, Laura clearly wants something else, something more. What is that? I must find out! This is surely the key to what is separating us from each other!

I hear noise in the hallway. My sitting room occupies the entire end of the second floor, and has its own entrance to the central corridor, but I rarely use it. Going to that door, I open it slightly to see what is happening in the hallway. Matt is knocking on Laura's door. Horatio stands next to him, and they are talking quietly to each other. After a minute Antoinette opens the door, and Matt enters Laura's room…again!

I shut the door, turn around and continue striding back and forth across the sitting room, listening for the sound of the door to open and close, signaling that Matt has left Laura's room. He remains in her room for ten grueling minutes, and when I hear him leave, it does nothing for my mood.

In frustration, I stop in front of the glass-front secretary and open its doors, taking out a bottle of wine and crystal goblet. I drink a glassful in several gulps and then begin pacing again, thinking, trying to devise a plan that will heal this breach between Laura and me. On occasion I pause in front of the doors that open onto my balcony and watch the storm raging outside. Time seems to have stopped. When will this agony end? Then the sound of Laura's door shutting again can be heard.

I rush over and open the door of my sitting room in time to see Antoinette walking toward the stairwell, going to her room for the night.

"Antoinette!"

She stops and turns around wearily, smiling when she sees me. For some reason, Horatio is sitting on a chair in the corridor. I motion for her to come to my room, and when she steps in, I shut the door so we can have a private conversation.

"How is Laura?"

"She is sleeping soundly," she puts her hand gently on my forearm, "There is no need for you to worry."

"Has she awakened since I saw her?"

"No."

"Why was Matt in her room again?"

"He came to check on her. He confirmed she has no fever. The sedative is doing its work, and she is sleeping peacefully," she softly chides, "so there is no need for you to worry."

"But I _am_ worried!" I cannot keep my anguish out of my voice, "You heard what Laura said! She will not marry under the circumstances of our laws and customs!"

Rubbing my forehead to ease my pounding headache, I gaze down at Antoinette and confess everything. "I picked up her engagement ring from the jeweler today just before I came to your apartment. I was going to propose tonight. Antoinette! What am I going to do?"

"Ah, I suspected something like that was in the air. I could see the effect her words had," Antoinette shakes her head, but unbelievably, she smiles. "Well, this I know. Laura loves you and you love her. You belong together. But, Laura comes from a very different culture. You were in the future much longer than I and saw what women were able to do! Especially Laura!"

Then, patting my hand, she asks, "Would Laura ask you to stop writing or playing your music?"

"No, of course, not!"

"Well, you cannot ask Laura to stop being who she is!"

"But how? How do I talk to her about these things considering what she said to me? Considering that she has turned away from me…" I cannot get the rest of the words out my mouth, _and to Matt_.

"That is not as difficult as you may think. You and Laura are both very strong-willed and stubborn. Approaching her that way will get you nowhere. But," and again she smiles knowingly, "persuasion, friendly, gentle, loving persuasion will cut through the ice that is between you like a warm knife through butter."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly! When did your storming, plotting and planning ever win over Christine?"

"But I still do not know what has disturbed Laura so much, what I said wrong. Surely she does not think that I would ever treat her as this man treated his wife?"

"Has it ever occurred to you just to ask her? If you talk to her gently, do you not think she will tell you? Then you can discuss it and come to an understanding."

"Can it be so simple?"

"Have you tried yet?"

"No."

"Well, in the morning, when you both have rested and had a little time to reflect, why not try?"

I reach over and give Antoinette a grateful hug, placing a kiss on her forehead, "What would I ever have done without you in my life?"

"You have certainly added a lot of excitement to mine!" She laughs and walks to the door, turning for a last word, "Now, get some sleep. All will be well tomorrow!" Then she is gone.

But, I cannot sleep. My mind simply will not settle down. I pace for another hour, stopping for an occasional drink of wine. Just as the mantle clock chimes midnight, I hear the door to Laura's room open and close again. I open the door to the hallway just a crack, waiting to see who has gone in. A few minutes later Matt emerges from Laura's room along with Laura's maid, Jean. Jean goes down the stairwell, no doubt to her room in the servant's quarters, and Matt walks over to Horatio, stopping to chat. Uncontrollable anger again rises in me. Matt seems to be able to go into Laura's room and check on her whenever he wants and no one thinks anything of it!

I peel off my mask and rub my forehead where it was covered. My unrelenting headache seems to be getting worse. As I stroke my brow with one hand, trying to soothe the throbbing, I hold the white mask in the other. It seems to stare back at me, jeering at me, taunting me, telling me that unlike Matt, my face is not perfect. Why would any woman prefer me to an unblemished, handsome man? My temper again takes over, and I throw the mask across the room, smashing it against the stones above the fireplace.

_Horatio's POV:_

I nod to Matt when he comes out of Laura's room around midnight and ask briefly, "How's Joe doing?"

"Well, I'm keeping him awake tonight, as you know, because of that concussion he got. So, we're playing cards. He's got a whale of a headache, but otherwise he seems to be doing fine. I've put butterfly bandages on the cut, and like Laura, he'll have a slight scar," then he shakes his head and turns serious. "I doubt any of us will ever forget this day!"

"No! I know I'll never forget seeing Grace holding up her long skirts and using those high, lace-top boots to deliver well-placed karate kicks to those policemen!" I chuckle, "That definitely will remind me to stay on her good side!" We both laugh at that. It feels good to laugh after this day.

Just then we both hear the sound of a thud come from Erik's sitting room.

"What's that?" Matt looks up, startled.

"It's Erik. That's number three! I wonder what happens when he runs out of things to throw!" Although I'm making a joke out of this, I'm indeed worried about what Erik will do when he stops venting by throwing things. .

Matt stands for a minute, studying Erik's door, deep in thought. I wonder what _he's_ thinking. Then, he turns, nods good night to me and goes up the stairwell to the third floor to continue watching over Joe. I pick up my book, settle in for a long night on this worn out chair and continue reading.

I haven't read more than a chapter when I hear another crashing sound, much louder, only this time it's not from Erik's room. It's from Laura's. Throwing my book down, I spring to my feet and reach under my jacket, grabbing the gun that I always wear in a shoulder holster. Running the few steps to Laura's door, I throw it open.

There in the dim light cast from the fireplace on the other side of the room, I can make out the towering black cloaked figure of a man standing just a few feet inside the open doors to the balcony. What is worse, he's holding Laura who's leaning against him, apparently fainted. Instinctively I point my gun and yell out in French, "Halt! Right where you are! Or I'll blow your damn head off!"

The howling wind and rain pours through the open door, almost burying the low, guttural voice, "Horatio, it is I!"

Erik? Hell's bells! "What in damnation are you doing, man?"

"I just wanted to talk to Laura. I did not know you would come barging in…" Then he looks down and says pathetically, "…or that she would faint."

"This isn't the opera house, you know. You don't have to go sneaking and skulking around! You're the lord and master here. You could have just walked down the hallway and through her door."

"There always seem to be servants around!" He spits out between bared teeth.

"Just check the corridor before you come out of your room. I certainly wouldn't have stopped you!"

I walk over to the open French doors, and luckily they can still close. His breaking in only busted off the latch. I make a mental note to have the carpenter come and repair it tomorrow and install a much stronger one.

Turning around, I discover that Erik is standing there frozen, staring down into Laura's face. "Well, now what are you going to do?" I ask pointedly.

Erik looks around the room, then points to a large rocking chair in a corner. "Would you move that to the fireplace?"

I think I get the drift of where this is going. I move the chair in front of the fireplace, pointing it toward the fire.

"No, turn it sideways to the fireplace, with the right side away from the fire."

That seems like a strange request. When I look up at him to ask why, I notice that his hood is still covering his head, and he has pulled it over the right side of his face. I can't detect any white from his mask peaking out. That's when I realize he's not wearing it! "Erik! Where's your mask?"

"It is in my room and, uh, damaged."

"Really! What happened?"

"It fell into the fireplace."

"Fell?"

"It was an accident."

"Yes, I can imagine. Like all the 'accidental' crashes I heard tonight coming from your room!" I grin at him, definitely not wanting to let him easily off this hook! He doesn't respond, just glowers back at me. "Well, the rocker's in place, anything else I can do?"

"Yes, put a couple logs on the fire."

I do as he asks, using the poker to stoke up the fire to a comfortable blaze. As I walk over to the door, I ask, "Anything else?"

"Yes, stay out!"

"Even if I hear crashing sounds? Next time it might be Laura throwing things!"

"Get out!"

"Yep, I'm going." Just as I'm pulling the door closed, I lean in and look directly at him, "and, by the way, I'll keep out any busybody servants, too!" Then, with a grin, I add, "Good luck!"

_Laura's POV:_

Music invades the dark fog where I'm floating. A beautiful voice seems to be all around me. Not only can I hear it, I can _feel_ it. The low, resonant tones and melodies comfort me, but I also feel their vibrations moving through my body.

Where am I? I bring myself out of deep slumber, guided by the soothing voice that pulls me toward its entrancing, throaty sounds. Struggling to reach it, I slowly become more and more conscious, beginning to feel my body wrapped in soft warmth as the voice gently surrounds me. My hand reaches out, trying to hold onto something tangible. What I find is an arm, a strong arm, enfolding me.

My eyes pop open as I feel the super-fine wool of a coat sleeve. I realize I am being held by a man, and instantly panic returns as I remember the black figure that broke into my room. I let out a gasp of shock.

The beautiful voice I've been listening to abruptly stops, "Laura! It is me! You are safe!"

"Erik!" I quickly look around the room and realize I'm sitting on his lap, in the rocking chair near the fireplace. "But the man at the door…was not wearing a mask! What did you do to him?"

"I was the man at the door." With a strained voice, Erik continues, "I am not wearing my mask."

I hear these words and force myself to continue looking down, away from this face. Why would Erik not be wearing his mask? I have never seen him without it! The rocking chair resumes its movement back and forth, and the music begins again. It is _his_ voice. I have never heard him sing before, either. Nor has he ever before broken into my room. Nor have we ever argued until now. This has been a day filled with firsts. I don't know what to make of this as Erik holds me in his lap, rocking and singing to me.

I try to get my bearings. I am only wearing my nightgown, and I can feel Erik's arms around me, his hands resting on my waist. I look over toward the French doors. The wild wind and rain of the storm still beat noisily against them. My silk robe lies on the floor in front of the doors, and I remember now that I didn't put my arms in the sleeves, so the robe must have fallen off when I fainted.

On the floor nearby is Erik's black cloak, crumpled and lying in a puddle of water. He must have simply unbuttoned it and let it drop to the floor when he picked me up. Oh my God! That means he isn't wearing any hood or covering over his face. He had to know his face would be exposed when he took the cloak off. Does he mean for me to see his face? All I know is that until he gives me permission, I must not look into it.

Gazing down, I realize that Erik has thrown a shawl over me for warmth and modesty, and I pull it up to my chin. His angelic voice finishes the song, and his soft, moist lips brush my temple. Something about it feels strange. Then I realize I cannot feel the edge of his mask next to his lips, as always before.

"How do you feel, Laura?"

His words jolt me fully back to reality. "My head has a dull throbbing," I touch the bandage across my forehead, "but my side only hurts if I move it certain ways." I must look a fright with a black and blue bruise around my eye.

"Does your side hurt sitting this way?"

"No."

Erik continues rocking and holding me as silence descends again. My head rests on his chest, and I can hear his heart hammering. He's as nervous and as uncertain as I am. What's going to happen next?

Finally I decide to ask, "Why are you here?"

He tenses for a moment, then responds, "To be with you. To see how you are. Hopefully to talk with you," then with a gentle kiss to my forehead, "I could not stay away."

"I see." Then, again silence. He has initiated this, and I wait to see what he has to say.

"I know you are upset, even angry with me."

"Yes," I nod slightly.

"I want to apologize," then he kisses me on the cheek.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I wanted to say that I was a fool!"

Then he places several warm kisses along my neck. A shiver runs through me.

"Well, you certainly make it difficult for me to remain upset when you are kissing me like that!" I give him an impish smile.

"I am not a _complete_ fool!" I can feel his lips curl into a grin against my neck.

"You're not being fair!" I pull away slightly to prevent his kissing me again.

"Fair? I thought 'all is fair in love and war.' "

"Well, I can see you learn quickly, but we cannot sweep everything under the carpet and go on as if nothing happened!"

He leans back, and with a resigned voice, asks, "You are still upset at something I said."

"Yes, of course, I am!"

"Then, tell me what it is. I, too, must take my medicine."

"You said that I had interfered between that man and his wife. How is saying the truth and telling him that he should be careful not to physically harm his wife—especially when she is pregnant—interfering? To me, that is pointing out something he was overlooking callously and with great possible consequences to his wife and their unborn child. How can intervening to prevent serious harm be considered 'interfering'?"

"I meant only that you were interceding between a husband and wife, not that you were saying anything that was not just and true," his voice implores me to understand.

"But how can I stand by, saying and doing nothing when something so wrong, and so potentially dangerous to the woman and unborn child, is happening? How can I look away?"

These words seem to have a deep impact on Erik. Keeping the uncovered right side of his face turned away, his eye bores down into mine. I see his jaw clench, and then he says in a pained voice, "People have always looked away from _me_, shunned _me_. I know that you have never done that, but you have never seen _all_ of my face. I think perhaps now is the time. Laura, I want you to see my face, uncovered."

I place my hand on his chest and nod my head, "Yes, if that is what you wish."

Holding his breath, he turns his head slowly toward me and exposes the scarred side of his face. For the first time I see the lumps of tissue, red and twisted, on his cheek and forehead. I do not blink. I just gaze up at him and lift my hand slowly, touching every inch of his face gently. Then, placing my hand behind his neck, I lower his head down so that I can kiss each distorted, mangled piece of flesh. His hair is wet and hangs down across his forehead, so I brush it aside, and looking into his eyes with all the love in my heart, I say, "I will never look away!"

"I believe you," he sighs, "That is not in your nature." Then he kisses me deeply until we are gasping for air and must separate as he begins to rock us again, slowly.

"But I, too, had concerns about someone being in danger." His lips rest against my temple, and I can feel them tighten with resolve.

"Yes?" I want to hear him through, what he was feeling.

"When I saw them taking you, putting you into the police wagon, all I could think about was you being put into prison," his throat tightens around the words, and he chokes out, "I could not let that happen. You do not know how horrific the dungeons are, how dangerous it would be for you, a beautiful woman, there, unprotected. I would rather die trying to rescue you from such a fate, rather than live to witness it."

I had not realized the prisons were so god-awful, or how strongly Erik felt about my being imprisoned. The realization of what he was willing to do to keep me from being jailed shakes me to the core. What if he had actually attempted such a thing? He could have been killed. Suddenly, I realize my actions could have had far-reaching consequences, far beyond what I had imagined. I let out a cry of anguish.

"What is it?" Erik stops rocking, puts his hand under my chin and lifts it up, looking deeply into my eyes. I cannot hold back my tears at the thought of his being killed trying to rescue me. As they flood down my cheeks, I am unable to speak, but Erik understands. He nods his head and kisses away the tears, as he did that night in the hallway in front of my room. "You have such a tender heart," is all he says.

We hold each other gently, but desperately, both feeling the full impact of what has happened, what could have happened. Erik begins rocking us again, singing softly, lulling away my sadness as we meld together, holding each other.

After endless moments, Erik stops and kisses my forehead. He takes his hand from around my waist and shifts in the rocker. I can feel his hand going into his trouser pocket then coming to rest on my lap. I lift my head from his chest to see what is in his hand. Erik opens a small velvet box and holds it up so that I can see what it contains.

I inhale sharply. Reflected in the firelight is a large pink stone which seems to float in the air, suspended above a cloud of tiny diamonds that are set in a beautifully embossed gold ring.

I look up into Erik's face. Wary and hopeful, his eyes search mine. He takes the ring out of the box and as he opens my hand, he breathes, "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I cannot think of life without you." Then he places the ring in the palm of my hand. Stunned, I look at it lying there. After I have gathered my thoughts, I open up Erik's hand and place the ring back into his palm.

He gasps and stares down at me. I hold out my hand with my fingers spread apart. "Erik, I love you with all my being, and I cannot imagine my life without you. But I want you to put the ring on my finger, and when you do, then we are _both_ making a commitment _together_ that we are joined for the rest of our lives. When you place that ring on my finger, it is forever. It will never be taken off."

A look of astonishment crosses his eyes and his mouth opens as if to speak, but he cannot. Then, we both watch as he tenderly lowers the ring onto my finger. We look deeply into each other's soul, then remain in the rocker, kissing and caressing each other until dawn peers through the windows.

As the light of day breaks through the storm, Erik speaks for the first time in many hours, "Laura, may I tell you about the customs of the Romas?"

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Thanks yous to Phanna who edited this chapter!! 


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: My goodness!! Thank you from our hearts for all your wonderful comments and reviews of our story. Believe me that we writers read every one, and often discuss what you say, and most certainly our muses is inspired by it! I sincerely apologize that I do not have the time any more to do written responses to all your postings because of my time being taken with writing the book version…which will indeed be a very different, even richer telling of Erik's story. **

**I will, however, if possible, in the next couple weeks, at least post a brief response to each of you who so kindly take your time to post your thoughts!**

**Well…as you all expected, the subject of Roma traditions, and weddings, in particular, is next on Erik's agenda!! But how will Laura take that? She doesn't quite seem the gypsy type, does she? **

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**Chapter 57**** Breathless, by Phanfan**

_December 27, 1871_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Erik's POV:_

"_Laura, may I tell you about the customs of the Romas?"_

I speak these words almost breathlessly, knowing what they portend. Her body stiffens in my arms, and she lifts her head and her eyes widen, startled.

Then she gets a twitch on her lovely lips, which totally distracts me. I have to kiss them again. But when my lips enclose around hers, she does not respond with passion as she has for many hours while I have held her in my arms, rocking her.

Instead her lips are stretched back in a straight line, twitching. Abruptly, I pull back and search her face. I am shocked that she is giggling! Unbelievable! I can hardly contain my own passion for her…and she is giggling! I also observe it is getting worse! Her whole body is beginning to shake in my arms as she holds her lips tightly shut. She is holding back her laughter!

"Laura! What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" but when she opens her mouth to speak, the uncontrollable giggles emerge.

"You _are_ giggling!" I am quite distressed at this turn of events, "Is it at something I have said?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, this strange behavior seems to have come over you when I spoke just now!"

"You mean when you suddenly brought up the customs of the Romas?" she looks up at me innocently.

"Yes!"

"Well, wasn't that a rather strange thing to say?"

"Strange? How so?"

"Because after becoming engaged to be married mere hours ago, we proceed to snuggle and kiss and, well, other things, all in silence. Then the first words out of your mouth are that you want to tell me about the customs of the Romas!" she looks up with those irresistible lips, "That was not exactly the romantic endearment that I had expected to hear!"

"I do believe that I would tickle you until you could not _stop_ laughing, if it were not for your injured ribs!" I frown at her, but she simply giggles back at me!

"That decides it! When you are healed, I shall take my revenge!"

She merely grins back at me invitingly, "Is that a promise?"

"Are you not afraid of the revenge of the Phantom of the Opera?" now I'm feigning anger, barely able to contain my own laugher.

"Actually, no I'm not!! Should I be?"

"Yes! Everyone else has always been!"

"Well, I'm not like everyone else!" she says with her unassuming bravado.

"That is true," I lean down and kiss her forehead, "You most certainly are not like anyone else I have _ever_ met." I think back at what she did just this past day, standing up for a woman she had never met, only to get hit by an angry husband and almost thrown into an ungodly prison. Merely because she wanted to help someone, and a perfect stranger at that!

"So, now, I would like to know," Laura runs her small hand gently along my jaw and kisses my chin, effectively winning this argument, "just who are the Romas? Are they Italians?"

That is when I remember that she is from another time and a very different culture. She really does not know. " 'Roma' is another name for 'gypsy,' in fact, that is the name they use for themselves! I lived with them for a period of time, you know."

"I remember. That was when you were young, and I thought your life was very difficult at that time," she seems hesitant and uncertain about even discussing this matter.

"Well, yes, things happened that I would like never again to think about. But, there were also kind people who helped me survive that cruel man who put me on display. There was an old gypsy woman who brought me food and used her salves to minister to my wounds. And, there was a family with children who were also kind to me. During my time with the Romas I learned that they have good people among them, as well."

"Is that what you wanted to share with me, Erik?" Her voice is soft and kind, making my heart pound again.

"Well, partly. I wanted to explain that when I lived with the Romas, I witnessed many of their customs," then stroking her hair gently, I explain, "including their engagement and marriage customs."

"Really?" the glimmer in Laura's eyes as she studies my face tells me she is beginning to understand where my conversation is leading. "Please tell me all about it."

"Well, first, the Roma marry very young, anywhere between the ages of nine and fourteen years of age."

Her forehead furrows, "That seems a bit strange. Why would they marry so young?"

I hesitate, not prepared for that question, then finally reply, "So that the woman will be assured to be a virgin."

"Oh! I see!" Laura looks up at me with a grin and earnestly says, "Well, I'm afraid I am much older than that, but at least I _am_ still a virgin!"

My mouth falls open. This bit of information volunteered so unexpectedly quite takes my breath away. After many awkward moments, I find my voice, "I, uh, I thought that because of your culture, that is…because of the modern sensibilities and customs…" I cannot finish.

"You thought that I was _not _still…one. Is that what you are trying to say?"

"Yes." I am blinking in amazement from this revelation, thinking about what this means for our wedding night. I can feel my collar getting uncomfortably tight, and I undo the top two buttons to get a bit more air.

"Well, I guess you can call me old-fashioned," she grins up at me sweetly, "so there it is!"

We rock in silence for several minutes while I digest this. Then, I gather up my courage and proceed.

"Uh, in the Roma tradition, the marriages are often arranged by the parents, but some young couples will run away and elope so that they can marry for love. But, usually the father of the prospective groom visits the young woman's family, and if the young man is accepted, then a bride price is paid which compensates the family for their daughter leaving them. At that time the bride's father drinks a symbolic glass of wine, sealing the agreement. Often, a few days after the agreement a pliashka occurs."

"Pliashka? What's that?" Laura seems fascinated with my story.

"Well, that is when the friends and relatives of the young couple come together in a ceremony, and a bottle of wine or brandy, wrapped in a brightly colored silk handkerchief is brought by the young man's father. A necklace for the bride is attached to the bottle. The father puts the necklace around the young bride-to-be's neck and embraces her, and that makes the engagement formal!"

"A necklace? Like the beautiful necklace you gave me for Christmas?" Laura kisses my cheek.

I give her a devilish grin, "Yes, you could say that!"

"But there were no fathers present," she frowns.

"We will just have to improvise!"

She giggles again. I love that sound.

"So, then the father drinks from the bottle and passes it for each guest to also take a drink. When it is emptied, they fill it again and drink from it at the wedding." I press her warm body to me, then continue, "And, the wedding it most interesting. There are no formalities. They do not have anyone preside over the ceremony, and there are no rituals."

"Fascinating," Laura's voice seems genuinely interested. Perhaps there is hope.

"True! They do not believe in formal wedding ceremonies performed by some other person. They simply join hands in front of the chief of the tribe, or an elder, or other witness and vow to be true to each other. They promise themselves to each other for life. Then sometimes they will eat bread and salt which symbolizes a harmonious future for the couple. Afterwards there is feasting and festivities, and the couple is considered formally married!"

Laura gently places her hand on my cheek and pulls my face down close to hers. I can feel her breath on my lips, "Erik, what are you trying to say?"

"My dear, the laws of France dictate a civil marriage ceremony under very specific rules. Because you are not a citizen, an additional waiting period of thirty days must occur before we can even post banns. Then, we must wait another ten days after the banns are posted before we can marry. In France, to be legal, the ceremony must be performed by a magistrate, which is very short and perfunctory, and only then can a religious ritual occur, if the couple wishes one. That means we would have to wait for over a month to marry." I cannot resist a delicate kiss on her delicious lips.

"When we were in the future, I obtained a marriage license, and we could have married in three days. In fact, I had all the arrangements made…of course, should you have consented!" I smile just a little sheepishly.

"I see," Laura's voice has a thoughtful, reserved, tone about it that makes me slightly uneasy. She rests her head back on my chest and is silent for several minutes. Finally she speaks, and I hold my breath, "So, do I understand that you want me to agree to marry without waiting for the time required under French law to have a ceremony under the civil laws? Are you proposing that we have a Roma wedding?"

I exhale, pray and confess, "Yes, that is what I am proposing."

She shakes her head, and answers simply, "No, I'm sorry, but I could not do that, Erik. Because of my religious beliefs, I could not agree to a Roma wedding."

My heart skips several beats, and I gasp for air. "Your beliefs? That would violate your beliefs?" I am devastated at this news, and my heart sinks as I perceive that our marriage will have to wait for the civil ceremony.

"Yes, you see, I do have some very special beliefs about such things myself."

I am on tenterhooks, my breathing shallow and uneven as I listen to her explanation.

"Perhaps you did not know that I am a Quaker, Erik?" Her eyes are dancing as they look into mine.

"Quaker? No, I did not know you were a Quaker," then I realize, despite the awkwardness, I must ask, "What is a Quaker?"

"You remember that my father came from England?"

I simply nod my head, unable to utter a word.

"Well, his family has been Quaker for many generations. Quakers are also known as the "Society of Friends." They were one of the first Protestant religions, started in England centuries ago, in the middle of the 1600's. One of the founders, George Fox, was very disillusioned with the way that people who professed Christianity were not living up to the standards they preached, so he formed a group that began to meet and worship in their own way."

"Just what way is that?" I fear the direction this is going.

"The core of our tradition is simplicity, and the conviction that there is something of God's spirit in each of us. We simply meet together on Sunday and meditate. Anyone can stand up and speak who is moved to say something, to share something, perhaps a prayer or insight. Oh, and we are pacifists."

"I see," I listen politely, wondering when she will tell me that we must wait the required time.

"And, well, Quakers meet in simple places called meeting houses—and that can be anywhere, it does not require a special building—and they have _no ministers or priests_.

"There are _no_ ministers or priests in the Quaker faith?"

"No."

"Who performs the ceremonies?" This is taking a very interesting turn.

"As I said, we do not have ceremonies. Our worship is simply to gather together and meditate. Anyone can stand up and speak in the meeting house, but mostly we are silent and sit in contemplation and prayer."

"So there are no bells, or candles, or music or large churches…or ministers?" Could I be hearing this correctly?

"That's right!" Laura places her palm on my heart, and my breathing comes in short rasps.

"Are you saying that for weddings, you have no ceremonies or rituals…or ministers to perform them?" I hold my breath now, awaiting this answer.

"Yes, that is what I am saying!" She giggles.

"Well, then, how is your Quaker marriage performed?"

"We gather together with our friends and family around us, and we sit in silence while everyone is involved with his or her own reflection and prayer. All who are gathered there can stand and say something that is in their hearts about the bride or groom, a story about them, or a hope or blessing for their future lives, or perhaps a prayer."

"How long does this go on?"

"About half an hour."

"Then what happens?"

"Well the bride and groom simply stand and face each other in the presence of their friends, and they recite their vows to each other, aloud."

"That is _all_?" I am stunned.

"Well, the couple then signs the marriage certificate, which contains their vows. The witnesses also sign the certificate and pledge their support toward the marriage's success. Then it's done."

I realize I have stopped breathing. Taking in a huge gasp of air, I break out in a grin. "Do I understand what you just said? You will not marry under the Roma tradition, but you will marry under your own Quaker tradition?"

"Yes, I think I just said that!"

"Is there a waiting period?"

"No, not that I know of!"

I hold her face in my hands and press my lips to hers. Our kiss is long and deep, and we part only when we must, when we are breathless.

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Profuse thank yous to premiere editor, Phanna!!


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Pink cupcakes all around!! Your thoughts and reviews are "Wowsers"!! Thank you so much for your detailed comments!! They are sincerely appreciated. And, as I mentioned in my last A/N, I am planning to respond in a long posting to each of you who have posted a review since January!**

**I will be posting that next Saturday, responding to one or two of your comments or questions. **

**I will also give more information about the book, which is a very rich, deep telling of Erik's life…one that is different from any of the books or stories I have seen. I will explain more about that next week. I will also discuss The Epic Case, which you are reading on this forum…and that it is by no means over!! Then…the next chapter will be posted the following day, on Sunday.**

So…the proposal is finally asked and accepted, and Erik and Laura have agreed on their ceremony. Now…Erik is joyously going about preparing for their wedding. After such a long time, and so many traumas and hurdles, that special day is set and there is nothing else in the way to forestall it…is there?

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**Chapter 58 Anticipation, by Phanfan**

_Chateau Mercier_

_Near Paris, France_

_Wednesday, December 27, 1871_

_Erik's POV:_

The taste of Laura's last kiss still lingers on my mouth, and the fragrance and touch of her silken hair haunts me. It took all my willpower to leave her. A stab of longing shot through me when I walked onto the balcony as I took one last look at her. I almost turned back to take her in my arms again, but I forced myself to leave. I had to--there is so much to be done. But being away from her for even a moment now is an agony.

Crossing my sitting room, I open the door into the hallway and attend to the first order of business. I know Horatio kept vigil all night and into this early hour of the morning to prevent any unwanted, pesky servants from interrupting Laura and me. As expected, he is in that old high-backed oak chair with the sagging leather seat that clutters the hallway just across from Laura's room. He is slumped over slightly, half dozing. On the small table next to him sits a cup of tea with tendrils of steam rising, so it is clear that he has waylaid a servant already, absconding with tea destined either for my room or Laura's.

"Horatio!" I call out sharply, and he jolts upright, searching the hallway for the source of the annoying sound. "Over here!"

He looks my way and imparts a sleepy grin. I motion curtly for him to step into my room. He stands, groans and stretches his back from a night in that uncomfortable excuse of a chair, then picks up his cup of tea and saunters my way.

When I shut the door and turn to face him, he gets a glimpse of the scarred side of my face for the first time. "Good grief, Erik! Where's your mask?" I am relieved that his startled look is not one of shock from my appearance, as much as a good-natured ribbing.

"I seem to have had an accident with it," I grin sheepishly, carefully keeping that side of my face away from his gaze.

"Was that one of the noisy 'accidents' you had last night?" Horatio jibes, "It sounded like you kept running into things and breaking them. You're getting clumsy in your old age!"

I snort my disapproval of his humor at my expense. "Well, actually, the mask did hit the mantle and drop into the fire, so it is beyond repair. I will need to have some plaster of Paris sent up to my room, along with water and towels so that I can make a mold of my face. I will also need a piece of fine kid leather."

"I don't know if we have any white leather at the chateau!" Horatio shakes his head.

"At this point any color will suffice. I will just have to use what is available," and I proceed to list the supplies that I will require.

"I'll jump right on that!" Horatio takes a sip of the tea and heads for the door.

"Do not go yet. That is not the only thing we need to discuss."

"Sure! What's up?" he turns and studies me quizzically.

"Well, last night I proposed and Laura accepted!" I cannot suppress a broad smile.

Horatio walks over and thumps my back vigorously, almost knocking me off balance. "Congratulations! What took you so long! You've had us all on tenterhooks ever since Laura arrived!" Horatio's need to skewer me with his humor seems relentless, but I make the decision not to let it bother me. After all, I have never felt so happy in my life.

"When are you planning to announce the engagement?" Horatio beams.

"Since we want to be married tomorrow, it will be right away!"

"What?!" Horatio spills his tea on the carpet, "Man, when you decide to do something, you really don't mess around, do you?"

"Laura and I are agreed on this. We have been through many trials and feel we have waited quite long enough," I state emphatically.

"To tell the truth, I can totally understand how you feel. I finally got to that point myself!"

"Horatio! Do you mean to say you are about to ask Grace to marry you?"

"Oh no! I won't be asking her again. Once was enough," he says emphatically.

"What is your meaning?"

"Once was all it took. I asked. She accepted."

"Horatio!" My mouth drops open. I suddenly remember my manners and attempt to slap him on the back in return. "Then you have proposed! Will the wedding be soon?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" Horatio folds his arms across his chest, and gets that devilish gleam in his eyes, "Been there, done that."

"Been where? Done what?"

"Signed the papers. Said the vows. Kissed the bride." Horatio watches me with amusement as I stand gaping at him.

"_What?"_

"I learned from your example, Erik! I wanted to make sure that wherever I went, Grace went, too! What if something happened to me on this mission? If she is my wife, then Grace can return to the future with me. And vice versa. The only way to finagle something like that would be to marry her under the radar and let it be known only if and when needed. I thought if either of us had to go home, I'd just play my trump card. Brilliant idea…" he winks. "…borrowed from a genius, of course."

My mind reeling, suddenly I recall that horrifying moment in Laura's hospital room when I had just declared to her that my plans had been to marry her so we would not be separated. Horatio had walked in at that very moment and overheard my plot to ensure that the Program would allow Laura to go back with me. Horatio has never said a word about it…until this very moment. "Then you are saying…that you and Grace are already married?"

Smugly, Horatio nods, "Yep! That's exactly what I'm saying!"

I burst into laughter. Well, that explains everything. Horatio and Grace being together has not exactly been a well hidden secret. Everyone but the servants seems to know. This is most amusing! "When did this take place?"

Horatio laughs, "I finally had enough of Grace's sidestepping and avoiding the issue. Technically, since we're both officers and on duty, we shouldn't be married. But, having an Admiral for an uncle has its advantages. He and I discussed this, and he pulled strings to arrange for an exemption so that Grace and I could be married and still serve together on this special mission. We were married that last afternoon, just before we left for France. We felt it advisable not to tell you because you were in a serious emotional state over leaving Laura. It just didn't seem appropriate to flaunt our happiness in the middle of your own trauma. The Admiral also felt it best that the men not know I had a bit of a personal advantage, bringing my wife. So, she became _my contraband_, and we have been keeping it a secret."

"Oh, yes! You have certainly kept it secret!" I give him a sarcastic grin, "At least the marriage part!"

"Well at this point, with our being introduced as relatives, we have to keep up the charade in front of the servants and society, so please keep this confidential between Laura and you. I prefer not to formally announce this yet to the men," Horatio explains regretfully. Then, as if a something suddenly occurs to him, "Hey, I thought in France you have to post banns before marrying? How long does that take?"

"I checked when I was in Paris a week ago. Normally, it is only ten days from the posting of banns until the ceremony, but an additional thirty days is added to that if the bride or groom is not a native of France. And, we do have the additional problem that applying for the marriage license requires a birth certificate. Of course, I now have mine, but Laura does not have a birth certificate we can present to the magistrate. After all, she was born a hundred years from now." Smiling, I ask, "I don't think they would quite understand that, do you?"

Horatio breaks out in a chuckle and scratches his chin, "I see your problem. So, what do you intend to do?"

"Tomorrow Laura and I would like to marry in a private religious ceremony, within her Quaker beliefs. Then, over the next several weeks, we need to have The Program arrange a birth certificate that will give her an appropriate document stating a birth date in this century. After the required forty days, we can be married by a magistrate. That way she will also be acknowledged publicly and legally as my wife. And, in the meantime, we will be like Grace and you, privately wed."

"Well, you have my total support, and I know the Program will be very happy to learn of you and Laura marrying. I have no doubt they'll do whatever it takes to provide the birth certificate that Laura needs!"

Then he cocks his head, "I think I won't tell Grace about this. She should hear it from Laura. I'll go and tell the servants to bring what you need to make your mask! I also assume you won't be leaving your rooms until you have made a new one, so I'll have them bring your meals to your room today."

"Thank you, Horatio" I heave a sigh of relief, "I appreciate everything, including your understanding."

"I couldn't be more pleased. Laura and you have gone through fire to be together, and you both deserve that happiness. Grace and I will do everything we can to help!" Horatio leaves quickly, whistling as he always does when he is particularly pleased with himself.

Slipping through the secret panel in the far corner of the sitting room, I head straight to the hidden stairwell and bound up the ancient stone steps. At the floor above mine, I tap on the panel that opens to Jeremy's room.

"What? Who's there?" His sleepy voice sounds confused and, to no small degree, a bit disgruntled.

I wonder if he had guard duty last night. Pushing the panel aside, I reply cheerily, "Good morning, Jeremy. How are you on this beautiful morning?

A dark shadow of stubble covers the lower half of his face, and he barely opens his eyes. My guess was right. He has not had much sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he asks, "What are you doing here? And, why so damned early?"

I lean against the wall next to his bed, "I have come to ask for your help."

He struggles to sit up, rubbing his eyelids open. When his blood-shot eyes finally peer up at me, they shoot open, startled at my unmasked face. I smirk back at him. Although he displays no revulsion at seeing my face, I have to force myself to keep my hand from covering it.

He grunts, "Help with what? Can't this possibly wait until a little later in the day?"

"No, it is an urgent matter." He just stares at me. Now I have his full attention.

Groaning and running his fingers through his hair, he mutters, "Ok, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now?"

"I have proposed."

"What?!" Well, I seem to be taking everyone quite by surprise this morning. "To Laura?" Obviously he is still befuddled from lack of sleep.

"Of course! Would there be anyone else?" I feel my eyebrow lift in irritation, but that does not last long because Jeremy leaps out of bed and extends his hand. With a broad grin, he grabs one of my hands, pumping it with an enthusiastic shake, and pounds me on the back with his other hand. Is this an American ritual of some sort when you become engaged?

"Well, it's about time. This is great!!" Then his smile freezes. "Does this mean I have to search out a caravan of gypsies?"

The image of Jeremy attempting to track down a band of gypsies flashes before my eyes! I remember my comments to him in Paris about Roma weddings when we saw the passing wedding carriage. An explosion of laughter escapes me. "No, no, that will not be necessary. I have learned that Laura is a Quaker. Their religious customs and marriage ceremony are most profound and yet simple in the manner that they are performed."

"Quaker?" Jeremy's look of surprise causes me to laugh again, so I slap him on his back, actually making him step forward to catch his balance.

"Yes, Laura has explained the Quaker wedding, and it will be perfect. In the meantime, I need your help with a few things. I need you to go into Paris today and obtain several items for me."

"Today?" It seems Jeremy has a hard time uttering more than one word at a time in the mornings.

"Yes. Laura and I are getting married tomorrow." I cannot contain another smile as I contemplate that tomorrow will be our wedding day.

"Tomorrow?" There he goes again!

"Jeremy, you must attempt to put a few words together when you speak or people will think that you are dim-witted!"

Jeremy closes his mouth. What I am saying to him finally seems to be sinking in as a flood of questions flow out, "Laura and you are getting married tomorrow? Whoa! What about the magistrate and all of that stuff? Don't you have to get married in a civil ceremony to make it legal?"

"Yes, I have already made plans for that, and Horatio will be helping obtain Laura's birth certificate. Now get dressed so that you can leave for Paris."

He looks over at the mantle clock. "Good grief, I've only had 45 minutes sleep. How about giving me a few hours to sleep, and _then _I'll go into Paris."

"Of course. I am too impatient. I will come back at noon to wake you. That should allow enough time for a trip into Paris," I walk back to the panel to leave, but turn back for a moment, "By the way, I would like you and Antoinette to be witnesses for us during the ceremony."

"I would be honored!" Then, with a wicked grin, "But if you want me to do these things, we need to strike a bargain?"

Surprised, I blurt out, "Bargain?"

"Yes. There is something we need to agree on first."

Suspicious, I ask, "Indeed?" groaning inwardly at my one word response.

He runs his hand through his hair again causing most of it to stand straight up. "I'll go into Paris for you and help you with your wedding, but I want you to promise me something."

"And that would be?"

"When you decide to track down the man who hurt Laura, I want to be with you." He holds my gaze, unwaveringly.

"Well, that seems most likely since you will not let me out of your sight in any case."

"You're damn right." Then he snaps, "Unless you figure out a way to disappear into thin air, I will be right on your heels. But I want you to give me your oath that when you go after that man, you will take me with you."

I consider Jeremy's proposition. He is right. I will be tracking this man down. He will pay for what he did to Laura. And, it is probably wise to have Jeremy with me to watch my back. From what the police officer in Paris said about him, I will not be dealing with any sort of honorable man. Jeremy has always proven his trustworthiness, so I nod my head in agreement. "Yes, I promise we will go together to take care of that loathsome cur." I take my leave and slide the panel aside to return to my room.

Stopping briefly at the desk in my sitting room, I write a note for the servants instructing them to knock on my bedroom door when they bring breakfast and the mask making supplies. Then going immediately to my room, I lock the door behind me.

The process of creating a mask is a very untidy business, so I remove my cravat, jacket, waistcoat and shirt. Tired and impatient, I toss them over the back of a nearby chair. I search through a drawer, find and put on a plain shirt that I wore when working at the gamekeeper's cottage. It will be perfect to wear when I'm using the plaster of Paris.

It is imperative that I shave as closely as possible. Once, when I was working with the plaster, I had not done so, and the plaster stuck rather painfully to my face. It is not an experience that I care to repeat.

Stropping the straight-edge razor on the leather strap near the wash bowl, I make sure it is sharp to give me a clean shave. One of the servants has already filled the pitcher and wash basin with hot water, as they do each morning. Using the shaving cream brush, I add a little hot water to the shaving cup and mix it around to make the lather. After lathering my face, I begin the process of shaving, taking care not to cut myself, but giving myself as close of a shave as possible. Finally, I look in the mirror above the washstand, and check my handiwork, searching for any errant whiskers.

Studying the scarred side in the mirror, the look on Laura's face last night comes back to me. It was the first time she had ever seen the mangled flesh there, yet her eyes had shone only with love and acceptance. I had never seen that expression on the face of another human when they beheld my face for the first time. Her love seems to know no bounds. I cannot believe I am so blessed that she will be my wife.

After wiping bits of the lather from my face with a towel, I use some herbal cream that Laura found at the apothecary's shop on her first trip into Paris. She said it contained lanolin and was good for the skin, especially under my mask where it is prone to irritation. I have to admit that it has proven to be a most excellent cream and a vast improvement over anything I had previously used.

I pace the floor several times, but the servants seem to be taking forever bringing breakfast and the supplies. My eyes keep looking over at the enticing bed, as my sleepless night begins to overwhelm me. A short rest seems tempting.

I pull back the quilt and crawl beneath its inviting warmth without undressing. I have just laid my head on the pillows and barely closed my eyes when suddenly I hear Laura's horrific screams. My heart races and the blood pounds in my ears. I can tell that her frightened voice comes from outside, so I jump out of bed and run to my bedroom window just in time to see her pushed roughly into a coach at the back of the chateau, near the stable.

Racing down the stairs, leaping two at a time, I tear out the back door in time to see the coach beginning to roll down the long path to the main road. I try to follow when two policemen grab me, restraining my arms. Fighting against them, I manage to hit one in the jaw and turn to hit the other, only to have one more enter the fray. They hold me tightly so that I cannot move.

As I struggle wildly, all I can do is helplessly watch the scene unfolding in front of me. Laura is being forcibly taken away. I catch a glimpse of her when she looks out the carriage window, tears glistening on her cheeks as she screams out my name. Then, large, rough hands pull her back inside the carriage.

I use every ounce of my strength trying to break free of my captors. Laura is still recovering from her wounds of yesterday and is clearly in pain. Even worse, it is obvious they are treating her brutally. What is happening? Why are the policemen here? Why are they restraining me? I have done nothing! Is it because of what happened in Paris yesterday? Had that horrible man been successful in pressing charges and having Laura arrested? None of this makes any sense! I fight to get free, time and time again, but am thwarted by the strong arms of the three policemen. This can't be happening! Not again! Not now!

Then I see a figure as if in eerie slow motion riding a white horse, following the coach. The man wears a blue military uniform, embellished with the expensive gold braiding of an officer. Who is he? Somehow, he seems vaguely familiar. But I do not recall knowing anyone in the military. And why would the military have any interest in Laura or myself?

Angrily, I explode with every ounce of strength that I possess and knock the men who are holding me off balance just long enough for me to break free. I shove hard at the two who are closest, sending them sprawling, and swivel in one blinding movement and punch the third man who drops to his knees. I take off running along the lane, futilely trying to catch the coach that is carrying Laura away from me.

The man on the white horse hears me yelling and slows down, turning to look back. My legs are pumping as fast as they can, and my heart feels like it will burst out of my chest, but I cannot catch them. I am no match for the speed of horses. The officer turns in his saddle now, and my blood runs cold! No! _This is not possible!_ When he sees that I recognize him, a victorious sneer breaks out on his thin, derisive lips. _Mon Dieu!! It is Raoul!_

He turns away from me and gallops to catch up to the coach. The hard clomp of the hooves hitting the frozen ground keeps echoing in my head, over and over, as I run back to the stable.

_Clomp. Clomp. Clomp_.

Without stopping to saddle up, I mount Noir and urge him immediately into a gallop. As we streak down the lane, my head is throbbing from the pounding of horses' hooves. Raoul and the carriage seem to be moving farther and farther away. I must reach Laura in time to save her! I cannot live without her! That cannot happen! I will not fail, so I urge Noir faster with the touch of my boots, holding desperately onto his mane and his wildly pumping neck. Where is Jeremy? Has he heard the ruckus and followed me? As I push my horse to even greater speeds, there is no time to look back and see if he is there. Still I cannot catch up with the rider and the coach. I am becoming frantic!

_Clomp. Clomp. Knock._

The pain in my head causes me to grit my teeth as I try to emerge from darkness and panic. The incessant pounding startles me. Suddenly I realize the sound is someone knocking on my door. For a minute I lie in stunned awareness, looking up at the tapestries hanging around my bed, gasping for air and wiping away the sweat that pours down my face…

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Profuse THANK YOUs to my diligent editors, Phanna and KFC!! 

And...Phanna wrote a few of the scenes, particularly Jeremy's monosyllabic syndrome, which was utterly delightful!!


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N: Thank you to each of you who posted your reviews! We so appreciate your thoughtful comments!! They truly feed our muses!! And, if you have written even a single review since February, please check out the review page! I have posted a reply to each of you (if it is not on the current page, click back to the previous one!). I also posted some information about the book, and the ongoing story of The Epic Case! We'll post the next chapter in one week...if we get those valued ten reviews!! **

Now, back to Erik, whose complete focus is on _the_ wedding!

* * *

**Chapter 59**** Prelude, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Chateau Mercier, __Near Paris, France_

_Wednesday, December 27, 1871_

_Erik's POV:_

The old and the new collide today. On this most unusual of days, I begin a ritual that I have done so many times before. Meticulously I blend the mixture of white plaster to the correct, thick consistency that will adhere to the side of my face until it sets. Placing a towel on the floor next to the work table that the servants set up, I lie flat on the floor with my head on the towel. Using the cream that Laura gave me, I spread it generously on the scarred side of my face. Then I place thin pieces of linen over my eyebrow and those places where the ridges of skin fold, so that the plaster will not ooze down into them. I also tie a band of linen around my hair so that the plaster will not adhere to it.

With a handful of the plaster in my gloved hands, I mold it over my scarred face and nose, careful not to cover my eye. For the length of time it takes the plaster to dry and harden, my mind wanders to Laura and our wedding. She told me that each of us could add our own words, our own vows to the traditional Quaker ones. This stirs me to my very core. How can I put into words what Laura means in my life? I think on all that we have been to each other, what we have done together. I feel as if my life began when I met her.

I reflect back on our first meeting in her office and suppress a smile, concerned that my lips and cheeks will move, and possibly crack the plaster that I have so painstakingly placed there. She was so courageous in dealing with a very disagreeable Phantom. After all, I had turned on her, hitting her accidentally because I thought she was trying to remove my mask. But she was not afraid and held her ground, staring back at me with those large, dark, compassionate eyes without flinching despite my best attempt to intimidate her. Characteristically, she was fearless, and that same dauntless courage caused her to intervene two days ago on behalf of an abused woman who she did not even know. Laura is a magnificent woman, but I strongly suspect I will be kept quite busy the rest of my life protecting her. Perhaps she is even more bent on getting into trouble than I had been as the Phantom of the Opera. Perhaps we truly are a perfect match.

Testing the plaster, I confirm that it has hardened sufficiently and begin to carefully lift it off. I flinch when several of the hairs of my eyebrow are plucked out, but otherwise, it comes loose with no further mishap. Determining the cast of my face to be successful, I set it down on the work table. Taking off my gloves, I make a quick trip to my bedroom to wash the residue of plaster from my face.

In the next stage of the process, this mold of my face will be used as a negative, and more of the plaster of Paris will be used to create an actual sculpture of my face. I rub linseed oil onto the inside surface of the mold and set it near the fireplace to dry. This gives me some time to eat my breakfast, so I carry the tray of food over to the low table in front of the settee. Thankfully, the servants covered the plates with silver lids, keeping the eggs and sausages at least lukewarm.

The first mouthful of food reminds me of how famished I am, and that I did not eat dinner last night. I am startled at the realization that I have not eaten since breakfast yesterday. But, these last twenty four hours have been eventful, perhaps my most life-altering ever. Food just did not seem to be important yesterday, however, it is clear that the body must be tended to, now that the soul has been cared for.

My body welcomes the food, and the taste is particularly delicious, as everything on this day seems to stand out in relief. Even the most common events, like making a mask, which I have done so many times, stands out as somehow special. As I look around the room, it seems as if all the colors are vividly enhanced, the food tastier, and the wine more distinctive, having a richer quality. The world seems a bright, welcoming place today. As I sit back and relax when I am done with my repast, I reflect that nothing, not even my fleeting nightmare, can dampen my joy.

My mind keeps going back over all the special times with Laura: the cruise on the yacht and Laura's excitement when we spotted the whales; our walks through the Japanese Garden where we shared our first kiss in the gazebo; our exploration of the island, and the joy of our first intimate exchanges; and then the magnificent dinner overlooking the Pacific ocean from the mansion where we celebrated the confirmation of my birth right. Laura's lovely, smiling face comes to me in each of those memories, but always there was her soul shining through. I cannot believe that we will now be joined together, to share our lives as one, forever.

Pulling myself out of this reverie, I check the plaster of Paris cast and determine it is dry and ready for the next step. I place it on the towel on the table and spread a thin layer of lard on the inside to prevent the new plaster from sticking. Then I carefully mold a piece of thin linen to the surface, leaving the ends to extend well over the edge. Finally, I pour the plaster into the mold and once again set it near the fire to dry.

Just when I am settling back into the settee, there is a knock on my sitting room door. Who could that be? I go down a mental list as I walk across the sitting room. Jeremy is asleep, and I assume Horatio is doing the same after his night in that bone-wracking chair. The servants should not be bothering me until they bring the next meal. Keeping the scarred side of my face turned away, I open the door only a few inches, wary about who this may be.

"Erik! I have just come from Laura's room!" Antoinette blurts out, not able to contain her obvious excitement. I quickly step back and motion for her to come in before she says anything more that could be overheard by the servants.

"Laura has told me the wonderful news! I could not be happier for you both!" Her large grey eyes beam their uncontained joy.

Although I keep the scarred side turned away, she can tell that I am not wearing my mask. "Ah! I see you still have not finished making your new mask! Laura also told me that you had an 'accident,'" Antoinette gives me a knowing wink. Everyone seems to be enjoying my 'accident' at my expense. I ignore her comment and will be glad when all of them are done making sport of my little excess of temperament!

I choose to respond only to her congratulations, "Thank you. I am still trying to believe it, myself! Did Laura also tell you about our wedding plans?"

"Yes! She explained that it would be a private ceremony tomorrow evening in the sitting room of your suite. It will be announced today that you have become engaged, and the dinner will be in celebration of your engagement. My understanding is that Grace, Horatio, Jeremy and I will be the only ones in attendance at the dinner, and that afterwards, you and Laura will have your wedding ceremony within her Quaker traditions. Is this correct?" She pours out the details like an excited and willing co-conspirator.

"Yes, that is quite correct," I smile, "Since everyone knows that Laura is recovering from her injuries, it seemed appropriate to have the dinner up here in my sitting room rather than the downstairs dining hall. And, of course, the invited guests will be the only ones who know about our private wedding."

"Laura explained that in the Quaker tradition all the witnesses sign the marriage vows, along with the bride and groom. I think that is very lovely, and I am honored to be one of those who will be attending and honoring your union," her mouth turns up in a broad smile, but tears glisten in the corner of her eyes.

"Antoinette, why are you crying?"

"Joyful tears, my dear Erik. Pure joy for you."

I reach out and hug this loving woman who has stood by me through so many trials. She is truly my only family, and like a dearest sister to me.

When she steps back, she wipes away her tears and changes the subject back to the wedding preparations, "Laura also tells me that you will honeymoon in the gamekeeper's cottage!"

"Yes. After the ceremony, we will use the secret passage to go there and spend our wedding night. It is something we both wanted."

"So! The cottage must be made ready for that very special occasion! I insist on attending to that myself, and will broach no argument in the matter!" she grins with her defiant attitude that informs me there will be no changing her mind, and that she will have her way about it.

"Thank you, Antoinette, your kindness means more to me than I could ever express."

"Well, then, it is settled! There is much to do. Today I am helping Grace alter one of Laura's gowns. Thankfully, she has an ivory evening gown that is suitable. But, we must modify it slightly. Grace and I are adding some lace, as well as moving the buttons out on the bodice so that she will not need to wear a corset and put pressure on her bruised ribs! If there is anything I can do to assist you, please let me know! There is much to be done!" I shake my head at her exuberance. Ever the mistress of dance and in charge, she bustles out the door, anxious to be about her business and make sure everything is done to her exacting standards.

Determining that the plaster mold is solid to the touch, I return it to my makeshift work table. Gently, I pull on the tabs of the linen cloth that is between the two layers of plaster and carefully pry them apart. Removing the linen from the surface of the new plaster mold, I gently wipe its surface clean of lard and small bits of plaster. I now have the shape of my face to use as a mold for the leather.

From many years of experience, I draw the shape of my mask on the thin leather piece that the servants found. It is not the white that I typically wear, but the natural, beige color of the leather almost matches my own skin tone. Cutting around the drawn shape, I then place it in a bowl of warm water and let it sit for a few minutes to soften. When it is the right pliancy, I take it out and blot off the excess water with a clean towel.

Now for the most important and artistic steps…those in which the leather is placed on the sculpted form of my face, then stretched and molded meticulously to the surface. A few places require small cuts with a small-bladed sharp knife to properly shape it on the mold, but they will disappear when the leather dries and tightens. This molding, stretching, cutting and fitting requires a tedious hour of work. Finally, when the mask has taken proper shape, I place the leather mask, still on the mold, into a metal box which I had the servants bring from the carpenter's supplies. This will create a small oven for the leather as it is curing near the fire. I place the metal box on the stone hearth, close enough to the fire so that the heat will warm the leather, but not burn it. There is nothing more to do for awhile, so I settle back on the settee, waiting for the leather to dry and harden.

Again my thoughts return to Laura. Sleeplessness causes me to doze while I am staring into the fire, and images come unbidden to my mind. Suddenly I am in the elevator, hearing the shot ring out as Laura's body hits mine, and I crash against the hard, metal wall, knocking all the air out of my lungs. Then, terror of falling with her body on top of mine, and holding her in my arms as her life-blood drained away and turned the floor a horrifying red. I remember calling out to her, imploring her to not leave me because I loved her. When they took her from my arms, I thought I would never again hold her warm body. I felt that my own life was ebbing with hers. From that moment until she arrived in France was one long nightmare, with only one goal: to move Heaven and earth, so that she would live.

And, miraculously she did. Her being so close these past two weeks has been both heaven and torture. So close, yet not close enough. And, now finally, we will be one, as is meant to be. Those thoughts preoccupy me as I wait for the mask to dry.

Finally, I check and decide the mask has sufficiently dried and taken its proper shape and form. Carrying the box back to my work table, I carefully separate the leather from the plaster mold and clean the residue of plaster from the inside. The last step is to cut the edges to their proper shape and use the knife to incise the hole for my eye. Using a small file, I smooth out the rough edges, and the job is complete. I lift the mask to my face and settle it over the scarred surface. It fits perfectly. I take it to my room, brush some adhesive on the inside and attach it.

The timing is perfect. The mantle clock chimes noon, and I head up the private stairwell to awaken Jeremy and send him on his errands.

"What do you want?" Jeremy opens one eye and peers up at me.

"It's time for you to get up for that trip into Paris."

"Paris?" Mon Dieu! Here he goes again with the one-word utterances!

"Yes. Get up and get dressed you lazy lout," I chide him with a grin, as I hand him an envelope, "This contains my written list and instructions, as well as sufficient funds to cover all the costs. I cannot go with you since Laura and I will be having dinner together this evening, and I would not be back from Paris in time."

"Dinner?"

I roll my eyes at him, but see his shoulders shake in laughter as he stiffly hauls himself out of bed and walks to his washstand next to the window. Everyone is trying my good humor today.

I remain long enough to confirm that he is fully awake and understands all my instructions. Tactfully, I do not mention that I will be sleeping the entire afternoon. After all, I do intend to be fully rested by my wedding night. Thanking him for his loyal service, I take my leave.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in refreshing, deep sleep. I am so exhausted that even dreams do not disturb my slumber. I awaken just in time to change and join Laura in my sitting room. The servants have removed any traces of my mask making and laid out a formal table setting, with linen, china, crystal and a bouquet of flowers. The chef has prepared a special dinner of pheasant with chestnut dressing and wine sauce.

Antoinette briefly stops by and informs us that our engagement has been announced throughout the chateau, and everyone is in a festive mood of celebration. I am deeply moved to hear this.

In the middle of our meal, even Matt and Russ, with Jean-Luc in tow, stop by and extend their congratulations and obligatory slaps on the back. Matt passes on Joe's comment from his sick bed, which sounds something like, "Atta boy!" I will have to consult with Jeremy later and find out what that means.

I study Matt carefully as he walks over and extends his hand to Laura and wishes her well. He holds her hand tenderly for a moment between his own, and exchanges some words, but I cannot hear since their voices are so low, and Jean Luc is jabbering at me in his excitement. Matt's eyes shine as he gives Laura a gracious smile, and she returns it gently. For a moment I feel a pang of sympathy for Matt and his loss.

After dinner I escort Laura back to her room. She does not seem to be in much discomfort as long as she is careful how she moves. With only a chaste kiss, I bid her goodnight outside her room, both of us knowing that I will return later this evening.

Shortly after nine o'clock, I take my balcony route to Laura's room and tap lightly on the French doors. In an instant, Laura is there, her eyes shining. The room is dimly lit with only a few scattered candles giving off a soft glow. She takes my hand and leads me to the rocking chair in front of the fireplace.

Laura motions me to sit, and I gently pull her into my lap. Immediately cuddling her head against my chest, she wraps her arms around my waist. It seems so hard to believe that by this time tomorrow evening we will be wed, and I will be holding her in my arms as my wife. My wife. Her husband.

I left my mask in my room, knowing that my scarred face does not bother Laura. It is so freeing not to be wearing it, or have it as a barrier between us. I lean down and kiss her hair, resting my unmasked cheek against its softness. What an unaccustomed luxury that is.

Laura tells me that she had a long talk with Grace this morning and confides excitedly that Grace and Antoinette had been working all afternoon on Laura's bridal gown, secretly of course.

"So what does your dress look like?" My breath on her hair causes a few stray strands to float in the air.

"I can't tell you that," her hand trails along my chin, "It wouldn't be a surprise."

"Why does it have to be a surprise?" I am enjoying this banter.

"Well, I guess it doesn't, but I want to see your expression when you first look at me."

I laugh. "My love, it does not matter a whit to me what you wear tomorrow. I can assure you that I will love whatever you are wearing."

"Ah, but I want to light up your eyes." She pats her finger on my chin for emphasis, as she adds, "I can't wait until tomorrow night."

"Are you referring to the ceremony or the wedding night?" She catches the lustful glint in my eyes as I tease her, and her cheeks blush a distinct shade of pink,

"My father used to say that the wedding ceremony is what the bride fusses over, while all the groom can think of is the wedding night!"

"Well, I met your father, and I have to say that he is a very wise man," I chuckle and pull her closer to my heart, "Did you know that in his last words to me, he gave me his blessing?"

"No! You hadn't told me."

"It is true. He knew that if we were successful in bringing you to the past, I intended to propose, and if you would have me, we would be married. He actually gave his blessing. That meant more to me than he could ever know."

"My father is a good man and has a keen insight into people, so that speaks volumes! He truly must have come to respect you. I am glad to know he said that," she gently pulls my head lower and kisses me on the scarred side of my face.

With a husky voice, I whisper, "Have I told you how much I love you, today?"

She sighs, "You can never tell me too many times, you know."

So, I proceed to do just that, breathing the words "I love you," over and over into her ear.

As I cradle her to me and gently rock us, we talk of many things, some trivial, some of great import, such as the details of the Quaker ceremony. She takes a paper from her pocket that contains the traditional vows we will exchange. I read them, moved by their simplicity and deep meaning. The paper also contains the additional vows which Laura wishes to say. I tell her that I have also composed my words and will add them as well to the formal marriage document I will draft tomorrow.

We continue talking, interspersed with deep kisses and tentative caresses, but something is different tonight. Our emotions are closer to the surface, while underneath a coiling tension is building between us, actually heightening the sensation of every touch, every kiss. I feel restless and on edge. Laura seems a bit anxious. Or is it anticipation? Although much remains unspoken, we both are acutely aware that tomorrow we cross a bridge for the first time that will forever unite our lives and our bodies into one.

Regretfully, just before midnight, we agree that I must go. Both of us need a good night's rest. Leaving her with a final lingering kiss, for the last time I return to my suite of rooms, alone.


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: Pink Cupcakes and KUDOS…to each of you who take your time and write reviews letting us know your thoughts about The Epic Case!! And…pink cupcakes, too, all around to help celebrate this special occasion! The beginning of Erik and Laura's life together…and the beginning of so much possibility!**

**If you have written even a single review since February, please check out the review page! I posted a reply to each of you last week, and in case you didn't see it, scan back a page or two to find it! I also posted some information about the book, and the ongoing story of The Epic Case! **

Erik is ready: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

So, now…a wedding…

* * *

**Chapter 60 Forever, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Chateau Mercier_

_Near Paris, France_

_Wednesday, December 28, 1871_

_Erik's POV:_

Patting off the residue of shaving cream, I comb my hair and attach my mask, paying particular attention today to my appearance. I cannot ignore the novel effect created by the new skin-colored mask. Using skin-hued leather had occurred to me before, but was always rejected since the white mask heightened the impact, adding power to the image and myth of the Phantom of the Opera. I chuckle to myself as I remember several occasions in particular where it had the startling effect intended.

But now, gazing at myself in the mirror, looking at this mask which blends so naturally into my face, it seems to represent my new life with Laura. I doubt that I will ever fully leave the Phantom behind, he is too much a part of me, but my path has taken a new direction and it includes my wife and perhaps a family. I must somehow blend the divergent parts of my life as seamlessly as I can, and indeed this _is_ a new beginning…the first step of my being like other humans, which after all, is what I have always yearned for.

Going over to my bed, I open the box which Louis just delivered from my tailor in Paris. This was one of the items that Jeremy took care of on his errands yesterday. I pick up the ivory waistcoat that I specially ordered for my wedding attire. Putting it on, I turn to the mirror and check how it looks as I button it. Using the measurements he previously took of me, the tailor seems to have fit it to perfection. Approvingly, I examine the pearl buttons and the fine brocade that will make an elegant complement to Laura's gown. I search the box for the second item I ordered, a silk ivory cravat, which turns out to be wrapped in many layers of paper to prevent creases. Tying the cravat with special care, I secure it with a pearl stud borrowed from Jeremy.

Taking my super-fine wool jacket with tails from the armoire, I don it and turn one last time back to the full-length mirror to assess my appearance. The black formal suit is perfectly set off by the ivory waistcoat and cravat, edged by a pure white shirt collar. My new flesh-colored mask is subtle and makes my face almost appear normal. I am very pleased with the effect and hope it makes Laura's heart race just a bit faster.

Expectantly, and with no small amount of nerves gnawing at me, I go into my sitting room and position myself on the largest leather chair to observe the preparations for our 'engagement' dinner.

A fine linen tablecloth with lace edging has been spread on the large round mahogany table and six chairs positioned around it. A low, dark forest green vase with white roses graces the center of the table, allowing the diners to talk to one another. The exquisite arrangement is simple but amazingly beautiful. The roses are surrounded by dark, deep greenery and highlight the creamy whiteness of the petals. Several tall silver candlesticks holding white candles have roses wound around their bases. The air is heady with the scent of the roses. Jeremy did a fine job of finding a florist with a hothouse that could provide us with such elegant flowers in the middle of winter.

The servants have set the table with the chateau's fine bone china that is brought out for special occasions. Rimmed in silver, the plates are accompanied by fine silverware settings placed on elegantly folded damask linen napkins. The stemware sparkles from meticulous polishing, and prism-like light refracts off the cut crystal wine glasses. Each of the place settings for the women has an individual white rose in the center of the plate, tied with a black ribbon, a touch I suspect that was added by Antoinette. I smirk at the thought that she probably did it to remind everyone who is sitting in their midst tonight.

The rest of the room has also been luxuriously decorated in the same white roses and deep, dark greenery. There are cascades of roses hanging from the mantle and additional bowls of the delicate white flowers placed around the room. Candles are everywhere, casting a golden, magical glow, and flames spark brightly in the hearth to warm the room. Every detail has been attended to in creating the perfect setting for the ceremony that will occur this evening.

Bottles of wine have been chilled and set in a large silver bucket. In France, it is not done in this manner; it is an American custom to chill the wine before drinking it, so this is being done in honor of Laura and the Americans.

As I anxiously oversee the servants' preparations of the room, Jeremy joins me. He is unusually well-dressed in his formal suit and, as ever, in a good mood.

"Am I the first?" he asks cheerfully.

"Yes, indeed!" I rub my hands and glance at the clock, wondering when the women will arrive.

Jeremy walks to the glass front secretary and pours himself a small brandy. Just then Horatio saunters in, "Could you pour one for me while you're at it?"

"Sure."

Jeremy hands a small goblet with the golden liqueur to Horatio, then turns to me, "Want me to pour you one, too?"

"Yes, I could use it!" My voice seems a bit strained, which is not lost on Horatio.

He slaps me on the back. "Here, take mine!" he laughs, cramming his glass into my hand.

As soon as each of us has a glass of brandy in hand, Jeremy raises his in a toast, "It's been one hell of a roller coaster ride getting here, Erik! I wish a life of peace and tranquility to you and Laura!"

Horatio pipes in, "Here! Here!" and we tap the rims of our glasses and drink heartily.

As I drink to this toast, I, too, wish for a life of peace and tranquility for Laura and me, but I wonder, with some apprehension just what "the fates" have in store.

"Does anyone know when the ladies will be here?" I ask anxiously.

"Should be anytime," Horatio turns toward the open door, as if he expects them to materialize momentarily. "Grace is ready and when I last saw her, she was headed for Laura's room to help her finish dressing. Antoinette was already there. But, you never know with women. They can really make a production out of getting dressed." Horatio rolls his eyes, but his comment sends a stab of panic through me. How long before Laura arrives? I just want this evening to begin.

Finally we hear the sound of Laura's door opening down the hallway and the swish of crinoline and satin skirts. I am a jumble of emotions: happy that Laura is coming, anxious that everything may not go perfectly, nervous about the ceremony to come, both ecstatic and terrified at what will follow. I wonder if all grooms go through this right before their wedding.

Grace and Antoinette enter side by side, both wearing gowns of slightly different shades of mauve, which seems to be the latest fashion for women. Grace's gown is off the shoulder, and her golden hair piled high on her head and woven with mauve ribbons. She is quite stunning, and gives Horatio a special, unmistakable look.

Antoinette's dress in a deeper shade of mauve is more prim and proper, but nonetheless quite attractive. She is wearing the high collar that she so loves, ornamented only by her cherished gold necklace and cross.

I hold my breath as I see the hint of an ivory skirt at the door, and then I am lost in the beauty of Laura as she enters. Her ivory gown is exquisite, but that is not what causes my breath to catch. She is utterly radiant tonight. Radiant with joy and happiness, and I will always hold in my memory this first glimpse of her as she walks through the door.

The low-cut bodice of her gown edges her creamy décolleté with intricate lace. Laura's ivory shoulders are as delicate as the rose petals that are entwined in her black silken hair, which cascades in soft, trailing ringlets around her face and down her shoulders. Around her graceful neck hangs the fine golden chain and pink jeweled pendant that I gifted her at Christmas.

My eyes become wet as I gaze at this woman who is to be my wife this very night. Transfixed, I walk toward her, bow and take her hand, raising it to my lips for a gentle kiss. Then I lean forward, whispering into her ear, "You are the vision of an angel, my love. I will never forget how you look at this moment."

The men escort the women to the dining table and seat them, signaling to the servants to begin bringing the many courses which the chef has prepared for this special celebration dinner. Although this was announced as our engagement dinner, we six share in the secret that it is instead to celebrate our wedding. But we are not disappointed, the chef has outdone himself, and each course is perfectly prepared.

The first course of vichyssoise is flawlessly seasoned. The bowls are silently taken away when we are finished, and the next course brought in. Vegetables are arranged around a brace of grouse with oyster stuffing served on the side. Finally, glazed pears complete our 'engagement' dinner.

Although I enjoy the rich flavors and delicacy of the sauces, as well as friendly, sometimes ribald banter of dinner conversation, it is only Laura that absorbs my attention. I cannot take my eyes off her, which leads me to note that Laura is not drinking much of the wine. She takes only an occasional sip, causing me to chuckle with the wisdom of her forethought. Neither of us would want her being carried away with the wine to intrude on our wedding night.

Finally, the dinner is over and amidst the bustle of clearing the dishes, the servants express congratulations for our betrothal. They set the table with fresh plates and silver settings to serve the ornately decorated cake which is placed in the middle of the table with a flourish. The servants are dismissed and told that we will serve the cake ourselves. They are also given specific instructions not to interrupt us the remainder of the evening. With dinner out of the way, we are anxious to begin the ceremony.

I step over to Laura's chair and pull it out for her, extending my arm to escort her to the sitting area. Jeremy and Horatio gather the high-backed tapestry covered chairs from around the room and bring them back to the area in front of the fireplace. Directing them to place the six chairs in an oval, Laura indicates that a comfortable amount of space should be left between them. I quickly go over to my desk and take out the parchment with the elegantly penned marriage vows that I drew up. We will sign this, along with all present, when the ceremony is completed. Then Laura and I sit in the two chairs in the center of the arrangement. We will be facing each other but not able to touch or hold hands.

Grace and Horatio sit between us on one side, and Jeremy and Antoinette on the other. When we are all comfortable, Laura gracefully rises, looking all the angel that she is and explains the ceremony. It is profoundly simple: for the next half hour, each person will be left to their own prayers, thoughts and meditations. No words or rituals will be said, except that each person may stand and express any thoughts, prayers or blessings for the couple that will soon take their vows. Laura has told me that she will rise when it is time, and that will be my cue to also stand. Then we will join hands as we give our vows to each other.

When Laura settles into her chair, she immediately closes her eyes and slightly bows her head, completely relaxed, her hands folded on her lap. With complete unselfconsciousness, she remains this way in total peace and calm. I look anxiously around the circle and notice that the rest of us are somewhat astonished at this gentle form of worship and ceremony. Jeremy grins over at me, shifts uneasily in his chair and bows his head, attempting to follow Laura's example.

I notice that each person then does the same, and I lower my head and pray with all my heart that Laura and I will receive God's blessing and guidance in our life together. The only sound in the room is the snapping of the fire's flames on the dry oak log, and the ticking of the clock on the mantle. I begin to feel something settle over the room, a deep, profound tranquility that transforms this ordinary space into a peaceful, protected sanctuary. Many moments pass as we sit in this sacred silence.

Grace is the first to be bold enough to break the silence and stands. "Laura, you have become like a sister to me, especially over the last few weeks, and I understand what you are going through to adjust to your new life here. After all, law school didn't prepare us for this. Please know that I do understand the challenges you face, but you have the courage to do that, and most importantly, you have Erik by your side. And, don't forget that you also have many friends around you now. I pray that you both have a long life filled with love and happiness…" Grace looks at me, then at Laura, and smiles, "and are blessed with many children."

I am astonished at this unabashed statement! I look anxiously over at Laura who is blushing! Our eyes meet, and her lips part briefly in a smile meant just for me. I feel the heat of my own blood rising up my cheeks! These Americans never cease to amaze me with their frank language!

Noticing my reaction, Horatio rises to his feet quickly as if to take the attention away from Grace's comment, "I am honored to be here, and to witness Erik and Laura's wedding. Erik, congratulations on winning the heart of an equally determined and courageous woman. You now have your hands full, but as everyone knows, a lion will have nothing but a lioness. And Laura, remember that much depends upon your taming abilities."

Smiles and laughter break out as these words settle in.

Still grinning, Horatio adds, "Honestly, I'm not sure which one of you needs to keep the closest watch on the other. Just be sure you always have the other's back, and take good care of each other. You're both very special to me."

Jeremy has been shifting restlessly in his chair for some time. Whenever I glanced at his face, he was grimacing, as if trying to find just the proper words to speak. I wonder what he will say when he finally decides.

Self-consciously, Jeremy rises slowly to his feet, pulling his shoulders back, "I'd like to offer a few words on this joyous occasion," he clears his throat and look directly at me, "I've been with you, Erik, ever since you were brought to the future. I've seen the love between you and Laura from its beginning, and have witnessed its many ups and downs. I have to tell you," he shakes his head and chuckles, "I really hated the downs!"

Jeremy gives me a look of earnest respect, "But, Erik, it was amazing to watch as you did everything in your power for the chance to be with Laura. It proved to me that love is a transcendent thing, and when the bond between souls is strong enough, no matter what the odds of them being together, love will always find a way!"

Then he turns to Laura and grins at her, "And Laura, I'm so glad you are a Quaker…that meant I didn't have to track down a caravan of gypsies!"

Everyone turns to me with startled looks. I wonder why on earth they connect 'gypsies' with me? Under their questioning scrutiny, I maintain an innocent, impassive expression.

Jeremy then continues, "We all know what you both have been through, the journey you took and the storms you have weathered to arrive at this day! Just remember, 'After a storm comes the calm!' Though, I suspect that some of your seas may get mighty rough at times, I wish you both a long, happy life together and smooth sailing."

When Jeremy sits down, time again moves slowly, as everyone tries to remain still and solemn. With the exception of Laura, who seems to easily maintain a calm meditation with her hands folded and eyes closed, I notice everyone else glancing frequently at the clock, watching as each minute of the half hour passes with the speed of a snail.

Finally, Antoinette sighs quietly and stands. Her voice is calm and sweet as she offers her wishes, "I ask for blessings on Erik and Laura and on their marriage. Erik, I have seen what you have suffered at the hands of so many. It gives me joy now to see you marry your Laura and be surrounded by such good people. But, I know you well, and I am learning more about Laura with each passing day," with tears glistening in her eyes, she says, "and you both are passionate and caring, so I think that following your hearts may cause you to have a rather eventful life. Whatever may come, may God watch over and protect you both! May each moment be filled with joy!"

I reach into my waistcoat pocket and remove a handkerchief, giving it to Antoinette to dry her tears. As she dabs her cheek with it, Laura's blue embroidered initials can be seen at the edge. I have carried that with me ever since Laura gave it to me in court what seems such a very long time ago.

Finally, Laura stands up and walks the short distance between us, taking my hand to gently indicate that it is time to exchange our vows. As I stand next to her, with both our hands intertwined, I gaze into her shining eyes that are filled with her unbounded devotion.

When she speaks, her voice is strong and clear, "Erik, my beloved, I have hoped for the day when I would become your wife forever. I love you for who you are, just as you are, and want nothing more than to be by your side until the day we die. I promise that I will love, honor and respect you always."

Then her voice becomes softer, and she smiles into my eyes. "One of my favorite passages from Kahlil Gibran tells how I feel about the love that we share…"

"…_Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.  
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:  
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.  
To know the pain of too much tenderness."_

I look into her open-hearted gaze, and the love I feel for her compels me to finish the words that she began,

"…_To be wounded by your own understanding of love;  
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.  
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;  
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;  
To return home at eventide with gratitude;  
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."_

She smiles at me with pure joy that I have unexpectedly completed her passage. Now, it is time to speak from my heart. "Laura, my cherished bride, on this day, you entrust me with your love, your heart, your soul and your body. To me you have willingly given all. To me, the love that we share together is very precious, and I will guard and protect it, and you, with every measure of strength that I possess. You have shown me the many sides of love: compassion, respect and sacrifice. But the most amazing thing to me is that you can see me not only as a man, but into my very soul. I too treasure certain passages from Gibran that express my feelings about our togetherness as husband and wife…"

"…_You were born together,  
and together you shall be forevermore.  
You shall be together when the white wings  
of death scatter your days.  
Aye, you shall be together even in the  
silent memory of God."_

Although unplanned, Laura lovingly finishes this verse, moving me deeply.

"…_But let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.  
Love one another, but make not a bond of love.  
Let it rather be a moving sea between  
the shores of your souls."_

Then, Laura's eyes look up at me, wet with tears as she speaks the final vows of her Quaker tradition, "In the presence of God and these our friends, I take thee, Erik Philippe Mercier, Comte de Chagny, to be my husband, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful wife so long as we both shall live."

I respond, my voice slightly quivering, "In the presence of God and these our friends, I take thee, Laura Elizabeth Counselor, to be my wife, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband so long as we both shall live."

For a breathless moment we look into each other's eyes, suspended in time, and then I lean down and tenderly kiss Laura. _My wife_.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: Pink cupcakes and champagne to each of you who take your time and care, and write your thoughts about The Case! We are so very glad to hear from you and that you are enjoying Erik and Laura's story. ****We also hope to hear from those of you who have been reading in silence! This chapter is one we would love to hear everyone's comment!**

Erik and Laura, and their very special night, in the Gamekeeper's Cottage…

(M Rated!)

* * *

**Chapter 61 Gamekeeper's Cottage, by Phanna**

_Wedding Night_

_Gamekeeper's Cottage_

_December 28, 1871_

_Erik's POV:_

Laura shivers under her cashmere shawl as I hurry her along the cold, damp underground corridor that leads to the cottage. The drafts through here chill to the bone. Careful not to let the oil lamp blow out, I hold it high so that the bright flame will light our way. I am familiar with this passageway, but this is Laura's first trip through the tunnel. Countless times I have traversed this path and spent several nights in the cottage, restless and alone. But this time it is different. Laura is at my side.

My wife. Her husband.

I shake my head in wonder, thinking about our marriage. There have been so many obstacles placed in our path. And yet, in the end, it was incredibly effortless. The simplicity of the Quaker wedding touched me deeply. I was profoundly moved by the vows we made to each other, irrevocably binding us for all time. This is what I have longed for, dreamt of, and now it has actually happened.

Laura glances over at me. The lamp light reveals the black and blue bruise above her eye, but nothing can diminish her beauty. She tilts head slightly, her dark, luminous eyes asking why I am smiling at her. I stop for a short moment to take her in my arms and whisper into her ear, "Wife."

In return, she places her hand on my cheek and leans in to whisper, "Husband." When I feel her breath on my ear, I pull her tenderly against me and taste her lips, her mouth, her neck, lingering for a while before I take her hand and continue down the corridor.

When we reach the ladder that goes into the cottage, I let Laura precede me, following closely behind. When she wobbles unsteadily on one of the rungs, I quickly place my hands on her derrière to steady her. She squeaks in surprise, turns and gives me one of her familiar impish smiles. I grin back playfully, enjoying her reaction and anticipating the intimate times we can now share. I put my hands on her hips, continuing to assist her as she climbs the ladder, amidst gales of laughter.

When she reaches the top, she sits and waits for me on the rim of the trapdoor. As I step up the rungs of the ladder Laura places her arms around my neck and pulls me against her, as far as her skirts will allow, for an enticing kiss. Assisting with her voluminous dress, I gently help her up into the cottage, laughing with the absurdity of fitting such full skirts through a small trapdoor.

Her eyes glow with pleasure when she views the interior of the small cottage. I make a mental note to profusely thank Jeremy and Antoinette! I had asked Jeremy if he would start a fire before we arrived and felt certain that Antoinette would add her touch, but they have done much more than those simple tasks. They have worked magic and transformed this _small_ cottage into an _enchanted_ cottage, perfect for our wedding night.

Candles are placed around the room, softly flickering light into every corner and the scent of beeswax wafts through the air. The candlelight touches Laura and lends a golden aura to her skin. I reach out to touch her cheek, wondering if my fingers will sink into liquid honey. The gilded tone of her skin beneath my fingertips entices me to lean over and kiss her cheek, her temple, her hair. When I look down at her, we become lost in each other, marveling that we are here, together…and alone.

I step behind her, my arms circling her waist, feeling the smooth satin of her gown. Carefully pulling her against me, we leisurely continue to look around the cottage. Jeremy has created a cozy fire in the hearth and stacked additional logs to the side.

Antoinette must have thought that we might starve to death overnight. An overflowing platter with a variety of cheese and breads, as well as an immense bowl of fruit, both fresh and dried, grace the oak table. But then it will make a fine breakfast and luncheon. We do not have to be back at the chateau until 2 o'clock for the dance instruction.

I chuckle against Laura's hair, but my heart fills with affection for Antoinette as I note how much time and care she has put into insuring our comfort. Not only has she seen fit to make sure that we have plenty to eat, she has also set out several bottles of fine wine, along with elegant linens and hand cut crystal wine glasses.

"Erik, the cottage is beautiful. Who did this for us?"

"I asked Jeremy and Antoinette to start a fire," I smile broadly into her hair, "but obviously they did not stop at that."

Antoinette has also prepared our wedding bed. Most of the long burgundy draperies used to keep the heat inside the bed area have been closed on the large four-poster bed, creating an intimate nook. Only the velvet drapes on the side facing us have been drawn back and tied. The luxurious velvet quilt has been turned down revealing crisp white sheets that are also neatly folded. Several pillows line the headboard, and the plump featherbed beckons us onto its waiting softness.

Laura has been leaning against me, but suddenly moves out of my arms and walks over to the bed. Ah, she has seen them. Bending over, she picks up the lavish bouquet of pink orchids resting on top of the quilt. The task of locating the orchids had been on the list I gave Jeremy, but I was uncertain if he would be able to procure them in December. I murmur a silent thank you to him.

"Oh, how exquisite!" She turns to me, her eyes suspiciously wet, "How did you ever find these at this time of year?"

Having no compunction whatsoever about taking full credit for this miracle, I reply, "It was not easy, but it was worth it to see the look on your face."

Laura carries the orchids to the cabinet and fills a vase with water using the hand pump. She meticulously arranges the flowers and places them back on the dresser next to the bed. They reflect beautifully in the oval mirror attached to the waist-high dresser. "I want to be able to see them when we are…well, I mean, later," a hint of a blush comes to her cheeks. Then she walks over to me and says, "But, I don't have a gift for you."

I tilt her chin up, "You give of yourself, and that is all the gift I could ever ask for."

She steps into my arms and murmurs, "I feel the same way about you." My heart swells with love as she embraces me, resting her head on my chest.

I enjoy every minute of this domestic scene, knowing we will have many years of experiences such as this ahead of us. We are creating our history together, here and now. We will be able to look back when we are old and remember happy times such as this, and probably some sad ones as well.

Finally, running my hands up her back and twining them through her sable hair, I ask, "So Madame Mercier, are you hungry perhaps? I did not see you eat much at dinner tonight."

Her eyes are a bit damp when she looks up at me, "No, not really."

Then her eyes twinkle as she flashes her delectable grin and adds, "Well, at least not for food!"

My heart skips a beat, and I drink in her face, memorizing every feature and the way she looks tonight with her skin glowing and her eyes, mischievous one moment and adoring the next. How incredibly blessed I am that this woman has chosen to spend her life with me. This is what I have longed for, to love and be loved in return.

"We have all night. In fact, we have our entire lives to be together now. I want to savor everything about this night with you…our first night as husband and wife."

Laura tightens her arms around me, "Yes, I want to memorize each and every moment also."

"Come then, my love, let us sit and enjoy the fire for awhile. I will pour us a small glass of wine."

She sighs deeply, "My love…I adore the sound of it. It sounds beautiful when _you_ say it."

"My love…," I kiss her sweet mouth over and over repeating the litany.

A sound at the window makes us jump, and we both turn, laughing when we see that it is only a branch from the oak tree moving in the wind. I step to the window, drawing the drapery closed. Then I walk to the table and open a bottle of wine, pouring a small amount in both wine glasses. While I fill the glasses, Laura inspects the sideboard. "There's another basket of food here! Let's see, ummm, my favorite, fresh croissants. There's also more bread, jam and a container of sweet butter." I pause and contentedly watch the sway of her hips as she walks around the small kitchen.

"Come Madam Mercier, here is your wine." Handing one of the glasses to her, I take her other hand and lead her to the sitting area. There is a soft carpet that covers the wood floor between the hearth stones and the settee. A high back leather chair sits in front of a bookcase that I have stocked with some of my favorite books.

Setting our glasses down on the small side table next to the settee, I remove my jacket and waistcoat, placing them on the back of the chair. When I reach up to remove my cravat, Laura steps in front of me. She surprises me by moving my hands aside and taking over the task. I smirk, wondering if this time she will be able to do it without my assistance. Apparently so, because she removes it within seconds, and places it on my other articles of clothing. When she turns back, she unfastens my shirt and pulls it open, then steps back and admiringly gazes at my chest, causing my heart to race faster. Finally, I clear my throat, "Come, let me help you out of your dress. I know that it must be uncomfortable for you to be so constricted." I hold my hand out, indicating for her to step toward me.

As she takes my hand, she begins to turn her back to me, "Thank you. Grace and Antoinette were careful to leave me extra room, but you are right. The dress is still very heavy. It would be nice to be out of it."

I begin to unfasten the long row of buttons, and help her step out of the ivory gown and the multitude of under skirts. Finally, she is standing in nothing but her bloomers and an ivory satin camisole the color of her gown. I take my time looking at her, from her dainty toes to her glossy black hair. The short sleeves of the camisole cover her smooth shoulders, and the satin clinging to her bosom is very alluring, far more so than if she were wearing a corset underneath. Her waist looks so small, cinched in by the ribbon tie. She is like a goddess who has come alive and chosen me.

I have stared at her so long that I can see a faint blush on her skin.

Hesitantly she asks, "Do you like the camisole, darling? I wore it instead of the corset and linen chemise."

"I…I," _Do I like it?_

"I'm glad to see that you approve." She laughs.

"Yes." I swallow hard and turn to tend to the fire, adding a few logs and stoking it up to make sure the room remains warm. _Sacre bleu,_ I feel as hot inside as the fire that I stoke. To give my ardor a chance to retreat a bit, I also check to see if any of the candles need to be replaced so that we will have no distractions later.

Finally, I sit down on the settee. Antoinette has placed several plump pillows in one corner and a thick quilt as well. I gently guide Laura into my lap, careful to avoid the bruised area around her ribs, but I cannot resist running my hands over the exquisite satin; both the satin fabric and the satin of her skin.

Laura cradles my face with her gentle hands and pulls back slightly to look straight into my eyes, "I want to see _all _of you."

I reach up and lift my mask off. When I am alone with Laura, I will not wear it again. All my doubts and fears have been put aside, and it is most liberating.

She slides her arms around my neck, placing a few kisses on the scarred side of my face and sighs contentedly, "Yes, that's much better."

I close my eyes and just murmur, "Yes." It takes me a few moments to get rid of the lump in my throat. So I hold her in my arms and return her kisses, savoring these sweet timeless moments.

When she looks up at me again, her expression is filled with love. "It's so good to be by ourselves….our wedding night."

"Yes, our wedding night." I run my thumb along her jaw line, "I despaired many times, thinking it would never occur."

I reflect back on the anguish I have gone through. The tragedy of the shooting in the elevator after I had made arrangements for us to be married; the agony of knowing that she would not live long enough to be my wife; not knowing if I would be successful in my plan to go back in time to save her; not knowing if she would survive the time travel; and then, just two days ago, not knowing if I could ever persuade her to marry me after our altercation. I brush these thoughts aside quickly when I feel her hand on my cheek.

"Well, I often wondered if you were ever going to propose to me." She actually _bats her eyes at me_ coquettishly, and I pretend to be shocked, causing both of us to laugh. They do say that laughter is good for the soul, and it seems when I am with Laura, there is always laughter.

"It is going to be very difficult to keep our marriage secret until the civil ceremony." She looks so serious as she says this! "I don't know if I can act like we aren't married in front of everyone!"

I lean down to continue my assault on her ear and the area beneath. "We will still have the nights, my love, and our retreat here in this cottage."

"Yes, that's true," she looks up at me through long, black eyelashes, "But what about all the hours in between?"

Her surprising response sends my heart pounding.

She settles her head on my chest. I smell the scent of roses in her hair. My hand moves along her back, gently rubbing and massaging. "Oh, that feels so good, please don't stop." I continue for some time before cupping the back of her neck and tilting her head up. Exploring her mouth, I can taste the sweet wine on her lips and smell its fragrant bouquet on her breath.

The warmth of Laura's palm as she runs it along my chest causes my skin to burn. Time seems to vanish as we kiss and embrace. The room feels oppressively warm, and I glance over Laura's shoulder to the fireplace, expecting to see a roaring fire. Instead, the fire has burned down, and the flames are gone, leaving only the glowing skeleton of the logs.

The cottage will stay warm as long as I keep the fire ablaze, so quite reluctantly, I get up and add a few logs while the coals are still hot enough to ignite the additional wood. I can feel Laura watch me, and when I glance at her, she is staring at my chest where my shirt is gaping open. Does she truly find me attractive? I wonder as I turn away from her and return to my task, knowing the fire inside me is burning hotter than the fire I tend.

When the flames are licking the new logs and jumping high in their dance, I unexpectedly feel Laura standing behind me. Turning, I smile down at her, as she places her hands inside my shirt. I can feel the muscles of my chest tighten in response to her sweet touch.

I place my hands over hers, "Laura, I love your touch." She continues to move her hands slowly across my chest.

Starting my own journey across the satin of her camisole, my hands hover over her delightful breasts when, surprisingly, she stops me. "Wait. I want to do something special."

Looking down at her in amazement, I raise my eyebrows in question, "And what would that be?" I am most curious.

She laughs, "Be patient and you will see."

Laura begins to walk slowly around me, her hands roaming freely. When I attempt to turn toward her, she makes me stand still. She comes up behind me, pressing herself intimately against me. My body reacts immediately, but she does not allow me to move or touch her. Slowly, her arms reach around me, lightly grazing my stomach, chest and then my waist. I hear my own hiss of indrawn breath in the stillness of the room, and she emits a low laugh, apparently delighted in the effect she is having on me.

She circles around in front of me, and I reach up, wanting to touch her, but she halts me with a simple "No, not yet." Then she removes my shirt. As she brushes her hands provocatively along my chest, I close my eyes, feeling the lazy tendrils of fire radiate down. What exquisite torture from such a small woman.

When I open my eyes, she is leaning forward, kissing my chest, tracing her mouth along the muscle ridge near my ribs. I try to put my arms around her. Once again, she coyly says, "No." I grit my teeth.

When she moves, it is to position herself behind me once again, and her hands glide over my back and shoulders. I feel her touch my scars and then kiss them, causing me to tremble with deep emotion. Unhurriedly, her hands encircle my waist. Does she realize what she is doing to me? That every nerve ending in my body is tingling, that my blood is pounding furiously through me, and that I want to sweep her into my arms and carry her to the bed, _NOW?_

When she reaches to unfasten my trousers, I freeze. Then she tugs at my undergarment, eliminating the rest of my clothes. Gasping for air, I groan when her hands slide around to the front of my belly and then lower. Her moan is husky as she leans against my back and murmurs, "Erik."

I can no longer endure this exquisite torture. My hands visibly shake when I place them over hers, panting, "Stop!"

Thank Heaven Above! She does not object and withdraws her hands so that I may turn to her. The twinkle in her dark eyes tells me that she is fully aware of what she is doing to me, _the little imp_. Her own passion flares in her face and flushed cheeks. The passion that is solely for me! I gently hold her to me, mindful of the bruised area on her side and cover her mouth in a deep all-consuming kiss_. That_ should remove her grin! When she next looks up at me, I can see that her lips are swollen from our kisses, her eyes deepened and softened with her ardor.

I turn her slowly around and pull her back against my body, knowing she feels my arousal. My mouth places fervent kisses along the nape of her neck, her shoulders and the shell of her ear while my hand slides slowly around to caress her breasts through the satin, rubbing them gently under my palm.

She leans her head back on my chest and looks up at me. Untying the ribbon, I gently gather the camisole and lift it over her head. I pause in amazement. As I look down at her, a low rumble of wonder escapes my throat at the vision of the golden skin, reflecting like soft amber in the candlelight and burning embers of the fire.

The heat of her body warms my own skin as I dare to run my hand along the curve of her back, tracing every inch. When my hands reach the ribbon of her bloomers, I untie them and the material falls away. My fingers linger on the gentle swell of her backside and hip, cupping and caressing. She looks like one of the golden statues that adorned the Opera House. A statue that has come to life in front of me.

I turn her halfway toward me, the light of the fire at her back. Flickering flames cast shadows that dance and sway, silhouetting her full breasts, the feminine curve of her shoulders and neck, and the concave profile of her stomach.

When she turns to face me fully, the shadows continue to dance over her honeyed skin, but now she shyly folds her arms across her breasts. I smile at her maiden's bashfulness at her nudity. I still cannot believe that this beautiful paradox of a woman belongs to me.

_Laura's POV:_

Tears spring to my eyes at the simple beauty of this man standing before me. My heart sings at the sight of him. He has exposed his vulnerability to me. This is the first time that I've seen him this way. He's not hiding behind anything…neither a mask, nor the image of the Phantom of the Opera. He is only Erik now.

Standing still in the soft glow of the candlelight, he looks like a marble sculpture, created by one of the great masters. His body consists of many planes and angles, muscles and ridges, but his eyes are alive, glowing with love for me. When I stare at him, taking my fill of his sculptured body, my stomach quivers, and my legs tremble. At risk of breaking the spell that hangs between us, I step forward and reach out to touch him. His skin is warm and responsive under my caresses, causing a tongue of fire to curl within me.

I search his face and wonder why no one has seen him the way that I have. Making sure that my arm is held carefully over my bruised side, I step closer to him. He has a smile on his lips. His lips…they're fascinating to watch. His mouth is beautiful, but I especially like it when he smiles at me. I trace the softness of his lips with my fingers, then move to his cheeks, caressing them, feeling the soft whiskers under my fingertips. Breathlessly, I whisper, "My love."

His blue-green eyes are dark when they meet mine. They change colors many times throughout the day. I have watched them go from sea green to deep emerald as they are now. They are so expressive: stone cold when directed at someone who has displeased him, glaring and intimidating in his ire, or soft and warm when speaking with Antoinette. But, my favorite is the deep emerald green of passion. That color is for me only. The tongue of fire curls tighter inside me, and I ache for his touch.

I lift his hand and place it on my flesh, feeling the sensations reach to my core. Leaning into him, I slide my hands along the back of his neck and entwine my fingers in his thick black hair. I see the pulse at the base of his throat and brush it with my tongue, feeling it vibrate with the thrumming of his heartbeat.

_Erik's POV:_

I melt at the sight of Laura. I have held her close many times. But the image of her standing there in her maiden's shyness is one of the moments that will be etched in my memory forever. Tracing kisses along her neck and down to her breasts, I kneel on the rug before her, continuing to move lower. The fire highlights the contours of her ribs and... I stop. _Horrified at what I see._

Swallowing convulsively as I stare at the bruise on Laura's ribs, I try to hide my shock from her. A huge black and purple area larger than my outstretched hand mars her beautiful body. The delicate ivory skin of her breast is so beautiful in contrast to the horrifying spectacle that lies beneath. I grimace at the thought of the pain she must have endured when that vile coward hit her, and she fell. _I am enraged and vow that the loathsome creature will pay for this! _I take a few deep breaths, struggling to control my emotions, but I cannot hide them. My fists clench and unclench in anger.

Laura kneels down in front of me and takes hold of my arms. In a panicked voice, she asks, "Erik, you aren't going to do anything about what happened are you?"

With fury tearing at my insides, I do not answer.

"Please promise me that you won't do anything to harm that man."

"Laura, I cannot and _will not_ promise that," then in an unequivocal tone, "and you cannot ask that of me."

She pulls back and searches my face, and with an equally insistent tone in her voice, she pleads, "Then promise you won't kill him. At least promise me that!"

I stare at her, taking in her beautiful womanly shapes and contours, and her silken skin, which make the travesty of the black and purple even more heinous. I swallow hard, "I promise I will not kill him."

She wraps her arms around me and pulls me gently into her embrace, calming me. I hold her against me for many long moments, pushing what I have just seen to that place in my mind where I can deal with it later. It is not for here or now.

But, my heart aches for her. If there were some way to take this pain from her, I would. I put my hand under her chin and look into her eyes, "Oh darling…" My voice is choked with the emotion of the shock that I feel. Speech is impossible. There will be no completion of our lovemaking this night with what I have just seen. It will be much too painful for her. We must postpone the intimacy of our wedding night until she is healed. When I can finally talk, my voice sounds unsteady even to my own ears, "We will wait until you are healed to spend our wedding night the way we had intended."

Laura gasps, "No, Erik. No!" She looks up at me with those beautiful doe eyes, pleading, and my heart melts. She tries to reassure me. "It will be fine. I am _sure_ we can find a way."

"We will only proceed if it causes you no pain." I place my hand on the side of her face, still inwardly shaken, trying to keep my rage locked away. Laura lifts my hand from her cheek and kisses my palm. Then she begins to kiss my chest and puts her hands on my backside, urging me against her. It is not long before we are lost in our lovemaking once more.

Since we are both kneeling on the soft rug, I reach up to the settee and take several pillows, as well as the thick quilt, placing them on the rug. I gently guide Laura to the quilt and lay down next to her, placing the pillows under her wherever they will make her most comfortable.

My hands move across her smooth skin, sliding down to encircle an ivory breast. She arches her back, and I take my fill of her, kissing and stroking her softness. Her hands sensuously move along my back, waist and stomach.

My fingertips follow the curve of her hips, then trace the inside of her thigh. With trembling fingers, I touch her delicate flesh. She is so silken, so warm. I hold my breath, daring to let my gaze fall on the secrets she has opened to me. Little gasps reveal her pleasure, and I whisper softly, "Vous sont comme se sont levés!" Sweat breaks across my body. _Mon Dieu…she is like a rose._

Her hands glide over me, exploring. I am on the edge of loosing control. I nuzzle her ear, "Laura, are you comfortable? Do you want to move to the settee?"

Her dark eyes are small slits as she whispers, "But the bed is so lovely..."

I lean forward and cover her mouth with mine, then ask, "Do you want our first time to be in the bed darling?"

She takes a ragged breath, then nods her head yes, "Do you mind?"

I laugh softly next to her ear, "Of course not. I just want to make sure that you will be in no pain."

"Will it hurt?"

"No, I will not put any of my weight near your ribs."

"I meant, do you think our first time together will hurt?"

I am aware that she is a virgin. "I have read that it may hurt for just a moment. But, I will be very careful, my love. We will go slowly, and I will ease the pain as much as I can." I kiss the shell of her ear and continue to kiss her neck and stroke her until I feel her once again relax in my arms.

Kneeling on one knee, I pick Laura up in my arms, carefully, as if she were a crystal snowflake. Before placing her on the bed, I note that the candles are not burnt low yet. I want to see everything that happens between us, our pleasure, our passion, our joining.

As I lay her on the white linen sheets, I stand back and look down at my beautiful goddess, incredulous that she is mine and I am hers. I carefully arrange several pillows under her back and shoulders so that she is sitting up comfortably. Then, I gently push another pillow under her hips, raising them slightly.

Laura's eyes sweep over my body, returning to gaze longingly into mine. She opens her arms, inviting me to join her. I lean over and kiss her forehead, then carefully lie on my side next to her. Supporting myself on my elbow, I admire her loveliness. Her dark hair spreads over the snow white pillow. Her half-closed eyes watch me in anticipation and perhaps, nervousness.

Swollen from my caresses, her breasts rise and fall with her quick and shallow breaths. She sighs when I reach out and run my fingers over her contours, tracing the angles, as if strumming the strings of a fine violin. Her body responds to my intimate touches with a deep flush. We are both breathless, hearts pounding, flesh on fire.

Her light, brushing strokes across my skin cause me to shudder with my need for her. _Mon Dieu._ I reach out, stopping her, holding off the climax that is approaching all too soon. I want this pleasure to be mutual. Not just mine, but hers as well.

She looks up at me questioningly, "Erik, I want to please you."

A short laugh escapes me, "You are, my love. But, this is a balancing act, a dance of slow movements. We will have our pleasure as one."

In response she reaches up and places her hand on the side of my face and moves her mouth to mine, holding me close as we continue the intricate dance of intimacy. Her warm mouth welcomes me, her breath sweet, her tongue insistent. A moan of pleasure escapes from deep within me.

As my hand delicately grazes her stomach and glides down her thigh, she moans "Erik," into my mouth. She moves her hips against me and runs her hand along my leg, causing me to tremble in my need. Panting, my heart is trying to escape the confines of my rib cage.

I hover on the edge of an abyss when she touches me again and says, "Now, my love, now."

I look deeply into her eyes and see expectation and at the same time, shyness. Without taking my eyes from hers, I kneel and using my hands to cup her backside, pull her toward me. I place her legs gently over my thighs. The moaning sounds she makes are music to me.

As I move her closer, I hesitate, not wanting our lovemaking to cause her pain. Sensing this, she reassures me, "It will be alright."

"Je t'aime," is all I can manage to say as I gaze into her eyes and press slowly forward into the petals of the rose. The sensations are overwhelming, and I can feel my body quake as if I am caught in a raging fever.

The warmth that surrounds me is unyielding at first, and I watch her face closely for signs of pain but do not detect any. I see only love and passion in her soft eyes, but I fear to continue. So, I stop, my body tense as I try to hold on to the tenuous grip that I have on my own passions.

"I ache, Erik." Her whisper nearly stops my heart and sends another rush of fire through me. Her voice is barely audible when she says, "I ache for you...alone."

Then, as if sensing that I hesitate to cause her any pain, she arches into me and accepts me fully with a startling sensation of joining. I am engulfed by the feeling of warmth, of acceptance, of perfection. It is almost more than I can bear. I wrap my arms tenderly around her, taking us both over the precipice where time stands still and agony and ecstasy are one and the same.

When I begin to come back into myself, from "la petite mort," my arms are still wrapped around her. I gaze down into her face, flushed and warm, feeling her body still quivering in my arms with the aftermath of our passion. I murmur into her hair, "Mon amour pour toi est eternel," and know I mean it with all my heart when I say that I will love this woman through all of eternity.

The draperies of the bed surround and protect us in their warm cocoon. I remain still and unmoving for I know not how long, holding her against me, feeling our hearts pounding. Finally, I gently lower her back on the pillows and ease myself onto the bed by her side. For a long time we talk of many things, of our dreams and our future together, as we continue to caress each other. When sleep is about to overtake us, I cover us with the quilt.

_Laura's POV:_

Erik…Oh, my love… I stir against silken sheets, feeling his sinewy body beside me, part of his face buried in the side of my downy pillow. The contour of his upper body is silhouetted by the dim glow of a lone candle that still burns beside our bed.

My slight movement causes him to stir. I bask in the exquisite sensation of lying next to a man's body—Erik's body. His breath gently tickles my skin bringing me up from the depths of sleep, and I inhale the fragrance of soap in his hair, which mingles with his own unique scent. I luxuriate in his touch as he begins to stroke me again with his long fingers. As he caresses me, I'm overcome with the most intimate, trusting feeling I have ever known.

Seemingly lost in a dream when he moves on top of me, I anticipate pain in my ribs, but feel none as he gently, carefully cushions me. He murmurs my name softly in the mists of this dream-like moment, and dampness fills my eyes as I expectantly wait for his mouth to touch me. He lowers his face to mine and kisses me deeply. Heated spirals course through my body, causing me to arch with pleasure against him. His hands slip behind me, cradling me with delicate care against his heated chest.

Opening myself, I welcome him again into my body. My breath comes slow and deep as his languorous movements overwhelm me with the sensation of being filled…a filling that spreads through my entire body. His eyes reflect a worshipful passion, as they take in my body, savoring each moment of this uniting of our souls.

I try to absorb each nuance of him into myself. Suddenly, I see farther into him than ever before. Now the part I have waited to see is before me: a living, breathing, incarnation of strength and beauty, almost god-like, yet vulnerable to me. He is a man, but he is so much more…and he is my husband.

_Erik's POV:_

Something stirs in the bed beside me. Soft flesh shifts drowsily, brushing against me, and I realize it is Laura, my wife. My desire for her flares once again.

Flickering light from a single banking candle sheds golden glow, creating a mystical dream world. Our joining is slower this time, and I feel the most profound contentment and wholeness that I have ever experienced. Caught up in every sensation of this ecstasy, my body begins to move in a rhythm that is beyond any music I have ever played in the blackness of my lair. There, my feelings had been frantic, a frenzy of dark, unbridled emotions. I am now overcome with lights bursting into a rainbow of prismatic colors, a soaring attainment beyond my wildest imaginings. I experience nothing less than the song of the soul…a rapturous connection between body, mind and spirit—mine and Laura's combined.

When our passion subsides, we cannot speak. In blissful embrace, we listen to each other's intense breathing, trying to come back to earth, but knowing we are no longer as we were before. We are no longer two…our paths have merged, and we are indeed as of one body...one soul…one life.

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_French translations: _

Je t'aime – I love you

Mon amour pour toi est eternal – My love for you is eternal

Vous sont comme se sont levés - You are like a rose

La petit mort - "The little death"

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KFC wrote Laura's last POV, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the many hours you put in on this chapter.

Phanfan wrote the last Erik's POV. At the risk of repeating myself over and over Phanfan, thank you for your excellent advice, wonderful edits and then even more edits and your endless patience with me!


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: Thank you, to each of you, who wrote such lovely, heartfelt reviews! And, we are especially thrilled to hear from new fans! We are constantly getting notices that The Epic Case is being added to a reader's Favorites or Alerts list! But, please post your thoughts!! We love to read them—they definitely help to inspire us!**

So…The newlyweds have to leave the comfort and sanctuary of the gamekeeper's cottage in time for Mme Giry's dance lesson...

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**Chapter 62 Lessons, by Phanna**

_Chateau Mercier, __Near Paris, France_

_Friday, December 29, 1871, __Early Morning_

_Russ' POV:_

Jean-Luc is sitting on the bottom step, waiting impatiently for me this morning. I can tell he's anxious to go out to the stable. The minute he spots me, he starts chattering away, rattling off questions, then asking more without waiting for answers. I laugh.

Jean-Luc has touched my heart and, I highly suspect, the rest of us here, too. He rarely speaks about his mother, but I know he still feels her loss deeply. Sometimes I catch him watch the other children around their mothers and notice the longing on his face. Although he enjoys the camaraderie of the men, he gravitates toward Laura, Grace and Antoinette when he's in an introspective mood.

We have all discussed Jean-Luc's situation and decided that a few of us, myself included, will go into Paris next week to make inquiries and try to turn up some information about his mother's disappearance. At the same time, we are going to look into his uncle's death and find out if Jean-Luc stands to inherit any of the estate since he is a relative. From what we understand, his uncle had no children and only one brother, Jean-Luc's father.

I ruffle Jean-Luc's hair in greeting and put my hand on his shoulder. As we walk toward the outside door, we meet Joe coming out of the kitchen. He greets us with a huge smile. "Good morning. Are you both tagging along with me today?"

"Oui!" Jean-Luc dances around excitedly.

"I figured you were when I saw you waiting on the steps. Here." Joe hands him a large handful of dried apples. "Janelle said that you might want these." The kitchen staff loves to spoil him. They always make sure Jean-Luc has dried fruit or vegetables to feed his favorite horses.

Joe bends down to settle Jean-Luc on his arm for the walk. Over the past several days the sunshine has caused the snow to melt, so the yard area between the kitchen and the stable has turned muddy. In fact, a it's become a pool of mud! One of the servants spread dried field grasses and straw over the area to minimize the mess, especially near the kitchen door. And, Jean-Luc is in no condition to walk through it.

According to Matt, Jean-Luc's feet are not quite healed, though he's mending quickly. He said Jean-Luc should be able to walk on his own in a few more days. So Joe or I still try to carry him around as much as possible. He hasn't put on much weight despite the amount of food that everyone's been feeding him, but he does look healthier.

As Joe travels down the path, he hits a particularly slippery spot and begins to slide. Jean-Luc grabs Joe tighter, but inadvertently shifts the balance that Joe has just regained. In the next instant, they are both on the ground. Joe sits there for a moment, totally pissed. His backside is planted in the gooey muck, with Jean-Luc still on his arm, clutching tightly to the handful of dried apples.

Mud has splattered everywhere like water plunged from a pool when a swimmer belly flops. Since I was in the line of fire, it covered me, as well as both of them, in the process. We look at each other for a stunned moment, then burst into laughter. I lean over and take Jean-Luc as Joe extricates himself from the sticky mire of mud. We keep laughing as we continue to slip and slide all the way across the yard.

When we reach the stable, we stand around the pot belly stove that warms the stable. Several of the stable boys join in our laughter when they see out condition and ask if they can help. Jean-Luc strikes up a conversation with them. I've noticed that the lad makes friends easily, and everyone seems to like him.

Standing in front of the stove, the mud dries quickly on our clothing. That allows us to brush most of the big clods away with our hands. When we finally get as much of the dried mud off as we can, one of the stable boys carries a bucket of water over near the stove for us to wash our hands and faces. Deciding to change before he goes inside, Joe asks the boy to bring another pair of trousers from the château. His back end is covered with mud and no amount of brushing is working.

Jean-Luc limps toward the horses while Joe and I finish drying our hands and warming ourselves by the fire. He loves to visit the stable and usually goes out each morning when Joe looks in on the horses. I can hear Jean-Luc greeting the first horse, "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Babette. Do not try your sweet tricks on me for an extra piece of apple. Monsieur Joe will be here soon so you can flirt with him."

Jean-Luc is familiar with each horse now and likes to talk to them while he hands out the treats. He loves to stroke their velvet noses and scratch their foreheads and ears. The horses whinny their thanks in return.

The exception, of course, is Noir—Erik's horse. The big black stallion is intimidating, and he senses that Jean-Luc is a little frightened of him. Noir always tries to nip at the lad. It's amusing to watch Jean-Luc walk a wide berth around Noir while he talks to him, but he still manages to hand him a treat by fully extending his arm.

"Monsieur Joe, how is your head feeling today?" Jean-Luc has asked Joe the same question every morning since his injury.

"I'm fine Jean-Luc. I have a pretty hard head, and it'll take more than a hard knock to crack it open!"

Jean-Luc chuckles at the picture, "Monsieur Russ and me…"

"Monsieur Russ and _I,_" I automatically correct him.

The boy smiles up at me, "Monsieur Russ and _I _make sure the horses have their treats when you cannot come down to the stable."

"I appreciate that." Joe smiles at Jean-Luc, "They really like it when you visit them, especially Chantal." He's referring to the chestnut colored mare who 'shared' her stall with Jean-Luc the morning that Joe found him in the stable.

"Oui, we are very good friends now. I am going to ask Monsieur Erik if I may ride her for exercise when my feet are better."

"I imagine he'll give you his permission." Joe gives me a sideways glance and winks, "He's a pretty nice guy under all that gruff."

After Jean-Luc talks Joe's leg off and hands out all the treats, I pick him up and head for the château. Joe is going to change and then check on the other livestock. He'll come in for breakfast later.

It's still early, and most of the household isn't awake yet. However, the kitchen staff is scurrying around busily preparing the breakfast meal and making plans for the meals throughout the day. The aromas of baking bread and porridge cooking on the woodstove float through the air as I open the door with Jean-Luc on my arm. Sniffing deeply, I swear I can smell an apple pie baking. Janelle has found out that's my favorite and often includes it in her daily menu.

I greet everyone with a "Bonjour." The kitchen staff is very pleasant, and I've made friends with most of them. I especially like coming into the warm kitchen. It reminds me of when I was growing up. Mom was always baking and cooking on the weekends when she didn't work.

Janelle spots me immediately and rushes over. "Monsieur Russ, it's good to see you this morning."

"Good morning, Janelle! What is that I smell baking?"

She has a sparkle in her eye, "There will be an apple pie for dessert tonight." Yep, I was right! That's what I smelled! I smile my thanks as I set Jean-Luc on the ground.

"And I see you have Jean-Luc with you." She looks down and gives the boy a warm smile. "Bonjour Jean-Luc."

"Bonjour, Madame Janelle." Jean-Luc grins at her. "You look very beautiful today."

Janelle waggles her finger at him. "You have been keeping company with Monsieur Joe, haven't you? His habits are rubbing off on you! Despite what that scoundrel says, flattery will _not _get you everything!" But, she laughs, and her round, jovial body shakes with the effort. Then she hands Jean-Luc a fresh croissant and gently pushes him a few steps over to Mary so she can pour him a glass of fresh milk.

Then I ask hopefully, "Do you happen to have another croissant to hold me til breakfast?"

Janelle's cheeks are flushed a bright pink from the heat radiating off of the wood stove and her bustling around the kitchen. Her gray hair is already coming loose. Unruly tufts stick out haphazardly from beneath her cap. Little tendrils of hair corkscrew around her plump face and stick to the damp areas, making her look younger than her fifty years.

"Oui Monsieur. Do you want me to put some strawberry jam on it for you?"

"Mmmm…that's sounds delicious." She hands me a croissant slathered with strawberries, along with my usual hot cup of tea. Contentedly, I thank her and sit down at the oak table in the corner of the kitchen, watching the activity around me.

Everyone knows their jobs, and I find it amazing that no one trips over each other as they scurry about. It's a huge task feeding such a large group of people every day. And, the food is always excellent.

Janelle is the assistant to the chef. Monsieur Pere, the fussy chef, only prepares lunch and dinner. Janelle oversees the cooking and kitchen cleaning staff and is in charge of the breakfasts. Under her firm hand, the kitchen runs very competently. Highly competent at her job, Janelle takes pride in the fact that her staff prepares the excellent cuisine that we have come to expect.

Since she arrived, Antoinette has helped Janelle prepare several menus. Both ladies seem to enjoy the other's company, and I've even heard them laughing together. Antoinette immediately rolled up her sleeves and acquainted herself with the château's staff and schedule of cooking and cleaning. She's already seems to have taken charge of the château, and everything runs even more efficiently.

Janelle also takes pride in the cleanliness of the kitchen. It's kept spotless. From the day we arrived, Matt began training the staff in cleanliness and hygiene and setting a standard that he expects each of them to follow. Janelle was the first to realize the benefits of his techniques and was also eager to please the new owners at the château. I'm sure that the staff thought we were crazy Americans when we first arrived, but they seem to overlook that now and take things in stride, following Janelle's instructions. After all, they do get paid handsomely.

When Jean-Luc and I finish our croissants, we take off for the library.

I've taken the responsibility for Jean-Luc's education. It's a task that I really enjoy. Since arriving at the château, I've been teaching several of the children whose parents live and work here. The parents were very reluctant at first, but they eventually came around. Now I hold classes three days a week.

"I have read the pages from the book that you asked me to. Are you going to test me on them?" Jean-Luc asks in earnest.

"Yes, I certainly am! If I don't test you, I can't find out if you've studied!"

There has been an added bonus of my setting up classes for the children. One of the parents approached me last week and tentatively asked if I would teach her to read. I told her that I'd be glad to, and to pass on that I'd be willing to teach anyone who's interested. I now have two adult students.

Changing the subject completely, as he often does, Jean-Luc asks, "What is everyone going to wear to the Bal Masque on Sunday?"

"Well, I don't know what 'everyone' is going to wear, but I'll be dressed as a soldier from Rome."

"What will it look like? The Bal sounds very grand. May I see your costume before you go? How is Monsieur Joe going to be dressed?"

I laugh aloud at his barrage of questions and answer in kind, "You can see for yourself. Yes, it will be. Yes, you may. Joe has guard duty that night, I believe, and won't be going to the Bal."

I can see the wheels turning in the boy's head before he asks, "Do you think that I could stand guard duty with him?"

I knew he would eventually ask _that_ question. "You will have to ask Monsieur Horatio. That would be up to him."

I open the book we are currently studying. "Now it's time to see if you studied the work that I assigned you yesterday. If you've done a good job, then I'll take you upstairs so you can watch our dance lesson with Madame Giry this afternoon."

_Afternoon_

_Antoinette's POV:_

"Joseph!"

"What?!" He grins at me.

"_What_ are you doing?"

"Doing? I'm dancing…" The indents of his dimples deepen as he widens his grin, "like you taught me."

_Sacre Bleu! __He is impossible!_

Looking skyward in supplication of assistance from heaven, I walk away from the dance floor and step toward the piano where Erik is seated. Erik gazes over at me, giving a sympathetic look and shrug of his shoulders. Laura is sitting next to him in an upholstered high back chair. She cannot contain the merriment in her eyes as she shakes her head. Jean-Luc, who is seated at her side in a smaller chair, smiles broadly at Joe. Jean-Luc always smiles at anything that Joe does.

"Alright, Mademoiselles and Monsieurs, we will stop for a while and review some of the rules of etiquette."

I shake my head in frustration. There is not much time left to teach the Americans how to dance before the Bal Masque on Sunday evening. They will be forgiven somewhat because they are not French and have been in our country for a short time, but nonetheless they still need to follow basic conventions of society.

Taking a deep breath, I begin again, "When introduced to a lady, a gentleman should always bow, oui?" All the men nod their heads and then bow in perfect unison. I turn away quickly, hiding my smile. The Americans bow very stiffly and awkwardly, but I am pleased that they are trying so hard to learn these unaccustomed social graces.

Regaining my composure, I carry on. "The gentlemen must ask the lady or her chaperone for permission to dance with her. And, ladies, you have a responsibility to dance when asked."

In an elaborate bow, Joe takes Grace's hand and asks, "Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?"

"Why, yes Monsieur. I would love to dance." Grace places her hand on his arm, and they begin to stroll away with Grace commenting pleasantly, "The weather seems rather cold this year. Don't you agree?"

Encouragingly, I comment, "Oui, oui that is good! When one dances, one is expected to carry on a polite conversation with their partner. It would be very impolite not to."

Giving Joe a sideways glance, I sigh. Maybe he finally understands the way one should act in a social gathering. Everyone has progressed splendidly these past few days, learning the basic rules of etiquette. Everyone that is, except Joe. He cannot contain his enthusiasm when speaking to his dance partner which has resulted in having to instruct him repeatedly in proper decorum and self-restraint. I have told him when he talks to his dance partner, the conversation should be neutral and never personal. But, he insists on making personal remarks that are just not…well, just not proper!

Joe turns to Grace, "Yes mademoiselle, the winter has been extremely cold." Then, to my horror, he adds, "How do you ladies keep your…uhh…bosoms warm in the winter?"

I glare at him, not appreciating his attempt at humor. The others cannot hold back their laughter, including Grace, but I pointedly do not encourage them. Once more, I start to explain more of the rules. When I hesitate a moment, Joe begins reciting one that I explained earlier.

"A gentleman has a responsibility to dance with _many_ of the ladies,"

Joe exaggerates with a loud groan, "no matter their appearance or age." Once again, laughter echoes in the enormous ballroom. I shake my head, placing my hands on my hips in annoyance. He is incorrigible.

Since my arrival at the château, Joe has been the bane of my existence. At the beginning, I let myself become overwrought when dealing with him. But I have finally come to realize that he enjoys teasing me. He seems particularly pleased when he knows he has succeeded in irritating me. Indeed, he goes to great lengths to do just that. I believe it is because I am the opposite of his outgoing, mischievous personality.

However, I must admit to myself that I enjoy the interaction with him. At times it is most stimulating. Occasionally he even makes me want to laugh at some of his mischievous pranks and outrageous actions. He is becoming more creative in his attempts to obtain my attention, and I find myself waiting to see what he will come up with next.

Deliberately ignoring him, I continue with my list, "When a gentleman asks a lady to dance she is expected to accept. The only exceptions are, if she has promised another that dance, or if she is sitting the dance out. It would be rude to turn one gentleman down and then accept another."

Grace shakes her head and laughs. She has joined us the last two days because her ankle is greatly improved. Matt insists she wear a flat dancing slipper until it is completely healed instead of the normal shoes. He also wraps her ankle to support it during the dance lessons. Horatio isn't here this afternoon because he's on guard duty. So, she graciously takes turns with the men since Laura cannot, due to her injury. Grace pats a stray lock of hair back in place, her eyes still filled with laughter, "Good grief, there are an awful lot of rules."

"Oui, there are, but proper etiquette is essential when you are out in society. Remember, it will reflect on Erik, as master of this estate."

At the beginning of each lesson, I show them the correct steps of the dance. Then I have them practice. When they first started a few days ago, they were all very stiff, but Jeremy, Russ and Matt are improving rapidly. Horatio and Grace look very elegant when they dance around the ballroom. They will have no trouble passing in society.

However, Joe seems to have a rhythm all of his own. I have taught him the proper sequence of steps, but he cannot seem to put them together correctly. And, what is worse, he cannot seem to keep still. He is awkward when he dances, adding additional steps and twirling his dance partner beyond what is proper. I have made a decision to talk with him later, privately, so that he will not feel embarrassed. He says he will not attend this Bal, but I have instructions to teach _all_ of them. There will be future social events, and Erik insists that everyone learn proper etiquette and how to dance. If Joe truly cannot dance in a suitable manner, I might be able to add additional lessons for him before the next social event.

During the first hour this afternoon, I taught everyone the beautiful and stylish waltz. We have practiced the steps, but it is time for each of them to dance with a partner. Initially, Grace will partner with Jeremy, and Russ with me.

"In round dances, such as the waltz, a man always supports the lady with his right arm around her waist." I direct Russ' hand to my waist. I look directly at Joe when I say, "_but_, he must never dance too closely with her. It is improper!"

"The lady extends her right hand to be held by the gentlemen." I lift my hand for Russ to take. "Her left hand rests on his shoulder or arm."

I turn to Erik, who is playing the piano for us, and indicate that he should start the music for the waltz. Laura just watches the lessons, or rather, she watches Erik. They only have eyes for each other. Smiling at their obvious happiness, I turn back to my task at hand.

The four of us sweep across the ballroom floor. Russ is a fine partner, and when I glance toward Jeremy and Grace, they look to be doing equally as well.

When the waltz has ended, I further instruct everyone, "At the end of the dance, offer the lady your arm to escort her to her seat, then bow." Russ leads me to a chair at the side of the room, then bows. "It is also considered rude to dance with the same partner more than two or three times during the evening as it is a social event and everyone is expected to mingle."

I walk back to the center of the ballroom to dance with Matt this time. I also want to watch Grace and Joe dance, hoping that Joe will be able to dance properly, "One more thing. Never criticize a partner for their dancing ability." Laughs ring out, and Jean-Luc laughs the loudest while looking at Joe.

Everyone enjoys having Jean-Luc around. Russ carried him upstairs today so he could watch the dancing lessons. Tucking a warm blanket around the boy, Russ set him down on a comfortable chair next to Laura. When he is not with Joe or Russ, his two favorite choices, Janelle tells me that Jean-Luc is usually in the kitchen, eating and talking to the staff. Almost every time I stop in the kitchen to talk to Janelle, he is there visiting.

Jean-Luc eagerly watches the lessons. His eyes dart everywhere, listening to the conversation, taking in everything that is happening. I often see his small bandaged feet swaying in time to the music when Erik plays the piano.

When he is able to walk again, I will give Jean-Luc proper instruction in dance. A few of the servants have young children at the château, and I intend to start dance classes. It is good for all the children to have a full education. Russ and I have discussed this particular subject.

Grace and Joe now take the ballroom floor, waiting for Erik to begin playing the waltz. Once again, I indicate that he should begin the music, and I start the waltz with Matt as my partner. Matt is also a fine dancer and will have no trouble fitting in at the Bal.

Two minutes into the dance I glance over and observe Joe's strange dance movements. I motion for Erik to stop playing, and excuse myself to Matt. _Sacre Bleu! _Everyone else is ready to dance at social events. Except Joe! I tap my foot under my skirts, thinking. Should I just recommend that he sit this lesson out and not participate in any of the dancing? He just doesn't seem to understand the beauty of the waltz. It suddenly dawns on me that I might have a way to help him understand the waltz.

I step over and speak softly to Erik and Laura, proposing that they dance one time as an example to the Americans. I taught Erik to dance years ago, and he has the grace and the fluid movements that are essential to dancing effortlessly while guiding his partner. Laura has been watching and not had any practice, but I feel that Erik is so proficient, he will be able to lead her in the waltz without any difficulty if she is possibly able to dance. And, after all, Laura's other side was injured, so Erik can rest his hand on her waist to lead her.

Erik looks longingly over at Laura, and she nods back at him with an impish smile. Erik stands and bows formally to her, extending his arm, "May I have this dance, Madam…oiselle?"

"I would be most pleased to dance with you, Monsieur," Laura smiles into his eyes.

I sit down at the piano. "Joseph, please watch how the waltz should be performed!" I take some of the sting out of my words by smiling at him.

Erik lifts Laura up from her chair, then places his right hand tenderly around her waist. I begin playing the beautiful music as Erik gently leads Laura into an elegant waltz. They look as if they are dancing on air as Erik sweeps her around the ballroom in large graceful circles, turning, swirling. Her full shirts brush against his long legs in their dance. Their eyes remain riveted on each other. Cleary, they are completely oblivious to the rest of us. For them, the room has disappeared. They dance as if only the two of them are here, alone in the magical dance of love and the romantic waltz.

The room is silent, except for the 1-2-3 of the waltz music and the swish of Laura's gown as Erik leads her across the ballroom floor. No one speaks. All are entranced as we watch, aware of their deep feelings for each other. Jeremy, Grace and I are the only ones in the room who know they are already husband and wife, and that this is their wedding dance.

Joe watches them closely, a smile playing on his lips, which I find most curious. Russ has turned to watch Jean-Luc as he gazes at Erik and Laura. Matt seems frozen in place, his eyes following the dancing couple as they move to the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz.

When the music ends, Erik and Laura stand, staring into each other's eyes. Erik continues to gently hold her in his arms until Jeremy politely clears his throat. That seems to break the enchanted spell. They both turn and smile at everyone, Laura with a slight flush in her cheeks, and Erik with eyes the color of a deep green emerald.

Joe walks toward me, "Well, Antoinette, I see what you mean now." His eyes are filled with mischief as he offers his arm. "May I have this dance?"

Caught off guard, I merely sputter, "I, uh, oui."

He leads me into the center of the ballroom. When the music starts, he astounds me by leading me into a perfectly executed waltz!

When it is over, I say with exasperation, "Well, Joseph, you certainly had me fooled."

"I am glad that you have changed your opinion of me." I watch as the indents of his dimples become deeper again. "Do I pass your test now?"

Laughing, I give in, "Oui, I believe you do. Well, that is, if you can keep up a proper conversation while we dance."

He throws his head back and laughs, "The weather seems unusually cold this year, doesn't it?"

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Edited by Phanfan.


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: Thank you for all your great reviews!! And, we are so glad to hear from you new readers! A pink cupcake for letting us know your thoughts! We know there are hundreds of readers…so even if you never posted before…come out of the shadows and let us know you are here!**

**So, Erik and Laura are sharing the contentment and joy of newly weds. What could possibly interfere with that? Possibly unfinished business? Erik's need to revenge the harm done to Laura? For all the good intentions there may be behind that, such endeavors often have unintended consequences…**

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**Chapter 63 Going Phantom, Part 1, by Phanna and Phanfan **

_Chateau Mercier, __Near Paris, France_

_Saturday, December 30, 1871_

_Jeremy's POV_:

"Please pass the orange marmalade," Grace smiles at Horatio.

"Don't change the subject, Grace! Can't you go riding with me at least for a little while this morning?" Horatio impatiently hands over the small silver bowl. He's been pressing this point for several minutes with no success.

"No! I can't! We women have to try on our costumes for the bal masque tomorrow evening and tend to the alterations." Grace pats Horatio's hand apologetically. Horatio glowers. Grace grins, but ignores him.

Turning to Antoinette, Grace asks, "Will Lynette be able to help us?'

"Oui, I talked to her yesterday afternoon." Antoinette is about to add another comment when we hear a rustling of skirts and hurried footsteps. I look over at the doorway into the dining room. Not surprisingly, Erik and Laura are late for breakfast this morning.

I do a double take, barely containing my smile. It's obvious that they've rushed downstairs. Laura's cheeks are slightly flushed, and wisps of her hair are flying around her face. Erik's cravat is crooked, which _never_ happens. I glance quickly around the table but no one else seems to notice. Except, of course, for Antoinette who gives me a surreptitious, knowing smile.

"Good morning! I'm sorry we're late." Laura's flush deepens, as her eyes catch Erik's. He pulls out her chair, and his hand lingers on her arm before he reluctantly pulls it away and seats himself.

Grace brings Laura up-to-date on the plans for the day's activities. "We're all going to my room after breakfast to try on our costumes. We have a lot to do, so we'll have a tray sent up for lunch." Grace glances at Horatio, tilts her head, as if to beg forgiveness and gives him a smile.

Laura nods in agreement. "Unfortunately, that's true. I'm afraid my dress will need a lot of alterations. Antoinette helped me try it on yesterday, and it's too tight around my ribs."

"Oui," Antoinette adds, "The seams will need to be let out and the buttons moved. It will take a lot of work to make so many adjustments. But Lynette is a skilled seamstress and does lovely work."

Meanwhile, Jean-Luc has picked up on the fact that Horatio doesn't have a riding partner and is excitedly asking if he can ride with him instead. Horatio winks at Grace, "I think that can be arranged. At least I'll have company for the looong ride." Grace reaches out to pat Horatio's hand again, laughing, and we all join in. Jean-Luc is smiling from ear-to-ear, pleased that he will be riding with Horatio.

When breakfast is over, the women waste no time chatting. They are clearly excited about their costumes, so they all rise to leave. Erik pulls out Laura's chair and whispers something to her. She blushes and nods her head. It's apparent to me that they want to give each other a parting kiss, but cannot in front of everyone. So, they exchange a furtive, longing look. Poor Erik and Laura. I chuckle to myself and wonder how they will ever keep their marriage a secret!

When the women leave, the men settle back at the table to enjoy a final cup of coffee and discuss their plans for the day. Just as Joe's kidding Horatio about taking second place to Grace's costume, Louis enters the dining room and walks over to Erik, asking if he can have a word in private with him.

"Of course," Erik's shoulders straighten with gathering tension. He replies to Louis, "Can you wait for me in the library please?"

Erik and I exchange a brief look. I wonder if Louis has news. I know that Erik is pursuing information about the man who attacked Laura. When I made the trip into Paris to order the items Erik wanted for his wedding, I casually raised the subject with the florist so I wouldn't set off any alarms. The flower shop is on the same street where the incident with Laura happened. The florist was glad to fill me in on all the gossip, including the name of the husband.

I passed that information on to Louis. He's turned out to be a most trusted servant, sometimes acting as our carriage driver. And, he's a man of many talents. He served in the French military and occasionally assists with guard duty around the château. With his network of family and friends throughout Paris, he's been invaluable in garnering information for us. It always seems that if he doesn't know something himself, he knows someone who does. And, more importantly, always with no questions asked.

When we enter the library, Louis is standing in front of the fireplace with his cap in his hand. Making sure the door is closed, Erik wastes no time asking, "What news do you have?"

"My two nephews just arrived. The lads have gathered quite a bit of information."

"Continue."

"The man that struck Mademoiselle Counselor is an accountant named Monsieur Pelier." Louis hands Erik a slip of paper, "The first address is his home, the second one, his office."

Erik reads it and walks to the fire. He tosses the piece of paper into the flames, having already committed the information to memory. Turning back to Louis, Erik asks, "What else did they find out?"

"Monsieur Pelier has a successful accounting firm and is quite wealthy himself. His clients are among the richest merchants of Paris, as well as some of the nobility who have business ventures. There are rumors that his firm is known for being able to help conceal, shall we say, suspicious business activities."

I look from Erik to Louis, "That's an interesting bit of information." Erik nods his head, as if not at all surprised.

Louis continues, "My nephews also found out that he has five employees. He lives with his wife in a very fine neighborhood on the outskirts of Paris. My nephews report that they have many servants," Louis looks sideways at Erik, "and, the house is always busy." The man catches on very quickly.

"However," Louis pauses to make sure he has our attention, "On Saturdays Monsieur Pelier works alone at his office. No clients, no employees."

"Were you able to find out anything about his wife?" I have been wondering about what happened to her. Whether she got away or was forced back into the clutches of her husband.

"No Monsieur. All we know is that she did not leave the house while my nephews were watching. One observed the house constantly while the other gathered information about the office. They were careful not to approach any of the servants, either." Louis shrugs his shoulders. "They felt that you would want then to remain anonymous rather than make inquiries and raise suspicions."

"Your nephews are quite right." Erik sits down at the desk and unlocks one of the drawers. He throws Louis a hefty bag of coins. "This information is to go no further. Do you understand?"

"Completely, Monsieur." Louis gives a small bow and leaves quickly.

Erik walks to the window that faces the front of the château. He stares out, clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts, yet watching, waiting for something. After several minutes, Louis' two nephews ride down the pathway that leads to the main road. Erik turns to me. I already know what's coming.

"We are leaving for Paris right away."

"Are you sure you want to do this? You have more at stake now than ever before." His eyebrow dips low over his eye. Erik hesitates, but I doubt my words will stop him. He has a deep sense of responsibility and honor. I know that he feels the injustice done to Laura must be revenged. I use my last weapon, "If something should happen to you, what will Laura do?"

He remains silent for many moments, gazing out the window. I hold my breath, hoping he'll decide against the course of action he's considering. Finally, he turns to me and slaps my back. I recognize a hint of bravado in his voice, "Nothing will happen to me. After all, you will be there to protect my back!"

We go out the back hallways, making sure that no one sees us along the way. Saddling our own horses, we mount and head out, using the rear door and riding quickly to the nearby forest to cover our departure.

The journey into Paris is quiet, each of us occupied with our own thoughts. Erik knows the district where the accounting office is located. We travel the backstreets rather than the newer boulevards. Uneasy feelings continue to gnaw at me. My gut tells me that this isn't going to turn out like Erik thinks it will. I just hope that we don't land in jail…or worse.

Monsieur Pelier's office is located on a side street with very little foot traffic. We ride down the street to locate his office. Luckily, all the offices on this short block are for lawyers or accountants, and since this is Saturday, almost all are closed.

We leave our horses at a livery stable several blocks away. As we back track to his office, we follow only alleys and side streets. Erik has put the hood of his cloak over his head to prevent anyone seeing his distinctive mask.

Traveling down the alley behind Monsieur Pelier's office, we find the back entrance. As expected, it's locked. While I'm looking around for something to break or jimmy the lock, Erik touches my shoulder. I turn around and discover that the door is already open. Erik motions me inside. I shake my head. Damn, how does he do that? The man never ceases to amaze me.

The hallways we pass through are entirely dark. Scant light comes from the occasional open door into an adjacent room. We walk stealthily through the building, searching for Monsieur Pelier's office, hoping he's here today. After many minutes of peering into empty offices, we finally see light from gas lamps flowing into the hallway. I realize that the office is in the middle of the building. Good! Less chance that anyone can hear or see us.

I wave Erik back, indicating that he's to wait in the hallway. I cautiously peek around the open doorway and discover that despite several lamps alight on wall sconces, the office is empty. We can hear someone, hopefully Monsieur Pelier, moving around in the next office. The door to that office is open. We approach quietly, making sure that he's alone.

Thankfully, he is. Erik pushes past me and boldly steps inside. "Monsieur Pelier?"

The weasel of a man jumps in his chair and looks up, startled. The blood has drained from his face, and he begins to stutter, "O…Oui." Regaining his composure, he stands and pulls himself up to his full height. A tall man, slightly over six feet, he looks to be in his thirties, almost the same age as Erik. He's a well-muscled man with broad shoulders which belies his occupation as an accountant. I have a feeling that in his younger days, he began his career in a more rough and tumble profession. Perhaps strong-arming businesses, instead of cooking their books.

Indignantly he demands, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I have some unfinished business with you." Erik is rapidly approaching full Phantom mode. Even knowing Erik as well as I do, I have never heard this tone before. His dagger-sharp tone causes a cold shiver to run down my spine. I step back, slightly behind the doorway, trying only to observe. If possible, I won't interfere. I only plan to intervene if necessary.

"What are you talking about? I don't know you!"

"Ah, but you will." Erik bares his teeth, "You hurt someone who belongs to me. I am here to make certain you pay for your indiscretion of last Tuesday."

It seems that Monsieur Pelier hasn't forgotten his "indiscretion." He turns as white as a sheet. "Are you referring to that little busybody in skirts? She was interfering between my wife and me. She had no right to do that!"

"Do not speak to me of rights!" The low menacing growl of Erik's words makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"That interfering troublemaker tried to stop me from taking my wife home! I was exercising my rights as a husband! The law is on my side." His voice is getting louder in desperation, but he unwisely digs the hole deeper with his next statement. "Your little paramour deserved what she got!!" Spittle flies from his mouth as he flings these last words at Erik. Damn! He just dug his grave!

Before the man gets the last word out of his mouth, Erik is suddenly standing next to him, clutching his black gloved hand tightly around the man's neck.

Distorted with anger, Erik's face peers into the man's shocked eyes. "You do not deserve to live, you contemptible maggot!"

Erik squeezes the man's throat, shaking him back and forth like a dog shaking a bone. Suddenly Erik releases him, shoving him backwards. "You are not even worth killing!"

The man takes a few stumbling steps back, but catches himself against the side of a desk before he can fall. Monsieur Pelier is trembling, perhaps in fear, perhaps because he'd just come so close to death. Or maybe just from his own rage. For whatever reason, the man's death wish surfaces again as he pushes Erik's buttons even more. "You are also to blame! You need to take a firm hand and beat your woman soundly into submission. Then you will be able to control her as any proper man would!!"

Deadly calm descends over Erik. He raises his eyebrow and hisses, "Control? You feel that you must have complete control over a woman half your size by beating her? Do you think that makes you a man?" He sneers and adds, "Is that why your wife left you?"

The weasel's eyes go wild, "How do you know that?! How could you know that she ran away again?" Hmm, this is interesting. His wife ran away from him _again?_ I say a little prayer that this time she's successful, and he doesn't find her.

As if he's heard my silent prayer, he begins to rant and rage, shaking his fist in the air, "She left me that very afternoon, right after I took her home. I know someone helped her escape, but when I find her and get my hands on her, she'll be lucky if she's alive when I get done with her!" His face turns a deep shade of crimson from his fury.

Erik's disgust for the man oozes out of every pore as he regards him with utter contempt. The madman notices too and belligerently steps toward him.

Monsieur Pelier begins to jab the air in front of Erik with his finger, "You! Your big-mouthed whore was the one who made my wife think she could get away with this! This is _your _fault!"

Before either of us can react, the man launches himself at Erik, swinging his fists. His first punch connects with Erik's jaw, but I have a feeling that's the last solid punch the man will get. Monsieur Pelier flails his fists like a windmill and connects occasionally. He bellows at Erik while he attempts to hit him. Erik gets some good blows in, splitting the man's eyebrow open. Then Erik's fist connects with a loud crunching sound. I'm pretty sure he broke the man's nose. The man can barely see out of one eye that is cut and bleeding. Foolishly, Monsieur Pelier keeps coming back for more.

But the man is no match for a Phantom. Erik remains detached and level headed, staying in control of the situation. Finally, Erik grabs Monsieur Pelier, and using his leg as a lever, fells the man like a log hitting the forest ground. Erik follows him down and pins him on the floor, raising his fist for a final blow when the man reaches up and yanks off Erik's mask.

The man gasps, stunned to the core when he sees Erik's unmasked face. That puts Erik over the edge. I watch as Erik goes from a calm and calculating Phantom to an avenging dark angel in a matter of seconds. I step forward, hoping to keep Erik from murdering the "maggot." When he tore off Erik's mask, the man didn't have a clue the wrath he would unleash.

On second thought, perhaps Monsieur Pelier has figured that out. He's frozen in horror as if he's seeing the Grim Reaper himself. Erik is looking down at him with teeth bared and his eyes colder than I've ever seen them before. The man's face has turned chalky white with fear. Before I can do anything, Erik takes one more swing and connects squarely with the man's jaw, cracking bone and sending him into oblivion.

Erik slumps down on the floor, heaving in great gulps of air and trying to regain control. I watch as he struggles to pull himself back from the abyss of the black fury that has seized him. There's nothing I can do to help him now, so I just wait. Finally, Erik stands and picks up his mask, placing it back on his face.

Suddenly, a movement catches my eye. Monsieur Pelier has managed to raise himself on his elbow and holds a Derringer in his hand. Everything seems to shift into slow motion. I pull my gun, aim at the man on the floor and squeeze the trigger. Horrifyingly, before my gun fires, he shoots Erik.

The impact of the bullet hitting Erik throws him off balance, but not before he throws his Punjab lasso. The end of the lasso surrounds the man's neck in a whip-like arc, forming a noose. Erik jerks it back, tightening it, at the same moment that my gun fires.

In the next endless moment, Erik completes his fall to the floor. Stunned, I look down at Erik's black form, stretched out, limp and unmoving.

Quickly, I bend down and check Pelier's neck for a pulse. I make sure he's dead.

Then I rush over to Erik's body. He's lying face down on the floor. An icy fear spreads through me. I have only one thought.

_This can't be happening--what am I going to tell Laura?_


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N: Thank you for your wonderful reviews and comments!! And, special thanks to those of you who have come forward for the first time to post!! We hope to hear from your again, often! And, for each of our wonderful, loyal reviewers, a red rose!!**

**Well…I think there are no words for me to say about this chapter…I know you just want to find out **_**what happened!!**_

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**Chapter 64 Going Phantom, Part 2 by Phanna and Phanfan **

_Paris, France_

_Saturday, December 30, 1871_

_Jeremy's POV:_

_As I walk toward Erik's motionless body, my heart is pounding and my palms break into a sweat. _

_What if he's dead? _

_What am I going to tell Laura? _

I kneel beside Erik to check his pulse. As my trembling hand touches his neck, he lets out a moan. I gently ease him onto his back to see how badly he's injured. I clumsily pull his jacket and waistcoat open. His shirt is darkening with a red stain that's spreading out rapidly on his left side.

_My God! Has he been hit in the heart? _

I sure could use Matt about now. Then I rip Erik's shirt open, sending the buttons flying in all directions.

"What the hell are you doing?" Erik hisses angrily.

I look down at him. "What the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm trying to find out how badly you're hurt!"

"It's nothing."

"_Nothing?"_ I spit out incredulously. "You're bleeding everywhere!"

"I've just been hit in my arm." Then he moans, "Damnation, it does hurt like hell though!"

Looking closer, I can tell that he's probably right. Through the fabric it looks like the blood is coming from an injury to his arm. "Ok, let me look at it." I can tell it's painful so I take my pocket knife and begin to cut up the length of the sleeve.

"_Mon dieu_, Jeremy! This is a new shirt."

Exasperated, I look down at him and shake my head, "Well, it doesn't sound like you're dying," I observe dryly.

"Of course not! It will take more than that puny thing he used to kill me!"

"That puny 'thing' he used was a Derringer. One similar to that killed President Lincoln."

He just grunts.

"You're lucky I was here."

He sneers at me, "Why is that?"

"Because, I saved your life when I shot him."

"_What?!"_ He forces himself into a sitting position and looks over at the other body. With a groan of pain from the effort, Erik lies back down on the hard floor. "You most certainly did no such thing! It was _my _Punjab lasso that killed him!"

"No way! He'd already shot you." I use my thumb to point at myself for emphasis, "I was the one who finished him off!"

"Like hell _you _did!"

"Like hell _I _did! Get used to it!"

He just stares at me. I stare back.

Then, realizing how ludicrous this conversation is, I smile and nod my head toward the corpse, "Should we ask him?"

We both snort our laughter, relieving some of the tension of the past few minutes.

All of a sudden, Erik looks at me with an expression I've rarely seen on his face. A sheepish look? Now what! "Ok, what's up?"

He clears his throat. "Jeremy, I believe I have immersed myself in boiling water!"

I blink at him, and then it dawns on me what he's trying to say, "You mean you've got yourself into hot water, right?"

"Yes! That is what I said!" He gives me a look like he's talking to a moron.

"'Fess up!"

He swallows hard and looks away, clearly embarrassed, "I made a promise to Laura not to kill this man."

"Incredible!" I shake my head at the absurdity of sitting on the floor, tending to a wounded man and having this discussion next to a dead body. "Laura really knows you, doesn't she? She knew you'd try something like this!"

"Yes," his answer is as acid as the look that goes with it. He's not used to people knowing him so well.

"Ok, there's a simple solution to this er…problem." I grin, knowing that it'll rankle him, "I'm the one who killed him after all."

Erik starts to protest, but I hold up my hand to cut him off. "You forget. If you want peace with Laura, you better agree that I'm the one who off'ed him!"

He glares at me, struggling mightily with this conundrum. Reluctantly, he sighs and gives in, "I do see the wisdom in that." He grudgingly continues, "We will tell Laura that you were the one who 'off'ed' him. That is, if she asks."

I roar with laughter at that one, "_If?!_ You really don't think you're going to get away without her noticing anything, do you? You already have a black eye starting, and your face looks like you've tried to commit hari kari with a razor blade."

Erik looks confused at my choice of words, but we can't afford to waste anytime on explanations. "Ok, let me play doctor until we get home. It looks like you've only been grazed but it's still bleeding like a stuck pig! I'm going to use the other sleeve from your shirt to bandage this."

His tone drips with sarcasm, "You might as well since you have ruined a perfectly good shirt already!" But, then he chuckles resignedly and proceeds to help me cut the other shirt sleeve up for bandages. "Now, we need to get out of here before someone finds us in this most compromising situation, sitting next to a dead body."

My sentiments exactly! I help Erik pull his jacket on and close his cloak so no one can tell he's injured. We make a sweep of the room to ensure we've left nothing behind that will link us to Monsieur Pelier's death. I find and pick up the buttons from Erik's shirt, even counting to make certain we have them all.

We use the same backstreets to reach the livery stable. I pay the man while Erik remains in the shadows. Riding through Paris, we go at a casual pace since we don't want to call attention to ourselves. At the outskirts of the city, we pick up the pace, and I keep a watchful eye on Erik.

The trip back to the château is just as silent as the one coming into the city. I'm relieved that his wound isn't too serious. I'm sure Matt will have him fixed up in no time. When we reach the château, it's dinnertime. I send Erik straight upstairs while I go to find Matt.

Everyone's in the dining room and already eating. I walk directly to Matt and lean down, asking him under my breath to come upstairs with me. Laura's eyes follow me closely, missing nothing. "Is something wrong, Jeremy?"

I lie to her with a straight face. I consider this as practice. "No, everything's fine."

"Is Erik with you? Is he ok?"

"Yep, he's fine," Getting _lots_ of practice, "I believe he just went upstairs to change."

She looks at me for a few seconds before she throws her napkin on the table and rises from her chair. _Oh great!_ She's already put two and two together and come up with the right answer. Damn, she's quick.

The procession walking up the stairs is completely silent, absolutely somber, in fact. Matt, with questions in his eyes, Laura with fire in hers and me following behind with resignation in mine.

_Laura's POV:_

Erik is sitting with his back to the door as we step into his room. I know something's not right, especially with Jeremy asking Matt to come to Erik's room. I refuse to be left out.

I thought something was wrong when I didn't see Erik all day long. But I put it out of my mind because Antoinette, Grace and I were busy making alterations to all our costumes. Mine needed major adjustments to give me more breathing room. Antoinette's costume required some final fittings to make it look right. Grace's outfit was still a little tight, and we had to loosen the waist. We also had to decide which accessories we would wear with our costumes.

When Erik hears us enter his sitting room, he rises from the settee in front of the fireplace and turns slowly toward us. That's when I get my first glimpse of him.

I can't contain a gasp when I see the condition he's in! _I knew it!!_

He has gone into town and confronted that horrid man. But I never expected him to do it during the day. I figured he and Jeremy might sneak out some evening.

No one says a word. The room is filled with tension that can be cut with a knife. Erik stands with his shoulders pulled back and his arms by his side, his hands pulled closed in fists as if bracing for a blow. He studies me intently, no doubt wondering what I'm going to do. Matt walks toward him, and Jeremy attempts to fade into the background.

Trying to control my emotions, I slowly walk toward Erik, all the while staring at his face. His left eye is swollen and the bruising has already started. _Great!_ We have matching black eyes!

The abrasions on his face look painful, but I vow to myself that I will show no sympathy for him! He can suffer with the cuts and bruises without pity from me! I place my hands on my hips.

"Now Laura, I know how this must look. Please let…" I just glare at him, and he stops. At least he has the decency to look sheepish.

Matt's gaze goes from Erik then to me, as if he's trying to make a decision. After a brief pause, he walks over to Erik and begins inspecting the wounds on his face. Then Matt carefully removes Erik's jacket and waistcoat. The exposed shirt is saturated with blood. I hear myself let out a small scream. Suddenly I feel faint and sit down in the rocking chair nearby. I take a few deep breaths as I try to keep my stomach from heaving.

"_Laura…_" Erik takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand indicating that he's not to come closer. I know he's concerned at my reaction, but he needs medical attention, and I need some space. I take several deep breaths to regain my composure.

Matt glances over and gives me a questioning look, as if to ask if I'm alright. I nod 'yes' and gesture for him to continue taking care of Erik.

I watch as Matt unwraps the makeshift bandages. Erik remains utterly silent, watching me, worry etched in the creases around his eye. He looks pale and definitely exhausted. When Matt pulls the cloth away from the wound, Erik winces, and my stomach clenches again. I can see a long, raw gash across his upper arm. Removing the bandage has caused the wound to start bleeding again. Thank God it appears to be only superficial. He's lucky the bullet wasn't a few more inches to the left. It would have hit his body rather than his arm. The thought that he might have been shot in the heart or another vital organ makes my stomach lurch once more.

My anger flares at Erik and Jeremy for putting themselves in danger like this! I turn to Jeremy and give him my most scaulding look. How could he let this happen to Erik! Jeremy shifts uneasily and won't meet my gaze.

Matt breaks the silence, "Laura, I need some hot water. And, Jeremy, I need my med kit."

Reluctantly, I leave to get the hot water while Jeremy goes for Matt's medical bag. When we arrive back, we watch Matt's ministrations of Erik's wounds. The tension in the air is palpable and no one speaks.

Matt throws all the bloody bandages made from the torn shirt into the fire. He cleans the wound with the water and soap. Then he applies an antibiotic ointment, butterfly bandages and a larger bandage around his upper arm.

Breaking the icy silence for the first time, Matt says to Erik, almost sympathetically, "I'm going down to our stash of drugs in the cellar. You're going to need some pain medication. I'll be right back."

Fixing his eyes on me, Erik asks, "Matt, when you return, could you please knock before you enter?"

"Sure," Matt looks around at the three of us and makes a hasty retreat.

Jeremy coughs and looks at Erik, "I think I'll be going, too. Matt seems to have things under control here." He takes two steps before Erik stops him.

"You need to stay!" Erik's tone sounds a bit desperate.

Standing up, I look directly at Erik. "Coward!"

Erik's jaw goes slack with a shocked expression.

"Jeremy doesn't need to stay. This is between the two of us!"

"He needs to be here while we explain this!" Erik responds, glancing at Jeremy.

On cue, Jeremy chimes in, "That's OK, Laura, I don't mind staying."

"I see!" So, they have already discussed this and have their story straight. I look at them and cross my arms, "Alright, tell me what happened. I figure you paid a little visit to that awful man in Paris who hurt me."

With considerable skepticism, I listen as they weave their tale. They begin by explaining that Erik was only going to talk to the odious little man. According to their story, inadvertently matters got heated, and the man started a fight. Jeremy then pipes in and claims that the 'weasel' then unexpectedly pulled a Derringer and shot Erik, so Jeremy killed the man. This last statement takes me by surprise. I'm completely appalled. The man was killed! When they see my expression, they assure me that there's no chance they can be implicated.

I stand frozen in shock, staring at them. I'm sure that some of what they said is the truth. But, I also feel that some of the story has deliberately been left out. Frankly, I'm not sure I want to know the whole truth! I begin to appreciate that I'm living in a very different century. Although, I didn't want Erik to even confront the man, he did. In a society where the law doesn't deal with such matters, men seem to take them into their own hands. And, Erik is known to protect the people he loves. From his viewpoint, he was only protecting me.

"Laura, I know…" There's a timid rapping on the door before Erik can finish what he's trying to say. I know it's Matt, so I walk over to let him in. He gives Erik the pills and leaves swiftly, promising to check the wound again later in the evening. I let Jeremy off the hook and tell him that he can also go. He leaves quickly, looking very relieved to be escaping

I stand motionless several feet away from Erik. My mind races wildly, going over everything that has happened today. I'm glad that I didn't know Erik was gone or what he was doing.

"Laura, I know you did not want me to confront that man, but I had no choice. Please understand that." He takes a step toward me, "His death was not intentional." He looks directly at me. "However, I cannot truly say that I am sorry for the vermin's demise." An imperceptible flicker of satisfaction crosses his face and then it's gone.

I look at him, gazing into those beautiful eyes that I adore. I can see underlying ripples of fear there. He's waiting for me to do something, say something, and he's not sure what it'll be. It occurs to me then that he looks like a young boy waiting silently to be punished for doing something wrong. My heart melts.

How I love this man, all of him—his music, his genius, his beautiful eyes, his scarred face, his complex nature, even his conflicted soul. What would I do if I lost him? Could I go on? Would I even want to? As I think about what could have happened, my body begins to shake uncontrollably. It was very close today. In a fleeting instant my world could have been turned upside down. _He could have been killed._

Hot tears slide down my cheeks as I open my arms and invite him to come to me. He takes the few steps between us and enfolds me in his arms. I hug him tightly to me and begin to cry. I want to tell him how I feel, how much I need him, how much I want to have him in my arms for the rest of my life. Finally I manage a few simple words, wrapping all my feelings into them, "I love you."

"Oh, Laura," his voice cracks with intense emotion, _"I love you so."_ He kisses the top of my head and holds me tightly until my tears begin to slow. Then he takes my hand and leads me over to the rocking chair. Sitting down, he pulls me into his lap, heedless of his wound. Then he cradles me, kissing me, loving me. I say a prayer of gratitude to God for protecting Erik on this day and bringing him home safely. _I pray He always will_.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N: Profuse thank yous to each of you who has posted a review! And, we love to hear from those who are new to the story! A glass of wine, with pink cupcake, of course, to each of you!**

**Well…finally! The Bal Masque. It is one year since Erik was at the disastrous Bal Masque where he made that dramatic entrance as Red Death. So much has happened to him since then. His life has taken an entirely new course. And, he has changed so much because of all that has happened to him…or has he? **

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****Chapter 65 Bal Masque, by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Chateau Mercier_

_Sunday, December 31, 1871_

_Noon_

_Antoinette's POV:_

Tantalizing smells have been wafting all morning throughout the château from a tasty French stew known as a cassoulet. Janelle brought a collection of recipes with her from southwest France, and this stew is one of her specialties. The cassoulet is made with white beans, pork, vegetables and several secret ingredients that Janelle will not reveal. Slow cooked in the oven for hours, the cassoulet forms a crust, which must be poked down with a wooden spoon a minimum of six times during baking, and I have no doubt it has been prepared to perfection.

As I enter the dining room, the warm aroma of freshly baked loaves of bread comes from a number of linen-lined baskets sitting in the middle of the dining table. Handy crocks of fresh butter and pots of golden honey are placed around the table. My mouth is already watering.

Janelle told me that the honey is a recent addition to the food cupboards. Joe set up an apiary in a field beyond the stable. He is working closely with Robert, one of the groundskeepers who expressed an interest in beekeeping. Joe is teaching him how to build a moveable comb hive that doesn't destroy the honeycomb or disturb the bees when the honey is removed. They will also harvest some of the beeswax to make a number of items that are useful, such as wax for cleaning, candles, and even as a balm for healing cracked hooves on animals. Despite his mischievous behavior, Joe amazes me with his knowledge of a variety of subjects. He plans to sell or trade the excess honey for other items.

When we sit down to the meal, Grace leads the conversation. She relates her encounter with the Prussian officer who paid a social call soon after their arrival in France. According to Grace, he had only stopped by to poke his nose around and see what he could find out about Erik, the new master of Château Mercier.

"I didn't particularly like Colonel Kraus. He visited us the same day Laura arrived. Do you remember him, Horatio?"

"Of course I do. But he wasn't so bad, Grace." Horatio's lips curl into a wry smile, "You just don't like him because he didn't include you in the conversation!"

Grace huffs and responds indignantly, "He treated me like I wasn't even in the room except when he wanted me to wait on him like a…a simpering female!"

All the men around the table laugh. I, too, laugh. I cannot imagine Grace assuming a role so opposite to her strong nature.

Grace shakes her head and grudgingly smiles, then turns to me to explain, "Colonel Kraus invited us to the Bal Masque that day. He personally presented us with an invitation from Count Delanney to…"

The conversation abruptly stops when Erik and Laura enter the dining room. Everyone turns to greet them as Erik silently seats Laura and takes his own chair.

Suddenly, the room explodes with voices as everyone begins to speak at once.

Horatio blurts out, "Erik! What the hell?"

Jeremy does not look up or say a word. He seems very occupied with eating his stew.

Grace leans toward Erik for a closer look, "You and Laura have matching black eyes!"

Matt gives Laura a sympathetic glance.

Joe, in his usual disregard to good manners, brazenly comments, "Whoa, Erik. That's quite a shiner!" He snorts and nods in Laura's direction, "What did you do to deserve that?"

Everyone roars with laughter while Erik and Laura exchange awkward glances. Erik glares at Joe and replies with a tone of warning, "It is none of your business."

Realizing they will get nothing out of Erik, everyone turns to Jeremy in unison.

Jeremy reluctantly explains, "Erik and I were out riding yesterday. When we turned onto a narrow path, I was in the lead. I pushed a branch out of my way, but it got caught on the sleeve of my jacket and when I released it…" he looks over at Erik almost guiltily, "the damned branch snapped back and hit Erik across the face."

Joe turns to Erik, "So much for your lightning fast responses."

Once again, laughter rings out. Erik's stony expression is becoming ominous, and Laura is studying him with obvious concern. I suspect she is wondering how he will react to this teasing.

Joe seems to have no intention of stopping. He looks at Laura, then Erik. "So why weren't you both at breakfast?" He grins wickedly and winks at Laura. "Were you taking care of his….uh….injuries?"

Once again, everyone talks at the same time!

I cannot hold my tongue any longer. "_Joseph!_" I reprimand firmly.

"Enough!" Erik bellows.

"That's alright." Laura holds up her hands, signaling for everyone to be quiet. Then with cheeks a shade pinker than normal, Laura turns to Joe and says, "Actually, yesterday I had my costume on and off so often that my ribs began to hurt again this morning."

I blink in surprise at Laura's explanation. We had been extremely careful not to cause her any discomfort and made sure that she only tried her dress on once. I see through her ruse. Clearly Erik and Laura could not separate themselves from each other's arms, and she is trying to cover it up. As I had feared, it is going to be quite difficult for them to keep their marriage secret. Especially if they keep missing meals.

Laura continues, "I took time to rest this morning so that I'm able to attend the Bal tonight."

Joe snorts, "Right!"

At the same moment Matt asks with a sincerely concerned voice, "Laura, would you like me to check your injury?"

Erik and Laura respond at the same moment.

"NO!"

"NO!"

A few seconds tick by before everyone bursts into laughter again. I hide mine behind a cough.

Joe blurts out, "I think we have the picture now, Erik!" Several heads nod as Joe grins at Erik.

Thankfully Jean-Luc enters the room, causing the subject to be dropped. However, I notice that when the others occasionally glance at Erik and Laura, they do not hide their smiles. I think some of the others already suspect.

_7:00 p.m._

There is an air of good cheer and merriment as we ready ourselves for the bal masque. Laura, Grace and I have been helping each other all afternoon. Even the men have been in high spirits. Along with the continuing remarks about Erik and Laura, they have delighted in teasing the women about the time that it is taking us to get dressed.

As we go in and out of our rooms, Joe makes a cryptic remark about 'women' and swears that he will put more than one bathroom in the château when he designs the remodel of the chateau in the next few months. That caused Horatio, Jeremy and Matt to laugh.

Erik made excellent choices on all the costumes. I am extremely pleased with mine. It is in the style of a century ago, during the era of Marie Antoinette. My gown is fashioned of moiré silk in lavenders and complimenting blues. It has a wide wooden pannier underneath that fits on my hips to shape the skirts into an oval, making them very wide.

There are four layers of over skirts, each drawn up in drapes or ruffles, tacked in place with bows, to expose the tier underneath. The tiers are in pale shades of lavender alternating with sky blue. The bodice of the dress is enhanced by a large bow in the front. Part of my attire is a tall white powdered wig laced throughout with matching lavender ribbons. Amidst gales of laughter and suggestions from Laura and Grace, I have been practicing how to balance and keep it upright. I treasure the friendship that is already developing with them.

When I turn to look into my cheval mirror tonight, I note how beautiful the costume is, but I am also surprised to see how it changes my appearance. I have worn black for so many years that I forgot how much I enjoyed wearing gaily colored dresses before Jules died. The hues of the lavenders and blues soften the tone of my skin, and my face looks younger. Or perhaps it is because I am living here with Erik, Laura and among friends where the burden of survival has been lifted from my shoulders. I decide to start wearing more colorful clothing.

My final touch is to pat a stray hair on the wig back into place. As I walk down the stairs, I am careful to lift the skirts of my gown so that I do not trip on them and tumble down the stairs. When I reach the main floor, Jean-Luc jumps up from his chair and greets me. He has been allowed to stay in the grand hall to see everyone in costume before we leave.

"Madame Giry, vous êtes tres belle." Even though he's a child, I take pleasure from his heartfelt compliment of "you are very beautiful" and smile warmly at him.

"Merci beaucoup, Jean-Luc. Have you seen anyone else come downstairs yet?"

"Oui. Monsieur Horatio and Mademoiselle Grace are in the library. Their costumes are extraordinaire! Monsieur Horatio is dressed as a gypsy! He has a red cloth tied over his head and a sword hanging from the long sash at his waist."

Jean-Luc is very animated as he describes the costume. I don't hide my smile when he says in astonishment, "The sword looks very daring! I asked Horatio if it was a real sword that a gypsy would use, and he told me that it was! Monsieur even let me touch it, but I had to be very careful! I heard Mademoiselle tell him that he's most dashing." Then he lowers his voice and leans toward me, "They didn't think I could see, but she kissed him after she said that!"

Jean-Luc barely takes a breath before continuing, "Mademoiselle is also dressed as a gypsy. Tonight she has long black curly hair that reaches to her waist. Her frock is made with bright cloth and colored scarves, like a rainbow in the sky after a rain, and they float when she moves. She will not tell me where, but she has little bells hidden in her costume that ring when she walks. The sound is most delightful." Jean-Luc's childish laughter fills the air.

Just then, Jeremy walks around a corner. He is dressed as a pirate and looks quite ferocious with a large, angry red scar running down the side of his face. His long blue jacket reaches down to his knees, and he wears a fancy muslin shirt underneath, with ruffles extending beyond his cuffs. His trousers fit snugly and are tucked into the over-the-knee boots. He has a large semitar attached to a wide belt. What is most remarkable, however, is that he has somehow managed to perch a colorful, stuffed, exotic bird on his left shoulder.

"Monsieur Jeremy! What kind of bird is that? May I see it? What is it called?"

Jeremy and I look at each other amused at Jean-Luc's stream of questions. Jeremy good-naturedly responds to Jean-Luc's unending curiosity as I take my leave.

When I walk into the library, Horatio and Grace are enjoying glasses of wine. Horatio pours a glass for me amid our compliments on each other's costumes.

"Jean was helping Laura put on the final touches when I peeked in before I came down." Grace volunteers, "She's told me she was waiting for Erik."

I nod and turn as Jeremy enters the room. Russ and Jean-Luc are behind him. Jean-Luc is already talking to Russ. "How did you decide on that costume? Is it someone special? Is it comfortable? Aren't you going to be cold?"

Russ laughs, "Whoa, Jean-Luc, how about one question at a time. Let's see," he pauses for a moment as he considers his answer. I have observed already that Russ uses every opportunity to teach the children about history. He explained to me one day that his theory is that if he makes history interesting, the child will want to learn more.

"I've always been fascinated about ancient Rome," Russ begins. "Emperor Hadrian ruled during the height of the Roman Empire, about 130 AD, so I asked Monsieur Erik to design a military uniform from that era."

"Did you have pictures?" Jean Luc's enthusiasm seems to be bubbling over.

"Yes, there are several books in the library that show pictures and statues from ancient Rome."

Jean-Luc is quiet for about half a second before asking, "Will I be able to read some of these books?"

"Yes, certainly! You will be reading many of these books as soon as you get a bit more proficient in Latin."

Russ begins his history lesson for Jean-Luc by touching his chest. "The way this breast plate is designed is called segmented armor. They did use other methods, but this particular breast plate is made of several smaller pieces of leather that have moveable joints. That's so when they fought, they could move easily. Strips of metal are attached to the leather as armor. See?" Russ bends over and lets Jean-Luc get a closer view.

"Is it heavy?"

"Yes, but the weight's distributed. The soldiers would train in their armor, getting used to the weight and how it felt when they fought. The skirt, or kilt, is made up of leather strips plated with metal."

Once again, Russ stops and lets Jean-Luc inspect the garment, then continues, "I did stray from the authentic history with the boots. In Hadrian's time they wore a military sandal called 'caligae.' They actually had iron hobnails on the bottom so they would last longer and grip the ground during battles. But they're open-footed, and I didn't want my feet to freeze!" Russ ruffles Jean-Luc's hair. It is nice to see the close relationship Russ has with him.

"So I cheated a little, and I'm wearing a military boot they used in later years. I'm also wearing a military cape called a 'trabea.' It's made of a heavier fabric than a regular cape. Here's the iron helmet I will use instead of a mask." He holds out a large dull silver-colored helmet.

"May I try it on?"

"Yep."

Russ helps Jean-Luc place the imposing helmet over his head. Of course, it is much too large and the helmet covers his face completely, making Jean-Luc look as if he has no head. We all laugh.

"What's so funny?" Matt walks into the room resplendent as a French Admiral.

Jean-Luc is the first to answer, "I'm trying on a Roman helmet! I like your uniform, Monsieur Matt. You are an officer, oui? Did Monsieur Erik design your costume, too? Are you a French officer?" Again, Jean-Luc begins his barrage of questions for Matt.

Everyone is now anxiously awaiting Erik and Laura to come downstairs so that we can leave. Joe is on guard duty tonight and will not be accompanying us. I feel a small pang of regret. I do enjoy his company and his witty repartee. Just as I am wondering what he would say about my costume, we hear laughter echoing down the stairwell.

A few minutes later Erik and Laura walk through the library door, their faces flushed with excitement.

Laura wears a deep crimson gown of shimmering satin that shows her dark hair off splendidly. She is dressed as a Spanish noblewoman. Although the skirt is gathered and has a small train, it does not have any crinolines. We felt those would be too heavy and place too much strain on her injured ribs. So, the skirt elegantly drapes over her small figure, following the curves of her graceful hips.

The bodice is covered in black lace as are the sleeves which hug the arms to just below the wrist. Pulled into a large bun high on the back of her head, her hair is held in place with a tall comb of carved mother of pearl. A black mantilla of finest Spanish lace covers her hair and frames her face, along with delicate black curls that trail down to accentuate her dark eyes.

Laura is stunningly beautiful tonight, except for the discoloration that remains around her left eye. Grace and I tried to cover it as much as possible, but Laura will need to wear her mask to conceal the injury. In one hand, she carries her black satin mask, arrayed with feathers and beads. In fact, we will all have masks that we will wear at the party.

Erik is resplendent in regalia befitting a magnificent bullfighter. His costume consists of form-fitting black trousers that have a line of thick gold braid running down each side, emphasizing his muscular legs. The trousers end just below the knee at the yellow-gold stockings. The shirt is snow white with a straight collar that extends about an inch above the traditional bullfighter's jacket, the bolero. The jet black bolero fits tightly to his upper body and is open in the front exposing the white shirt. Red and gold braiding decorate the bolero on the front, back, arms and cuffs with intricate designs.

A black cape is slung over his shoulder, and when he moves, the red satin underneath ripples into view. He wears a different mask tonight made of layers of folded black silk cloth that ties in the back and effectively covers his scarred face on one side and blackened eye on the other.

Erik joins us in a glass of wine, but I notice that Laura refrains. She catches my curious look and explains to me that she is not used to drinking, because it affects her very quickly. When everyone is ready, we bid Jean-Luc goodnight and promptly go to the carriage.

Erik supports Laura up the carriage steps first, and then Grace. While I am waiting my turn, I watch Horatio, Matt and Russ mount their horses. Each of them is wearing a sword appropriate to his costume. But, now I also notice that they have rifles in scabbards attached to their saddles. This surprises me. I wonder why they feel those are necessary, but there is no time to ask. Erik is already helping me into the coach.

Once inside, it takes a minute for us women to arrange our skirts so that there will be room for the men. Finally Erik and Jeremy join us, laughing at the volume of feminine skirts squeezed into the small space.

Jeremy sits next to me. On the opposite bench, Erik and Grace sit next to the windows, and Laura is seated in between. Erik immediately picks up Laura's hand and gently raises it to his lips, giving it a tender kiss. Everyone in the coach knows of their marriage. No doubt it will be a relief not to pretend for a little while. Erik continues to hold Laura's hand between both of his, as if he does not want to let her go.

The three mounted men take their positions on each side of the carriage. Suddenly it jerks to a start and settles into a speedy pace. Inside the coach everyone is chatting and in good cheer.

I watch Erik and Laura, gazing into each other's eyes, so much in love. Hopefully this will be an enjoyable evening for them. They have been through so much, suffered so much. Surely this evening will be a special one...a memorable one.


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: First, thank you for all your wonderful reviews and comments! And, secondly, I apologize for taking three weeks to post this chapter, but I have been out of town for two weeks over the Thanksgiving holiday, visiting with family! We will resume regular posting, even throughout December! **

**And…each of us writers of The Epic Case hope you are all having a fun, blessed and not too hectic holiday season!!**

**Now...there is an air of anticipation and gaiety as everyone sets out for the masque bal. At least most of the people at Chateau Mercier feel that way, but maybe not everyone. Laura is having misgivings and second thoughts…and she does seem to have this innate intuition about things…**

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**Chapter 66 Encounters, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_December 31, 1871, __Bal Masque, Paris _

_Laura's POV_:

As the carriage lurches forward, I look across at Antoinette. Beaming happily in her pale lavender and blue gown, she's virtually transformed. I've never seen her wear anything except her perennial black, as if she never recovered from the loss of Jules, her husband. I realize now that her clothes made her look much older than her 38 years, although in reality she's only four years older than Erik. Perhaps she's making changes and her life will now take a turn and unexpected doors will open. Perhaps, like Erik, a new life will rise out of the ashes of dashed hopes at the opera house.

Settling back on the thick velvet squab, I'm aware again of the churning in my stomach. I've had a sense of foreboding all day, which I have been trying to hide from everyone. I don't know if my uneasiness arose from the difficulty of getting all these layers of my costume on carefully while trying not to put stress on my ribs, or the tedious, complicated dressing of my hair. Or just my nerves in general. Nonetheless, I've been plagued with the feeling that this evening will not go as we are hoping. Perhaps that feeling held me back, causing me to stall and delay a little in getting dressed, concerned about what lies ahead. I don't know whether I wish this evening were already over, or whether we should just cancel our plans and not go at all.

This introspective mood was plaguing me when Erik knocked. I threw open the door and was startled by Erik's dark, towering figure, swooping down to enfold me in his arms. He kissed me long and deep, then whispered in my ear, "You are beautiful! Sometimes when I look at you, I cannot breathe."

As I smiled back at Erik, not wanting to leave the comfort of his arms, I wondered if he didn't have the same misgivings about tonight. Was I the only one possessed by a sense of unease?

Not wanting to cast a specter over the joy that everyone else seemed to be experiencing, I pushed down my feelings and replied, "And you make a most dashing matador, Monsieur Mercier!" I let my eyes say what words could not express. I know he heard my meaning, because he gave me one of his glorious smiles and another kiss that left us both breathless and wanting more.

Then, he held me tightly and kissed my forehead. Placing his warm lips close to my ear he said with longing, "Perhaps we should send everyone away. Let them go to the bal masque. We could remain here…alone."

I nodded my head, feeling his cheek brush against my temple, "Oh, how I wish we could!"

Erik breathed his response, "We will make up for it when we return tonight!"

With that thought, the promise of being together, of making love, we held each other tighter and lingered for a few more moments. I felt myself still blushing when he took my hand and placed it on his arm, escorting me down the stairwell.

Now the carriage rocks rhythmically, almost hypnotically toward the bal masque and whatever that may bring. Horatio's words to all of us before we left the chateau keep coming back to me, echoing in my mind, magnifying all my misgivings. He asked us to step into the library for a moment for his final instructions, "I hope everyone has a good time tonight, but I want to emphasize that we are also attending for the purpose of gathering any information about what the Prussian's intention may be and why they are courting the highest levels of the French aristocracy. So, we need to circulate and appear to be normal guests and to keep alert to conversations or information that may be useful. And, last but definitely not least, we all need to keep a very low profile. We want Erik to be introduced into society as Monsieur Mercier. After all, he's been acquitted in our century, but not this one. Until he reclaims his title and resolves any remaining legal entanglements or allegations here, we don't want him being recognized as the Phantom of the Opera. The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better."

I remember Horatio's final words. With a reassuring smile and wave of his hand, he confidently said, "Now, let's have a good time!" I sincerely hope that as well.

The ride to the mansion at the edge of Paris is lively. Grace even jokes about Colonel Kraus, referring to him as "Colonel Mustard." Everyone shares their hopes and expectations about the festive dance, food and conversations in the evening ahead. I have to force myself to join in. The gnawing anxiety simply will not leave despite everyone's high spirits.

Distractedly, I turn and gaze out the window. In the darkening dusk, it's hard to see anything of the countryside, and the encroaching fog seems to engulf the carriage in an eerie embrace. I wonder how Louis, the driver, can see through the murky night. He's driving the horses at a much slower pace, so our trip into Paris will take longer than usual. Noticing me peer out the window, Erik leans over and says softly in my ear, "Laura, what troubles you? You seem far away."

"I'm sorry. I just can't rid myself of a feeling that I have had all day…that something will happen tonight. Something unexpected," I look up into Erik's eyes, beseeching him to understand, to allay my worries, "Erik, to tell the truth, I'm very worried." I can't keep the anxiety from my voice.

Erik studies my face, trying to assess my troubled confession, but then a smile of reassurance appears on his lips, "Do not worry! We will be well protected with Horatio and the men. And, it is only a masque ball. No one will recognize me. They will not connect me with the Phantom. After all, he is dead. It was announced that he was executed by the Communards. I do not think there will be any problems." Then he adds with a devilish smile, "and I promise to be on my best behavior."

After a pause, Erik reaches his hand to my chin and turns my face up to his. With an edge to his voice, he continues, "But, my love, if there should be any 'problem,' you are to stay as far away from me as possible. Promise me you will go to a place of safety." His eyes search deeply into mine, pleading and commanding at the same time, then he adds in a whisper only I can hear, "You must not intervene or try to save me. If anything should happen to you again, I could not live with that. Do you understand?"

I nod, but cannot find my voice. His words hit me like a fist. His raising the possibility that there may be danger makes me feel that he, too, is feeling apprehension. But even more shocking is his order for me to stay away from him—to seek a place of safety far away from him should he be endangered! How could I possibly do that? How could I not do whatever is in my power to help him?

I say nothing, knowing in my heart I would do whatever is necessary at the moment. No promise now could change that. He tightens his gloved hand around mine, emphasizing both his concern and his warning. I resolve to remain on full alert all evening. And pray to God that we all return safely to the chateau.

On the driveway of Count Delanney's estate, we pull into the line of elegant carriages stretched in a long graceful arc before us, waiting their turn to deliver their passengers to the front entrance. When we arrive, several footmen run to our carriage, open the door and assist us.

The façade of Count Delanney's mansion seems to extend for a full city block and at least four or five towering stories. The Greek revival style façade is elegantly imposing and announces to the world the power and status of its owner. We climb the wide entrance stairs to the front door and are ushered into a wonderland of wealth where no opulence has been spared.

The foyer of Château Delanney is lavishly furnished. Light beige Italian marble floors reflect the glowing light of the candles. Elegant 17th century antiques line the corridors. Glass paned French doors are interspersed between tall windows on the opposite wall. The doors are open, allowing easy access to gardens and terraces beyond. Lush gold brocade draperies frame the tall windows and those surrounding the French doors billow in the soft evening wind. Although the air has a chill, with the number of people attending the ball, the rooms will become extremely warm as the evening wears on. I suspect that any small breeze traveling through the rooms will be a welcome relief.

A formally attired butler takes our cloaks and asks politely for the invitation Monsieur Mercier had received. Erik removes the gold parchment invitation, and the servant opens and examines it. Then, with a deep bow, the butler politely explains that the Grand Parlor with banquet tables, gaming tables and conversation areas are on the third floor and the ballroom occupies the fifth floor.

We begin our ascent up the grand staircase, which is much larger and more ornate than the one in our lovely chateau. As we pass by the immense oil paintings that cover its walls from floor to ceiling, Grace cannot keep from making some very pithy comments about the frozen faces that stare out from the over-blown portraits. She comments under her breath that one of the nobles looks like he is sucking on a lemon and that another looks like Einstein on a bad hair day. Horatio jabs Grace in the ribs rather sharply, reminding her to be a _lady_ this evening. Grace makes a face at Horatio, and suddenly I break into an uncontrollable grin.

Grace looks back at me and winks. "My goodness, Laura! This is going to be more difficult than I thought! We not only have to wear corsets, we actually have _to act_ like ladies!" That starts me giggling. Erik looks at us with disapproval, but is having difficulty suppressing a smirk.

The walk up two flights to the third floor is slow not only due to the seemingly endless steps, but because there are many people ahead of us also making their belabored progress upward. After all, most women are wearing gowns with full skirts, and the weight of some of their dresses easily exceeds 20 pounds. That forces the women into a slow, dignified pace, especially when climbing endless stairs. I am very glad that we adapted my costume so that I am not weighted down by yards and yards of material and the bulky undergarments.

Even so, my costume is heavier than the lace-covered Armani suit I wore when Erik and I celebrated that private dinner after he received the letter from his mother and the proof of his title. I remember that with nostalgic sadness as being as light and delicate as a bird's wing in comparison. Although we did not tighten the obligatory corset that I am wearing tonight, I no longer have any doubt that women of this era fainted not because they were delicate, but because they were suffocating!

When we arrive at the third floor, Grace makes a common sense proposal. "Horatio, let's stay here for awhile and visit in the Grand Parlor." She lowers her voice so that only our group can hear. "Since that's where the conversations are occurring, it's also where we're most likely to overhear information."

"I second that," I chime in.

The men all agree, so we proceed down the corridor and through a huge arched doorway, draped with rich velvet curtains. Pausing for a moment, we take in the huge expanse of the Grand Parlor. To the right side of the Parlor are three arched doorways which lead into smaller sittings rooms. One of those rooms contains card tables where intense and raucous games in progress. In a corner near these tables is a discreet area set up exclusively to dispense the livelier spirits to men. A number of dandies laze in comfortable leather chairs well into their cups as they watch the heavily contested games.

Running the entire length of the opposite side of the Parlor are large windows, which show glimmers of the Paris skyline in the distance. Halfway down that wall of windows stands a grand piano. A pianist and a single violinist play music that floats over the room, audible just above the din of voices. Throughout the Parlor, many couches and elegant chairs are arranged in conversation groups and at the far end looms a monstrous fireplace blazing warmth. An almost magical golden aura is cast over the partygoers by hanging crystal chandeliers.

The room is filled with New Year's revelers, from the most dignified, crusty nobility, to the flamboyant, over-dressed nouveau riche. I'm stunned by the scene—it looks like a page out of a history book. I can only blink at the wealth of music, voices, colorful costumes, priceless jewels, scents of food, wine and perfumes, and crush of luxury that assails my senses. I look up at Erik to see if this is as overwhelming to him as it is to me. He smiles at me and shrugs, "Just like back stage at the opera house after a premier performance."

Bemused, I cannot take my eyes from the scene, "I have no frame of reference for this, Erik. This is astounding," then, imploring earnestly, "Can we just sit for awhile?"

Grace overhears our exchange, "Yes, sitting down right now sounds like a good idea."

We walk past many elegant linen-draped tables with delicacies displayed on crystal or silver serving trays and pedestals. Banks of wine bottles stand in readiness for the guests, as well as crimson-colored punch in huge crystal bowls.

At the far end of the room we luckily arrive at two adjacent couches whose occupants are just vacating. We quickly claim them, as Grace and Horatio settle on a small love seat, and I sit between Erik and Antoinette on the larger sofa. Matt, Jeremy and Russ stand behind us, their gazes monitoring the room, but seemingly interested in viewing the many guests rather that being on guard. The sofa turns out to be not only comfortable, but since it is angled toward the entrance doorway, it provides a perfect vantage point for surveying the comings and goings of the magnificently costumed ladies and gentlemen.

We enjoy the ever-changing spectacle for only a short while before a Prussian colonel in full dress uniform enters the grand doorway. He pauses and scans the room. When he spots our group, he heads straight toward us. As he approaches us, weaving through the groups of people, Grace murmurs under her breath, but quite loud enough for us to hear, "Mustard at twelve o'clock!" With a sigh of resignation, she adds, "At least I won't have to serve tea this time." That confirms my suspicion that this is the infamous Colonel Kraus. I suspect that things are going to liven up now!

_Erik's POV:_

I hear Grace's reference to "Mustard" approaching and can only fathom that is some modern expression. I will have to discuss that with Jeremy later. But the gist of her meaning I comprehend. The Prussian officer approaching us must be none other than Colonel Kraus who delivered the invitations to Château Mercier. I watch him maneuver through the crowd and frown whenever people do not step aside quickly enough.

I shudder slightly at his uniform, which to me represents the army that surrounded Paris only a year ago and held all its citizens in an iron grasp, preventing food from entering the city for four months. I remember the starvation that ensued and how all suffered to a greater or lesser degree. The cattle and sheep that were herded into the city's parks before the Siege were eaten first, then the horses, then cats, dogs and even zoo animals.

I myself lost much weight during that time. I only survived because of my savings, which was stashed in metal boxes in various places throughout the tunnels. With those funds I purchased food from the bakeries and butcher shops—at least from the meager stocks that were available. And that had to stretch very far in thin, watery stews. Indeed the lavish food on the banquet tables here in the Grand Parlor is almost a sinful excess considering what Parisians were living on during the Siege.

Like Horatio, I wonder how it is that the Prussians are so welcome here in the bosom of certain French noble families. Although the Prussians remain encamped around Paris awaiting the payment of the monies that the French government agreed to pay in restitution, most Frenchmen do not entertain or socialize with them.

But, I realize that here, in this situation, I must put forth a pleasant façade and be sociable to this Prussian colonel. Even though I need not become friends with such people, I must not make enemies. I have an obligation to fulfill my agreement with The Program, but more importantly, I must make sure that Laura and the others remain safe.

When the Colonel has almost reached us, Horatio and I stand to receive him. Colonel Kraus strides directly to Horatio and shakes his hand, giving a small, formal bow and click of his boot heels. Horatio responds with a bow, as the Colonel turns to Grace and busses her extended hand. I see the faintest flicker of resentment in Grace's eyes when the Colonel's head is bowed over her hand, but she quickly dons a gracious smile before he looks up at her.

Horatio then leads the Colonel over to our couch and makes the introductions. I bow to the Colonel and, like Grace, disguise my feelings with a courteous smile.

After the Colonel completes his bow to me, I introduce Laura as my fiancé. As she extends her hand, I notice her hesitate. She is most definitely uncomfortable with this custom of men bussing the hands of women. My mind flickers back to the first time I met her in her office. When she extended her hand to me for a shake, I was equally taken aback. But I also remember how her hand felt in mine, the first of many times her hand would be offered to give care and comfort, and finally love.

The Colonel is then introduced to Antoinette, Jeremy, Matt and Russ, but his attentions return immediately to me and to Laura with whom he seems quite taken.

"Monsieur Mercier, I understand that you were abroad, living in America last year—during the _unpleasantness_ that erupted between our country and yours?"

"Yes, I was away on business." This, of course, is the story that is being given out. That I have been gone from France for almost a decade. My purporting to be out of the country during the events at the opera house keeps me from being identified with the Phantom. Although tonight my mask covers both sides of my face, I do not know if the Colonel has heard about me—that I usually wear a half mask. Any comparisons with the Phantom must be squelched. I add pointedly, "I have only returned to France in the last several weeks."

He smiles and nods, then presses his inquiries, "I had heard that the years you spent in America were quite advantageous!"

"Yes, they most certainly were. That is where I met Mademoiselle Counselor," I cannot resist a smile as I turn and look down on Laura's beautiful face and radiant eyes.

The Colonel looks over at Laura and smiles broadly at my response, "Certainly! You are a most fortunate man, indeed. Mademoiselle is very lovely, and I am certain also very accomplished." Then he clears his throat and gets to his real meaning, "But I was also of the understanding that you were very successful in your business enterprises! After all, the Château Mercier estate occupies a very large tract of land, and you are clearly renovating it in a most splendid manner."

This bold questioning borders on impertinent, but I must endeavor to respond as tactfully as possible, "Yes, Colonel, you could say that my time in America was very profitable. I am very fortunate in that regard."

"Will you be returning to America to manage your investments? Or are you remaining here in France?"

His questions continue to be trenchant and not terribly subtle. I reply with cool courtesy, "I may need to return to America on occasion, but intend to spend most of my time here."

"Well, then, may you and your lovely fiancé have a most pleasant life at Château Mercier!" With that he clicks his heels, bows and is gone.

Horatio leans over and quietly asks, "Do you think he recognized you?"

"No, I do not believe he connects me with the Phantom."

Jeremy approaches me with a quizzical look in his eyes, "What was that all about, Erik? Have you ever met him?"

"No, never. I have only heard about him from Horatio and Grace because of his visit to the château, but I was…err…busy when he arrived." That day my mind was entirely focused on whether Laura was going to arrive, and what I had to do if she did not. "I surmise he has some hidden purpose…some secret agenda. But I do not know what it could be. He seemed very interested in knowing what my future intentions were. I answered as nebulously as possible, but I wonder…"

"What?" Horatio impatiently prompts me when I pause to consider the situation.

"…if he has some other interest in me as a wealthy Frenchman, returning recently from America. Might that in some manner upset someone's political apple cart?"

Horatio's eyebrows dip low as he considers my suggestion. "That's very possible."

Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, Jeremy observes, "But you haven't declared any political leanings or preferences since you returned to France." Then, studying me intently, he adds, "Have you?"

"No, I most certainly have not. Nor have I had any such opportunity, as you well know!" Jeremy gives me a knowing smile. "Nonetheless, they may be under some misapprehension about my intentions. Perhaps I am _too much_ of a blank page, and someone else is filling it in!"

"That's all we need on top of everything else!" Horatio chuckles wryly, "Well, I'm going to mention this to Matt and Russ right now. I want them to keep their ears open for any such gossip circulating about you."

As Horatio walks over to talk to the two men, I sit down next to Laura, unable to control my frown. Could it be trouble is brewing about me of which I have no knowledge? Laura is nervously tapping her fan on her wrist. Undeniably, she is worried as well. She heard the Colonel's probing queries and my subsequent conversation with Jeremy and Horatio.

Looking down into her lovely sable eyes, I try to distract her from her worries, "Well, what is your opinion of the masque bal? Does it meet your expectations?"

"It's very spectacular," Laura's eyes are wide with amazement, "The costumes are more colorful and daring, even suggestive, than I could ever have imagined being worn in the staid Victorian era!"

"Ah, but this is Paris, not London! The Victorian sensibility does not extend to the City of Light. Here the people know how to live life with extravagance!" I smile broadly, then let my gaze drop slightly to take advantage of the view of the creamy swell of the tops of her breasts. The memory of her softness warms my thoughts so much that I do not see Jeremy returning with drinks.

"Here you go," Jeremy hands both of us a glass of wine. Matt and Horatio are returning with drinks for Antoinette and Grace as Jeremy muses, "This is some soirée. There must be several hundred people here."

"Indeed. I believe that tonight you are in the company of the some of the most noble personages that Paris has to offer." I add softly, under my breath, "And, if they knew who I am, they would be appalled." When Jeremy and Laura glance over at me sharply, I realize that, unexpectedly, they overheard my muttering.

"Erik!" Laura's voice is fraught with worry.

I pat her hand and reassure her, "It is alright Laura, no one will recognize me. And besides, they all believe that I am dead."

I cannot say more because an older gentleman with a much younger lady on his arm approaches us. Suspecting that this is our host, I stand to greet him. "Good evening Monsieur Mercier. It is my pleasure to have you attend my Bal tonight." He gives a slight bow, and I return it. "May I present my wife, Comtesse Delanney."

"Good evening Comte Delanney. Comtesse." I kiss the Comtesse's hand, then introduce Laura, catching myself just before I refer to her as "Madame Mercier." Luckily "Madame" is included in the word "Mademoiselle." It's getting damnably difficult not to refer to her as my wife. Then I introduce each of the members of the group. We exchange the usual, formal pleasantries, and soon they move on to greet their other guests.

Just then Grace turns to Laura, "I know you aren't going to dance tonight, but would you mind if Horatio and I do?"

"Of course not, Grace," Laura smiles at her, "Please go and enjoy yourselves!"

"The ballroom's on the fifth floor, Horatio. Shall we go upstairs and dance?" Grace grins expectantly up at him, "After all, Antoinette has done a splendid job teaching us."

Horatio laughs and says in a low voice, "Just remember that we've been introduced as brother and sister. We can't dance every dance with each other. You will have to dance with the other men, you know!"

The smile on Grace's face turns slightly sour, and she mumbles something under her breath, then replies, "Well, I will settle for at least a few with you, Horatio."

Taking Grace's hand with a formal flourish, Horatio places it on his arm, "Looks like I have no choice." He smiles warmly at her, and they take their leave.

Roving groups of people stop to introduce themselves over the next hour. Some are interesting to engage in conversation. Some are giddy with drink and others with adventurous mischief that is always in the air at a bal masque. Antoinette often helps to tactfully translate their risqué comments for Laura.

I always take note when any of the young men surreptitiously gaze at Laura. I cannot help but feel the pangs of jealousy. Our public marriage cannot happen soon enough so that I may claim her as mine and put an end to such familiarity.

One group of men in particular was guilty of giving entirely too much attention to Laura. Three men lingered all too long over Laura, her hand, and her décolleté. Even more irritating, they were all dressed similar to myself, as matadors. However, the colors of their costumes were on the garish side, one in yellow and the other in fastidious outfits of blue and green. They spent entirely too much time pointing out that since Laura was dressed as a Spanish lady, she should be particularly interested in bullfighters.

The one dressed in yellow, clearly the ringleader, asked, "Would you like to see us perform in the ring, Mademoiselle?" Laura smiled and answered graciously, but I was glad that they soon moved on with their overly obsequious airs and distinctly foppish manners.

Laura has just begun chatting with an elderly, elegantly dressed couple. This gives me an opportunity for a few moments to watch the throngs of people circulating around the room. When a man with a dark mustache glances directly at me, an icy shiver runs down my spine. Our eyes lock for only a moment, but he makes me acutely uneasy, especially when he begins to make his way toward our side of the room.

As he nears us, the elderly couple takes their leave, and soon the man with the dark mustache is standing in front of me and introducing himself. "Good evening, Monsieur. May I introduce myself? I am Herr Gunter."

Reluctantly, I introduce him to Laura. Herr Gunter bows formally to Laura and proceeds to take her hand and buss it. It takes all my will to restrain myself from grabbing her hand away from his touch. Something evil radiates from him. I glance at Jeremy to see if he notices anything different about the man, but he seems to be absorbed in Herr Gunter's tales of his successful businesses in America as an entrepreneur of various manufacturing endeavors.

"I am here on vacation with several friends. This is the first time that we have traveled to Paris. Perhaps you can direct me to some of the social events in the city. I hear that there is a fine opera house here." He directs this last statement at me, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I study him closely.

Jeremy replies when I do not speak, "Yes, the Opera Populaire was the leading opera house in Paris. But it has been closed down for repairs and has not yet reopened." Jeremy pauses just a few seconds and continues, "We are all recently arrived from America, as well. Perhaps our host, the Comte Delanney will be able to suggest entertainment for you and your party."

Seeming distracted and still looking at me, he comments, "Yes, yes, of course." Then he turns to Jeremy, "Well, I must be off. I've promised to join my companions in a card game, and they're awaiting me. It's been a pleasure to meet you." Before he turns away, the man has the audacity to let his eyes linger on Laura's décolletage a moment longer than is proper, and I can feel my fury rise. Then he is gone.

The man is barely out of sight when Laura excuses herself, explaining that she wishes to visit the powder room. I watch her as she leaves the room, then turn to Jeremy, "Did you find anything unusual about Herr Gunter?" I remove my handkerchief from my pocket and wipe my hand, trying to remove the oily touch of the man's handshake.

"You mean other than his alluding to your previous…er...occupation and his not keeping his eyes off Laura?" Jeremy gives me a wry smile and watches me rub my hands with the handkerchief. "You seem to be attracting some odd people tonight, Erik."

Returning the handkerchief to my pocket, I observe, "Yes, but there is something about _him_ that makes me profoundly uncomfortable. I want you to try and find out more about him."

"Will do."

Jeremy and I walk over to the door that goes to the side hallway where the powder rooms are located. When Laura returns, I plan to escort her to the buffet tables so we can partake of the delicious feast laid out. As we await Laura, I notice that the crowd is thinning out. Many of the young people are departing through the main entrance on the opposite side of the Grand Parlor. Clearly they want to enjoy the dancing in the fifth floor ballroom.

When Laura appears, I take her hand and place it on my arm, "Would you like to sample the food now?"

"Yes, I would love that!" As we are walking toward the buffet tables, she adds, "I'm enjoying talking to the people that have stopped and introduced themselves.

Everyone has been so nice. Except that last man." She lowers her voice, "I really didn't like him. There was something…sinister about him. I know it sounds strange, but I had the sudden need to wash my hands after he touched me."

Most interesting. I had the same compulsion to wipe off any residue of contact with that man. I squeeze her hand in agreement. "I concur entirely with your appraisal. There was indeed something most peculiar about him. Hopefully, we will not be seeing him again."

"Hopefully."

Suddenly I freeze, bringing us both to an abrupt standstill. Jeremy is following close behind and almost bumps into me. A low groan escapes. Laura looks up in surprise, "Erik, what's wrong? You've turned white as a ghost!"

I nod toward the main entrance doorway. Beneath the velvet curtains stands a striking couple. An aura of unreality surrounds them. The tall, blonde man is dressed in a blue military uniform with flashy golden epaulettes, and the lady is dressed extravagantly in a blue velvet gown, her long dark hair pulled back into an elaborate hair covering. It is none other than Raoul, the Comte de Chagny, and next to him….her beautiful, smiling face unmistakable…is _Christine._

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Profuse Thank yous! To KFC who provided her insightful edits! 

And, we want to credit Phangirl321 for the references to "Colonel Mustard" and "Twelve O'Clock high!" Those were references from the original Case…They were just too delightful and too Grace to leave out!!


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: Profuse apologies for taking extra time to post! We have received PMs from a number of you, saying you have been expectantly awaiting this chapter. Thank you for your wonderful emails and support for our story! But, truly, the Christmas Crazies have kept all of us writers way too busy. But, despite our work and Christmas preparations, we have been busy writing, too! **

**So, here is the next chapter, which is part of our Christmas gift to you, and the rest of our Christmas gift is that we will post the following chapter on New Year's Eve! We writers wish each of you a very joyous, peaceful and blessed holiday season!!**

On this New Year's Eve of 1871, the only thing to expect is the unexpected!!!

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**Chapter ****67 ****Crisscrossed, by KFC+ and Phanna**

_Marek's POV:_

Soon now. I'll be there as soon as this fog clears. I wait for my feet to touch solid ground and the murky ether to take shape around me. A few more minutes, and I'll be home.

Claire will be waiting. Like always, she'll have no idea how long I've really been gone, or how unbelievably far away. I'll walk up over the hill, out of the woods and back into the 14th century. My home. She'll ask how my trip was, if I'm tired, and would I like to eat? Then when the servants are out of sight, she'll push me up against the wall and kiss me. I'll wrap her up tight and kiss her back until she squeals that she can't breathe. Like always.

I sense I'm descending toward something solid, and wait for the bright array of lights to dissipate so I can get my bearings. Finally there's ground underneath my feet, but I still can't make anything out. Suddenly, I feel the sting of winter air and search the darkness for some recognizable form. But the world resists emerging from the shadows. Then I look up and see stars. Good lord! What happened? I'm late!

It's definitely night, and strangely I'm out in the open, not in the cover of trees where I usually arrive. An unsettled feeling comes over me. Where the hell am I? The moon appears from behind dark clouds, and I glance around, trying to reconcile the shadowy outlines of the landscape with the locations surrounding my home. I scan for the familiar woods and Squire's Knoll. Turning on my heels, I seek the castle hill that should be behind me…

What the…?

There's nothing but forest behind me. I start to run over the dimly moonlit ground, heading for what I hope will prove to be familiar territory. But nothing becomes any more recognizable. Up ahead is a road. When I reach it, I stand and turn to look in all directions again, struggling to fit these random pieces together into something that makes sense. It's got to. I know this land…every forest, every river, hill and valley. The bends in every road.

Suddenly I have a pang of realization. It's finally happening. I'm paying with my brain cells for this wild, unheard of lifestyle.

I take off down the road, trying to clear my head and get to somewhere I can get my bearings. But nothing changes. Bewildered, I slow my pace. Something must have gone wrong. I have a distinct feeling that I'm a long way from home.

Maybe a cart will come along soon, and I can find out where I am. I kneel down on the road, to see how well used it is. It's covered with wheel markings, and the ruts are deep.

Oh my God. These ruts weren't made by cart wheels. I run my hand along the inside of a thin deep rut, feeling like I'm about to lose my sanity. I suddenly stare at the markings on the road with new eyes. Carriage wheels. Staggering, I get to my feet and turn around again, taking in the landscape as it fades in and out with the swift passage of clouds over the moon.

No. It can't be!

Yes, it's got to be.

I quickly scan the horizons, trying to dredge up my recollection of the map of the outlying areas of the Chateau Mercier and the transport field.

The forest…the field...the road…

I can't believe this.

1871!

How in hell….?

_Joe's POV:_

Ever since the Mercier carriage left for the Masque Ball, guard duty tonight has been uneventful and tedious. Jean-Luc is sleeping downstairs, and from my tower vantage point, it appears that not a soul is stirring around here. Even the stars appear bored.

I guess that's the nature of guard duty. Keep watch, so nothing will happen. Obviously there's not much risk, or I wouldn't have been left to defend this chateau by myself.

One man can't defend a castle all by himself can he?

Suddenly a scheme begins to build in my mind. I imagine enemies riding in from the north, and their buddies waiting in the woods across the clearing. They've sent out their scouts. It's looking like the castle is an easy take. Some lurk in the stables and some in the trees. They know I'm up here. They're no idiots. But neither am I, and of course, even on a "not happennin'" night, I'm expecting trouble.

Now they send their decoy across the clearing. They're trying to draw my fire, and figure out where I'm at. But I wait until their bands emerge one by one. Then I aim my fire so it ricochets off several different parts of the castle and pick off their leaders. Now the bastards think they're up against a whole band of sharpshooters, and since they never know where the next bullet is coming from, I take them all down in no time flat. Then the reinforcements flood out of the trees, their leader running fearlessly in front of them…

Wait…

Great Scot! I'm suddenly whipped out of my vividly imagined scenario by the sight of a very _real_ man running across the clearing. He's dressed in drab brown, kind of like a beggar. But no beggar runs like that. He has the long, powerful strides of an athlete, or a warrior. I scan the grounds for any other signs of movement, but this man is alone. As he runs toward the chateau he looks up to the guard tower, as if expecting to be seen. Pulling my rifle up to ready position, I step to the edge of the wall and take aim.

"Halt! Identify yourself!" I shout in French.

"Andre Marek!" he yells from below.

"Marek! What the…?!" Taking my rifle with me, just in case this _is_ a decoy, I bound down the stairwell on the outside of the tower. What on Earth would Marek be doing here?

I meet him at the foot of the stairwell, pointing my rifle at him until I verify that it's really Marek. He stops several yards from me, disheveled and sweating, but hardly winded from his run. "What the hell is goin' on?" he demands.

I stare at him blankly. "How would I know, Marek? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I have no idea! Somethin's screwed up! I was on my way home and ended up here."

"What? How could that happen?"

"Damned if I know!" Marek is spitting fire. "It doesn't make a bloody bit o' sense! I transported out, from the Lab, headed for 1365 and somehow ended up here! That's a difference of 500 years and more than a few hundred miles! Did you get any word of this from the Lab? Any clue I was supposed to show up here?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Blazin' shite! Somethin's gone wrong! Alright, where's Horatio? And what damn day and month is it? Is this still 1871? "

"Yeah, for two more hours. Everyone but me is gone to the New Year's Eve Masque Ball." I refuse to take Marek's scowl personally.

"Where's the StarLink Terese set up?"

"Downstairs. We can get to it through Jeremy's room."

"Alright then, let's get in touch with the Lab and find out what happened."

With an eye out for wandering servants, we travel cautiously down several long corridors and up to Jeremy's room. Marek charges down the secret stairwell without even stopping to light a lamp. I guess he must be used to moving around castles in the pitch black, but I'm a little rusty on this particular Navy SEAL skill. There's a thud as he finds the door and pushes it open, into the chamber where the lab has been set up.

"Get some light in here, man," he orders. I try not to trip over anything as I feel my way through the darkness for the oil lamp. By the time we can see, Marek has already found the power button and the computer is up and running. He's punching keys faster than my eyes can track his fingers, entering codes, passwords, and his code name LEO. He waits impatiently for a link as I look over his shoulder.

** STARLab…link established with MERCIER BASE/LEO.**

Marek begins to type.

_ Emergency Report: LEO completed transport safely, but arrived wrong time period. Have no idea why. Found way to MERCIER BASE without trouble._

There is a pause before STARLab answers. Thankfully it's Terese.

** TERRE copies. Holy Mackerel. Please confirm.**

_ LEO confirming arrival at MERCIER BASE at about 2000:12:31:1871. _

** LEO, your condition?**

_ Zero mental or physical symptoms. _

** Thank God.**

_ TERRE, do you have any clue what happened?_

** None whatsoever. Will review entire transport file immediately. Any more data before we end link?**

_ Know nothing more. Hope this was some freak code mistake. _

** It's either human error or a weird computer glitch. **

_ Will stand by._

** Thanks LEO. Please reestablish link in 15 minutes. **

_ LEO confirmed._

** TERRE confirmed. End.**

His rugged brow furrowed with exasperation, Marek stands up impatiently and begins to pace. Suppressing a grin, I wonder if that rubbed off from being around Erik.

"Come on! Chill, Marek! Think of it as free frequent flyer miles."

"It ain't free!" he snaps. "This is a _very_ costly mistake! To get me home they're goin' t' have to transport me _back_ to the lab, and then out again. That's two extra time windows to open. Three times the cost! And crap, if they don't want to pay, I'm stuck here indefinitely." He shoves a hand through his windblown mop of hair. "Blasted computers!"

"Well, you never know. It might be providential."

"Don't say that! I want to go home," he eyes me severely. "I've already been delayed numerous times, and I don't want to be stuck here for who knows how long. Aye?"

"Claire won't know the difference, will she? This is time travel. Can't they can still get you home on time?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then I say this is providential, Marek.

_December 31, 1871_

_Bal Masque __near __Paris_

_Jeremy's POV:_

This has been a strange evening, and we've only been here a few hours. First Colonel Kraus, the Prussian officer, virtually interrogated Erik, digging for information. He seemed particularly interested in whether Erik would be staying in France or returning to America. Then, not long after that, Herr Gunter, the rich businessman, boldly introduced himself. With an ambiguous remark, he inferred that Erik was linked with the opera house. But it was the way he studied Erik when he dropped those comments that makes me feel Gunter knew what he was doing. This is when I wish I had my palm computer to run a background check on both of them right now.

I'm still bemoaning the loss of my handy computer link and database access when Erik suddenly freezes. Instantly on guard, I inconspicuously slide my hand under my pirate's coat, wrapping my fingers around the handle of my weapon. What's going on now?

When I follow Erik's line of vision and spot Raoul and Christine at the entrance to the room, I groan inwardly, my gut tightening. This could mean big trouble. I release the grip on my gun. This evening is going downhill fast! We seem to be sitting at the pinnacle of a hill, in a car with no brakes.

Erik is staring at Raoul and Christen, frozen solid as an icicle in the Arctic. I quickly survey the room and verify that there's only one way out, and that's through the main doorway where Raoul and Christine are standing. I step next to Erik and order in no uncertain terms, "Turn and walk back the way we came."

Laura glances at me, then places her hand on Erik's arm when he continues to stare at the couple in the doorway. At her touch, the spell is broken, and he finally moves. Laura turns to me for direction, "What do you want us to do?"

"For starters, I want you to walk back to the couch and sit with Antoinette. I'll have Matt remain with you. Then I'm going to take Erik to a different part of the room." Laura nods her head, but her mouth is set is a tight line of doubt.

We stop briefly at the couch near Antoinette as Laura sits down. Antoinette, sensing something's up, looks at Erik, then searches Laura's face, which has gone a little pale. Laura leans over and puts her hand on Antoinette's, "Christine and Raoul have just walked into the room."

Antoinette looks toward the door, but I step in front of her to prevent her from making eye contact with Christine. I explain firmly, "Antoinette, I need to get Erik away from here. We cannot let Christine know he's here. It would be dangerous for all of us. He's been cleared of all the charges in the future, but not here."

The rest of the color drains from Laura's face. Antoinette is shaking her head in disbelief, and a sad look passes like a cloud over her eyes for a moment before she gets her emotions under control. Finally she responds to my orders, almost under her breath, "I understand."

Erik remains silent, deep in thought. Seeing Christine has really jarred him. He's still stunned. I sense his turmoil like fog rolling off the ocean, but he's trying to hide it from Laura. He couldn't possibly have feelings for Christine anymore. Could he? A lot has happened since he last saw Christine. Like…Laura.

A new concern jumps into my head. What would he do if Christine recognizes and tries to approach him tonight? Good God, what am I thinking? If that happens, Raoul will have the police moving in to capture him, and we'd be hard-pressed to get Erik—or any of us—out of here safely. Shuddering at these thoughts, I push them out of my mind for now.

Quietly, I begin to fire instructions at Matt and Russ. "Matt, sit next to Laura just in case Christine recognizes Antoinette before we can get out of here. If Raoul and Christine don't spot Antoinette, I'll wait until they've moved far enough away from the doorway and signal you. Then we can leave in two groups so we don't call attention to ourselves."

"Russ, stay between Antoinette and Christine's line of sight if you can. Signal me if anything changes." Russ nods. "When we're ready to leave, and I signal you, all four of you go upstairs to the Ballroom. Erik and I will follow."

Erik glances at Laura, reassuring her with a half smile when he sees the fear in her eyes, but that is all there is time to do. I step between him and Laura, then point him toward the far side of the Parlor as the destination of our safe retreat. I see Christine and Raoul begin to enter the room, pausing as if they are looking for someone. Erik and I head in the opposite direction, making it seem like we are just strolling and talking. At one point he tries to look over his shoulder toward the door.

"Don't!" I snap at him, daring him to disobey my command. Thank God he still has enough common sense to listen to me as we continue our 'stroll' through the Grand Parlor.

I steer Erik to one of the three small sitting rooms, the one that's farthest from the entrance doorway. We pass by the tables where card games are heatedly contested, with the half-drunk gentlemen loudly protesting their fate or bragging over their winnings. Erik and I walk to the bar where the hard liquor is being dispensed. When the drinks are set in front of us, I slide the cognac to Erik. He takes it, and I wince at the large swig he gulps down. I shake my head in sympathy and quickly down my shot of rum. I position Erik with his back to the door, then stand facing him and the main Parlor. Keeping an eye on Russ for any signal, I also watch Christine and Raoul as they move about.

Raoul and Christine join another couple who have greeted them. They're still close to the door so we can't do anything but wait this out.

"Mon Dieu, Jeremy, where in hell are they?" Erik demands not daring to turn around after my previous warning. His voice is strained with urgency and something else I can't quite put my finger on.

"They're between us and the door, visiting with friends."

We have been aware of the possibility that our paths may cross with Raoul and Christine at one of these social events and took great care to avoid that situation. Using his numerous family contacts, Louis was able to procure a copy of the guest list for this "little" party. Raoul and Christine were definitely _not _on it. I watch as Comte Delanney and his wife join the foursome, but then I see Christine surveying the room. Her eyes seem to dart around, as if she is trying to spot someone she knows. I have a feeling in my gut that it's going to be a miracle if we get through tonight without a hitch.

And then my gut wrenches as her face lights up with recognition.

_Christine's POV:_

During the coach ride to the Bal Masque, Raoul explained that tonight is the most important social event of the year. He clarified that most of the crème de la crème of Parisian society would be attending, and that this evening was the proper time to attain the final approval of his peers for our marriage. It's important to him that I be unequivocally accepted by Parisian society as his future wife.

But he never volunteered what may be the most interesting fact about our attending the masque bal. Actually, I am aware of it only because I overheard my two maids whispering together when they were getting my dress ready last night. One maid was complaining that they had such little time to prepare all my clothes for such an important affair. The other maid agreed and said she had overheard the Comte's butler informing the head of the staff that the invitation had only been obtained yesterday, at the last moment.

Apparently, Raoul had to pull strings to get us this invitation. I wonder if that was because of me, and the scandalous affairs that occurred at the opera house. Or is it the resistance of the nobility to accepting a Comte's engagement with an opera singer? Perhaps both. My stomach clenches at the thought of having to run, once again, the gauntlet of burning stares and thinly disguised disapproval from Raoul's peers.

These thoughts plague me as I gaze out the window. Several extra guards ride near our coach this evening. There have been many reports in the last few months of highwaymen stopping and robbing some of the nobility and wealthier people traveling the roads on the outskirts of Paris. Raoul is most distressed about this. He told me about one of his business acquaintances who was robbed just a fortnight ago. The highwaymen managed to steal many valuable pieces of jewelry and all the money he and his wife were carrying. They weren't hurt, but the wife fainted, and a doctor was fetched when they reached their manor because she had still not recovered.

Our stylishly appointed coach safely comes to a halt in front of Château Delanney, and the footman, dressed in his finest black and gold livery and highly polished boots, opens the de Chagny crested door. Raoul steps down, shaking the wrinkles from his short military cape and allows the footman to assist me, then Raoul turns, and I place my hand on his arm. Raoul is always the gentleman, in public. I find that he can be very different in private. He's not as attentive as he was at the beginning of our courtship, and that worries me.

Raoul made sure that we arrived fashionably late this evening. He constantly instructs me on the rules of society every opportunity that he gets. The social appointments will be a very large part of my duties as his wife. Recently we've attended as many social functions as possible because of his concern that society will not accept me because of my somewhat notorious background.

When we enter the foyer, one of the servants hurriedly takes my velvet cape. The distinguished grey-haired butler greets Raoul personally and bows formally to me. Raoul presents him with our invitation and then holds his arm out for me. We walk up the grand staircase, and even before we reach the third floor, I can hear the loud hum of voices coming from the Grand Parlor.

Stepping through the arched doorway, we pause next to the velvet draperies that frame it and glance around the grand room. The atmosphere is charged with sounds of raucous laughter and sights of lavish excess as people converse with old friends and acquaintances or introduce themselves to new ones. Small clouds of smoke from cigar and pipe tobacco drift out of the sitting room at the far end of the Grand Parlor where the gaming tables are set up. The faint smell of smoke and brandy mingles with a cacophony of aromas.

Soft piano music accompanied by a violin is playing to my left. However, no one seems to be paying any attention, even though the pianist is quite accomplished. These people cannot be bothered to acknowledge talent in someone beneath them in social status. People pass us on their way out the door. I can hear bits of excited conversations as they leave to go to the Ballroom, but to my chagrin, no one offers us a friendly greeting. My life at the opera house did not prepare me for the reality of the manner in which the nobility treat anyone not of their station in life. Nor for their pomposity.

One of the things I've discovered about the people I've encountered in Raoul's circle is that they are filled with self-importance, where the people and performers at the opera house were often friendly and helpful. We were family there, but the nobility aren't like that. The aristocracy never extends friendship or any help unless it suits them or is to their advantage. I'm still uneasy in these social situations, but Raoul insists we attend as many as possible. I know these people look down their noses at me. I've seen the stares and heard the whispers behind my back. I'm not one of them and am only tolerated because of Raoul.

I'm relieved when I see a couple that we know who have been generous in their acceptance of me. Raoul pats my hand, "Remember, my dear, put your best manners forward." He smiles at me, never realizing how his statement makes me feel. Unaccepted in his world. And, I'm afraid that I'll commit a terrible faux pas.

Nervously, I run my fingers over my skirt, feeling the soft blue velvet fabric as I walk beside Raoul. My dress and the matching expensive cape have been exquisitely fashioned by one of the leading couturiers in Paris. A few months ago, Raoul arranged for an entire wardrobe to be fashioned for me, making sure no expense was spared. He's adamant about my having only the best of everything. But I've come to realize that he's not doing this for me. His social position is of utmost importance to him, and I must set an example of what his wealth and power can buy.

Even though I've many gowns to choose from, this particular one is my favorite. The long skirt and bodice are embellished with fine hand embroidery stitched in gold silk thread. The stitches are so small and delicate that they are almost undetectable, but the effect is a beautiful wave of subtle gold as I walk. The deep blue of the velvet fabric enhances my coloring and dark hair. Tonight I had my personal maid pull my hair back and arrange it in a thin, gossamer crisscross net, interwoven with small pearls and more of the beautiful gold thread embroidery. It is quite an elegant effect.

As we make our way across the crowded room, I can smell the costly French perfumes that the ladies are wearing. When we reach Marquis de Lorme and his wife, Alicia, we have just a few moments to bid them good evening before we are joined by Comte Delanney and his wife, Olympe. Raoul is acquainted with them through his business affairs and has attended several dinner parties here with his family. Raoul makes the introductions, as Comte Delanney bends to kiss my hand. His gaze lingers for a few seconds too long on the top of my bodice. What an impertinent man! The Comtesse is no better though. Her air of disapproval makes me angry, but I keep it to myself. The men begin to talk about business and Alicia, the Comtesse and I chat about the various costumes at the Bal and other mundane topics.

Distractedly, I begin gazing about the room, enjoying the imaginative costumes that are on display tonight when I blink in astonishment at who I recognize despite the costume and mask. My heart begins to race. I force myself to remain calm though. I cannot do anything until the conversation ends, and the two couples take their leave.

"Raoul," I whisper when we are finally alone. My excitement must be evident because he smiles down at me, somewhat condescendingly.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?"

Impatiently, I nod, "Yes, yes..." Then I blurt, "Madame Giry is here at the Bal Masque!"

He turns, and his eyes sweep the room, "I don't see her, Christine."

"She's over there," I point, "sitting on the blue couch." He finally spots her and nods, but doesn't say anything.

"May we go and talk to her? I haven't seen her since…" I stop, knowing that I mustn't mention _that _night in front of Raoul. It upsets him for me to talk about it.

His eyes darken, and I can see his lips tighten. "Yes, my dear, let me get a glass of wine. My throat is parched. Then we will go over and speak with her." But he doesn't seem at all pleased at the prospect. I wonder why. He knows she was like a mother to me all those years.

While he's gone, my mind whirls with the pleasure of seeing her safe and sound. Although I haven't seen her or Meg since the night of the terrible debacle at the opera house, I have often worried about them, wondering where they were and how they fared. When Raoul and I left that night, I had nowhere to go. I wanted to return to Madame Giry and Meg. They had no place to go either, but Raoul said that he would find them and make sure they were alright. He insisted I leave with him and took me to his aunt's home. When I asked about Madame Giry and Meg the next day, Raoul assured me that he talked to them and even arranged to give them money.

I try not to show my impatience, but I want to rush to her. Time seems to be in slow motion, but I wait. Finally, Raoul returns. He places my hand on his arm, and we walk toward Madame Giry. He still seems hesitant. I don't understand, but dismiss it in my haste to reach her.

We are almost upon her when she looks up and sees me. She makes a small noise and jumps to her feet, quickly rushing to me, and we embrace each other warmly. Raoul looks displeased, and guiltily I remember that he has taught me that you don't show emotion in public. You may kiss on the cheek or offer your hand. But not this great burst of emotion that's flowing between us. I finally step back, trying to contain my feelings, but Madame Giry and I have tears sliding down our cheeks and use our handkerchiefs to dab at them.

"I have missed you."

"Oh, it has been too long…" We both speak at once, staring at each other and smiling.

Then Madame Giry turns to the other people in her group and begins the introductions. She introduces Raoul as the Vicomte de Chagny.

"I am _the_ _Comte_ de Chagny, Madame," Raoul corrects rather coldly. "Circumstances have changed since we last spoke."

Madame Giry stiffens slightly, "I beg your pardon _Comte_ de Chagny."

She executes an obligatory curtsy and then turns to me, ignoring his rude manner, without further inquiries. "Christine, may I introduce you to my American friends?"

I nod as she begins the formal introductions. When I hear the voice of Mademoiselle Counselor, something stirs in the back of my memory.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle." The feeling is so strong at this moment that I cannot help but comment, "Have we met before? You seem so…familiar." Mademoiselle Counselor's companion helps translate some of this conversation to her. When she turns to me again, she has a faint look of surprise and something else in her eyes. Is it…fear?

Before I can think about it, she replies, "I have only recently arrived from America, so it would be doubtful that we have met." Her French is proper, but it has a decided American accent. I smile politely, then turn to the two tall men as Madame Giry finishes her introductions to Monsieurs Mc Brighton and Carpenter.

After the formalities, Raoul immediately excuses himself to speak with several men standing about twenty feet away. How odd. That seems impolite even to me. I quickly glance around, but the others don't seem to notice. Or maybe they are being polite. Madame Giry sits down and pats the space next to her on the couch for me to be seated.

"Christine," Madame Giry takes my hand, "I have been fraught with concern for you! Why did you not get in touch with me after that last night? I searched for you everywhere and even had a few men from the opera house try to find you."

Her words startle me. What does she mean? "But Raoul found you the next day, and told you that I was with his family, didn't he?" I turn quickly to look over at him. He's turned away from me, talking with the other men.

Madame Giry's voice softens, "Christine, I have not heard from anyone about you." She looks directly into my eyes, but I try to avoid hers. I can feel my insides start to shake. He lied to me! Raoul didn't go to find Madame Giry and Meg! She hasn't known where I've been this entire time. It's been almost nine months.

I am furious with Raoul and glance at him again. But, he doesn't look my way. He knows that Madame Giry would tell me. I take a few moments to regain my composure. I will bring this up on our trip home tonight. "I must have misunderstood." I quickly go on, trying to cover this awkward moment, "But we have found each other again, and I promise that we will stay in touch."

She pats my hand, and I can see in her eyes that she understands. Perhaps more than she should.

I ask what I most want to know, "Meg, how is Meg?"

Madame Giry smiles, "She is fine. She is with a dance company right now. She has been so worried about you. I will write immediately and tell her that you are in good health."

"Write her? Where is she now?"

"She is in England. I will give you her address if you wish."

"Yes, I would like that very much." It will be good to talk to Meg again. She and I were always close, and I have missed her sorely these past few months.

"So Christine, what happened that night?" Madame Giry leans closer to me, "Where did you go?"

I look around at the others. They seem interested also, even though we've only just met. But, where I have been isn't a secret, so I begin my explanation. "Raoul took me to his aunt's townhouse in the city that…evening. She's very nice and has been quite kind to me." I'm sincere in my compliment. Aunt Ginny, the dear woman I have come to love, has been my companion and confidante at times, especially the few months after I left the opera house. I was so confused, and not sure that I'd made the right decision in choosing Raoul over Erik. And now it is too late. Erik is dead. A lump forms in my throat as I remember the newspaper article about his execution by the Communards.

I was always so conflicted around Erik. I remember what a comfort he was all those years, singing to me during the sorrow of losing my father. Then later he mentored and helped me with my voice. I was joyous at first when he introduced himself to me, knowing that he was my Angel of Music. Sometimes I imagine that he's still there, inside my mind. It's almost as if I can hear him, although I know he's dead.

When I realized he wanted me for his wife, I was afraid. Afraid to admit that I didn't have the courage to make the choice to stay with him. He drew me to him with his wonderful music and his hypnotic voice. But, he also evoked another kind of feeling that made my heart beat faster and stir sensations deep inside me that I'd never experienced before. Those feelings frightened me. So I ran from him.

I thrust these thoughts aside and continue telling Madame Giry my story. "Raoul wanted to marry me immediately, but his father was opposed to our marriage. Then, shortly before the Communards took over Paris, Raoul's family fled as did many other nobles. I went with them at Raoul's insistence. We escaped to Spain where his mother has family."

"I am glad that you were safely away from Paris." Madame Giry closes her eyes briefly, and a look of pain crosses her face. She pats my hand, "Please continue."

I clear my throat and glance toward Raoul. He's deliberately avoiding my gaze. As I look back at Madame Giry, my eyes briefly fall on Mademoiselle Counselor's masked face. Images stir in my mind. A room full of books. A long table. I hesitate, struggling to make sense of this.

When I glance around, I realize that everyone is waiting for me to continue. "Tragedy struck a week after we arrived in Spain. Raoul's father, the Compte, had a fatal heart attack." I turn and check to make sure Raoul is still engaged in his conversation. "Raoul is now the Comte."

A strange look flickers across Madame Giry's face, making me uneasy. Why would she react that way to the news about Raoul?

"When we all returned a few months later, we settled back into the townhouses that Raoul now owns." He's the sole heir and has unhesitatingly grasped the reins of all the wealth and power produced by his inheritance.

Everyone remains silent. It feels strange that no one, not even Madame Giry, expresses some perfunctory comment of congratulations concerning Raoul's becoming the Comte de Chagny.

"So, you see, Raoul and I are to be married in February. The banns have been posted. Soon I'll be a Comtesse." I smile at Madame Giry. Surely she'll be happy for me. It's a great match that most women of my station in life can never hope to achieve. Instead, Madame Giry returns a probing, almost piercing look. I feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and my cheeks begin to blush. Have I said something wrong? Does she not approve of my marriage to Raoul?

It is strange how life takes us down many roads. A few months ago, I was a singer in the Opera Populaire, and now I am to be Comtesse de Chagny. My thoughts turn uncontrollably to Erik. I love Raoul, but I also loved Erik. I realize that now. But what kind of life would I have led in a dark cave? Raoul offered me a stately home, position and security. My choice might have been easier to make if Erik had been a Comte or other titled noble. But I had to think of my future. Of my children's future. A woman only gets one chance in her lifetime to make the right decision. A life of poverty or a life of comfort and privilege. Was there ever a choice? Would any woman have done any differently? I believe not.

"Oh Christine! That is wonderful. I am so happy for you." Madame Giry leans over and hugs me, but her eyes don't mirror her words.

"I will make sure that you are invited to the wedding, Madame Giry." Then realizing how impolite my invitation to her alone sounds, I turn to the others and say with slight embarrassment for my lapse of consideration, "Of course, you are all invited."

That elicits more congratulations on our upcoming wedding. Then an awkward pause in the conversation descends, punctuated by Raoul finally ending his conversation with his friends and belatedly returning to me.

"Please excuse us now Madame Giry, Mademoiselle, Monsieurs." He bows stiffly, "I need to whisk Christine away from your delightful company to have her meet some friends who have just arrived."

As I stand and take my leave, my glance falls on Mademoiselle Counselor once more. Another jolting vision jumps into my mind of her, sitting at a table, dressed very strangely. She seems to be wearing a man's jacket. A white jacket.

When I relate the incident to Raoul as we walk away, he looks at me quizzically. I have an odd sense of déjà vu at his words, "Nonsense, Christine. It was just a dream. Nothing more."

Raoul leads me into one of the smaller sitting rooms off the Grand Parlor. It's richly decorated in deep burgundy wallpaper and many gaslight sconces line the walls. There are comfortable dark leather chairs and couches placed about the room. Once Raoul begins to introduce me, I realize that most of the people in this sitting room are of society's upper echelon. Many of them are Dukes and Comtes. The lowest title of nobility seems to be a Vicomte. These are the people from whom Raoul seeks approval. I put forth my most charming manners, and I can see from Raoul's smile that he is pleased with me.

Listening to the conversations in the room, I become bored and slip over to the doorway to gaze about the main room, hoping to see Madame Giry again. I'm disappointed when I notice that the couch where she sat is now filled with other couples. I sigh. I would prefer to dance or engage in lively conversation rather than being imprisoned in this room full of stuffy nobility.

My eyes randomly drift around the room. I catch sight of two tall men making their way toward the doorway. One of them is dressed as a pirate and the other is a… Suddenly my attention is riveted on the matador dressed in black. My eyes narrow as I watch him glide smoothly with panther-like strides. He moves just like Erik did.

I watch every nuance of every movement he makes. When he reaches the doorway, he hesitates for just an instant. But in that instant, he turns. I see the left side of his face covered in a black mask, and my heart stops. Oh dear Lord in Heaven! It cannot be possible! He is _dead_!

Suddenly my heart is pounding, and my knees are quivering. I fall back against the doorframe and clutch it for support. My head is spinning with only one thought. Is that Erik's ghost?

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Tweaks, edits and occasional passages by Phanfan 


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N: First, a pink cupcake and sparkling champagne for each of you who are so thoughtful as to take time during the holiday season to post your review!! That is truly appreciated since we writers are taking a goodly amount of time during our holiday busy-ness to write and post these chapters of Erik at the bal masque…one year after the disastrous one he crashed as Red Death! **

**Secondly, we have gotten some very valid and perceptive questions about how much Christine and Raoul will remember about Laura from their trip to the future to testify at Erik's trial. That was discussed, admittedly a very, very long time ago, in Chapter Two of Book One, so I refer you back to Marek's dinner with Laura where he answered all her questions about time travel and the case. Marek explained that the Program had quite by accident discovered that if the person were transported through the time machine while they were sleeping, they did not remember it, except as if in a dream. Raoul and Christine were transported in that manner, as were all the witnesses from the past, so they don't retain specific memories of their trip to the present. However, Christine was in the future longer than anyone else, and she is having some recollections of Laura and is clearly trying to place her!**

**Last, but not least, we are posting this chapter, as promised, on New Year's Eve, as our gift to all you loyal and wonderful readers of The Epic Case! **

**We writers hope you enjoy this chapter, which also takes place on a very, very eventful New Year's Eve, in 1871! And, may you each have a fun New Year's Eve and a very blessed and happy new year!!**

* * *

**Chapter 68**** Masque Charades, by KFC+, Phanfan, and Phanna++**

_December 31, 1871, __Paris_

_Matt's POV:_

Finally Jeremy gave Russ and me the signal to leave the Parlor with the ladies. It seemed like it took forever before Raoul and Christine went into one of the sitting rooms on the opposite side of the Grand Parlor. Then we wasted no time getting the hell out of Dodge.

I sensed Laura's apprehension in her tight grasp on my arm as I escorted her out of the Parlor and upstairs to the ballroom. This unexpected turn of events puts me suddenly back into my old position as Laura's bodyguard. Although for the past few weeks since Laura arrived, her protection has been in Erik's hands where it belongs, taking up my old position as her bodyguard comes all too easily. Like slipping into an old, familiar glove.

I've done my best to turn Laura over to Erik, even wrestling with my feelings when he took her into Paris, and I stayed behind. But it didn't seem right that I wasn't with her, and I worried the whole time she was gone. Since the shooting in the elevator, I can't seem to shake the feeling of dread that grips me whenever she's out of my sight.

I'm hoping that her marriage to Erik will help me sever any remaining emotional ties I still harbor toward her. But she's not married yet. And tonight, it seems coincidence, or fate, has me back by her side one last time before she's out of reach forever.

I've been as gentle as I can, helping Laura up the stairs, knowing that she's still experiencing pain from her injury. Her ribs are still healing, preventing her from wearing a corset and cumbersome full skirts. The striking Spanish dress she is wearing tonight conspicuously hugs the curves of her body making her even more beguiling than usual. But the red and black of her costume does not seem to suit her mood. All black would have been more appropriate. I can tell she's troubled, and it's not just because Christine showed up. I noticed it even as we were leaving the Château, when she got into the carriage.

To give Laura a breather, we pause on the landing of the fourth floor before climbing the last flight of stairs. Russ and Antoinette continue on to the ballroom without us. People nod politely as they pass, smiling at Laura. Probably thinking I'm a very lucky man. Laura stalls and continues to look back toward the Parlor. When I glance back, there is still no sign of Erik or Jeremy. I catch Laura's eye. She knows I sense her uneasiness. Somehow months of driving in the Corvette together and living in the same apartment can't be wiped away in a few weeks. I can still read her moods.

I give her a reassuring smile and hold out my hand to help her climb the rest of the stairs. There. There's that smile of hers. The one I've been missing. She lets me take her arm again, and we make our way up the remaining staircase to the fifth floor. +

_Jeremy's POV:_

"Erik! What were you thinking? Why did you stop and turn around in the doorway?" I angrily push Erik ahead of me, trying to get out of the vicinity of the Parlor. I can't believe he actually stopped in the doorway and looked back toward Christine. "You do that one more time, and _I'll _turn you into a pillar of salt!"

He snarls back at me, but follows my instructions. We have to get us out of here post haste.

Damn! Now we're caught in a traffic jam! An over-dressed and over-coifed woman in front of us is also over-inebriated and apparently has dropped something. She's stopped dead in the corridor, just outside the doorway, halting movement in all directions. Bending over, she's mumbling to herself and groping the floor, looking for something.

I can't see what she's dropped because her voluminous skirts and prominently displayed backside are obstructing my view. And not only that, she's lurching from side to side, unable to keep her balance. Everyone around is joking and encouraging her in her search.

I forge a path, shoving the mountain of skirts away to the right of me and elbowing the onlookers to the left of me until I'm standing in front of the lady so I can help her find whatever it is she lost.

"May I help you, Madame?"

"Ouuiii, Monshiuerre! I am bereft!" The next thing I know, she's clinging to my sleeve, propping herself up. "My brooch! My diamond brooch from mon cher Antoine! Eet ees all I have left of heem after zhee cannonball!"

"Cannonball? What cannonball?" I'm now totally bemused, wondering how we got from a drunk woman and lost brooch to cannonballs!

"Why, Monshiuerre! Zhee one zhat hit heem in zhee war! Een one moment! _Poof!_ He was gone!"

I glance over at Erik and catch him rolling his eyes heavenward in frustration. He's clearly getting antsy from this delay in joining Laura in the ballroom. I, too, am now desperate to find this brooch and get this lady's caboose out of the way. Kneeling on the floor, I scoot my hands around the thick carpet, trying to find the bauble, but have no success.

"Eet ees zhere! Eet must be!" Things get decidedly worse when she attempts to bend over again to assist with the search and begins to lose her balance. Oh, my God! I brace myself, fearing that her whole weight will come down on top of me! In an attempt to right herself, she lurches backward, straight into Erik. He catches her handily under the arms, preventing her from landing on her well-padded behind. That's when I spot it! A gaudy sun-burst pin. I snatch it up just in time to see Erik setting the lady back on her feet with a distinct look of annoyance.

"Here, Madame! I believe this is your brooch?" I reassure her, holding it up for her to peruse.

"Oui! Eet ees!" She snaps it greedily from my fingers and brings it to her lips giving it an impassioned kiss. With a sigh of utter relief, she looks at me with adoration, "You are my hero! What can I ever do to repay you, Monshiuerre?"

I reel with dread at the thought that she may now feel obligated to express her gratitude in some manner that will either embarrass me or detain us further.

"Nothing, Madame! There's nothing you need do," then casting a quick glance at Erik, I bow in an attempt to put this matter to rest, "but now I must depart."

"Oh surely not! Not before I can reeward your cheevalree!"

Before the lady can drown me with her effusive gratitude, I feel Erik's hand on my shoulder as he interjects, "Madame! There is no need for that! Truly, my friend was glad to be of service, and now we _must_ take our leave!"

Before she can say another word, Erik has shoved me through the lingering bystanders, and we head for the stairs.

_Christine's POV: _

My mind is still whirling as I lean, dumbstruck, against the doorframe using it to keep me upright. My thoughts jump from one question to another. Was that Erik? From the reports I heard, how could that be possible? Was it Erik's ghost who just left the Grand Parlor? If ever there was a man who could return as a phantom, Erik would certainly be that man. As my bewildered mind struggles to comprehend what I have just seen, it even grasps on the possibility that Erik had _always _been a true Phantom, and therefore he could not be killed.

I distinctly remember that morning, near the end of last May, when I found out about Erik's death. Raoul, his mother, his aunt and I were sitting at the table on the veranda eating breakfast, _el desayuno,_ as it's called in Spain. It was a sunny day. We were sipping hot cups of _café con leche_, a strong espresso coffee infused with hot frothy milk. Little lemon _magdalena_ cakes were stacked on a platter in the center of the table. In the surrounding garden, the birds were gaily calling to each other and the bees were busy tasting the sweet nectar. I watched the family tabby cat hiding beneath the hedge, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

As ever, Raoul was reading a newspaper. He managed to obtain copies of several Paris newspapers on a regular basis even though we were in Spain. The papers were usually a week old by the time he received them, but he read many parts aloud, keeping us informed of the terrible events in Paris during the reign of the Communards.

"Well, well. This is _quite_ interesting." Raoul riveted his attention on me and smiled. I returned his smile, not expecting what he would say next.

I also recall being fascinated as I watched his lips form a self-satisfied grin, vaguely wondering why. But the heat of the morning sun and the beauty of the surroundings lulled me into a sense of peace and security. Raoul continued to look at me for several more seconds then glanced down to quote the newspaper verbatim.

"_Early yesterday morning, Communards reported that the Phantom of the Opera was captured in the underground tunnels beneath Paris. Wanted for murders at the Opera House, the elusive Phantom evaded capture by the authorities for weeks_." Raoul glanced at me, trying to catch my reaction to the news, but I was too stunned to react at all. Then my world came undone with his next words._ "He was caught in the act of spying and executed by the firing squad at dawn this morning…"_

Raoul's words echoed in my head. _Executed by firing squad._ My hand began to tremble, and the delicate Limoges cup dropped, shattering on the table top. I shoved my chair back from the table so hard that it toppled onto its back. Quickly stammering my apologies, I turned and ran into the house, fleeing for my room. It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest, and I was bleeding to death. Throwing myself on the bed, I sobbed until all of my tears were spent, and I went mercifully numb.

During those hours, Raoul knocked once or twice, but I remained silent, and he didn't come in. After that day, I made sure to keep my feelings to myself. I already knew Erik wasn't to be mentioned in our conversations. Raoul had made that clear months before. It was as if he pretended that nothing ever happened between Erik and me, or even among the three of us. Raoul wanted to believe that Erik never existed. How ironic that Erik was now gone.

Now, with my heart still pounding, I continue to cling to the doorframe, staring at the doorway where Erik's ghost paused moments ago and turned halfway toward me. Perhaps the man I saw hesitate before leaving the room merely resembles Erik. Could it have been just my imagination?

I must know for certain.++

_Matt's POV:_

A lively dance is in full swing when Laura and I arrive in the ballroom. Not far from the door the foppish matadors, who lavished their attentions on Laura earlier in the evening, are dancing outlandishly. Laura notices my amusement as I watch their snappy footwork and over-the-top moves. Their costumes are gilded to the hilt with flashy decorations, and each of them sports a long ornate sword. Not a hair is out of place on their heads. They exude an air of narcissism that combines gentility with vanity, but the ladies they spin on their arms seem to be having the time of their lives.

Horatio and Grace are standing near one of the open French doors that lead to a large stone balcony, talking with two young ladies. Antoinette is already dancing with Russ and trying her best to help him through the footwork. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and Russ has a wide sheepish grin on his face. They seem to be enjoying the fast paced dance, even if Russ looks like Bambi sliding on the ice.

Laura tugs on my arm, anxious to find an unobtrusive place to wait for Erik so she won't be asked to do any dancing. Just as the dance ends, we spot a private alcove at the far end of the ballroom and head toward it. I scope out the men who are now hunting for partners for the next dance. Some glance her way, but my grim look scares them off. However, there is one man who keeps looking over at us. He's dressed as a hangman, complete with a black hood and axe, and shows no signs of being intimidated by my scowl. The next waltz begins, fortunately without anyone asking Laura to dance. Everyone probably assumed she was going to dance with me.

When we arrive at the alcove, I gauge whether it's best to hide Laura by standing in front of her, or if posing as her significant other would be more effective in warding off any dance requests. I end up trying to shield her from view. Whenever a trolling male appears unexpectedly from port side, Laura latches onto me, making sure her ring is in full view and starts playing the part of a lady in love who couldn't possibly leave my side. So, I hold her hand lovingly, smile, and give her my most endearing look. That seems to be effective in warding off any requests for Laura to dance.

Then the hangman starts toward us. I turn Laura about and walk a few steps in the other direction, hoping to discourage him. When I glance back, I see he's stopped, just standing there. So far, so good. At least, until the flamboyant matador in yellow unexpectedly appears, having maneuvered around me, and takes a deep bow. Laura clutches my arm tighter and looks back toward the door again, hoping to see Erik. But no such luck. In a suave voice, the matador gets directly to the point.

"Will the lovely Lady of Espana join me for the next dance?"

I sense Laura's panic beneath her calm façade. Someone has now posed the question, and according to Madame Giry's lectures on etiquette, to refuse would be a major social faux pax. What's more, this man in yellow was introduced to Erik and Laura earlier this evening, and he knows that's not _my_ ring on her finger. Playing lovebirds will not let us off the hook with him.

Coming slowly out of his bow, he raises his eyes adoringly to Laura's. A tiny, almost inaudible gasp escapes her. There is no way she can dance with someone who doesn't realize her ribs are injured, especially this whirling dervish. "I am sorry, Monsieur," Laura says demurely. "But I expect my fiancé to arrive at any moment."

"Oh, but your fiancé can have no objection! Surely he's not an overbearing or possessive man if he has let you this far out of his sight. He's certainly aware you've come to the ballroom on the arm of this dashing gentleman." His arm waves vaguely in my direction. "How could he expect you not be dancing when he arrives?"

Laura grasps my arm tighter, cutting the circulation off to my hand. She's looks questioningly up at me, not sure how to refuse this tenacious toreador. Madame Giry did not specifically go over the unwritten rules for engaged couples, as I'm sure she never expected Erik would leave Laura's side for an instant. But now Laura is between a rock and a hard place and doesn't know how far she can press the issue of her engagement in refusing this request.

I decide it's time for me to take the bull…fighter… by the horns. It seems to me that his mannerisms are exaggerated, and I'm getting suspicious that the foppish toreador routine may be a pretense of some sort.

"Monsieur, the lady has promised me that if her fiancé lingers too long, she'll dance with me." I turn to Laura. "Shall we have that dance now?"

Laura smiles with relief as I sweep her into the next dance. The pesky matador stands frozen for a moment, then gives a debonair toss of his head and calls out, "The next dance then, beautiful lady!"

Thankfully, the music is slow. I cradle Laura gently in my arms, aware of her injuries and knowing instinctively where she hurts.

"Thank you," she whispers, relieved.

I look down into her eyes, returning her soft smirk. "Any time, m'lady."

But it's almost too much for me, being this close, smelling the scent of her hair, feeling the touch of her hand. These are things I never did before Erik claimed her heart. And now ironically, these intimate contacts are happening in the line of duty. I look away from her face to hide the rush of pent up emotions that is flooding through me. It's not enough that I gave her up once, twice, many times. The fates demand that I do it again and again!

But at this moment, it's no use fuming against the fates. If they do this to me after Laura is married, I will fume. But tonight, I'll just take what they give…these few sweet moments with Laura.+

_Jeremy's POV:_

This evening has been like walking through a mine field. That was the last thing I expected to happen at a formal ball. First there was the unusual attention Erik received, then the arrival of Christine and Raoul. Keeping Erik cordoned off at the far end of the ballroom was no small task.

While I kept watch over Christine and Raoul, Erik was constantly hissing at me as he repeatedly asked, "What are they doing now?"

Because I made him stand with his back to the main Parlor, he went bugnuts not being able to see with his own eyes what Christine and Raoul were up to. He kept giving me the twenty questions routine and demanding a blow-by-blow account with moment-to-moment updates.

I described for him how Christine and Raoul stopped to chat with a couple, then were joined by Comte Delanney and his wife. Erik shifted with impatience when I explained that they hadn't moved very far from the door after some time had passed.

As for me, I couldn't believe we were in that situation. Trapped like cornered foxes! And, Raoul most certainly had dogged fangs he wouldn't hesitate to use if he discovered Erik's presence. Raoul was even dressed in his military uniform and wearing saber. With the vendetta he carries toward Erik, it would no doubt give Raoul satisfaction to capture him…or worse.

I know from the guest list we obtained for this ball that Raoul and Christine were not listed. I began to wonder if there's such a thing as crashing the party in the nineteenth century. Or, did Raoul just wrangle an invitation at the last minute? From the reaction of the Comte and his wife, it appeared they were not surprised at Raoul's being here. They both seemed to engage him in friendly discussion and even laughed at each other's jokes. No. Raoul was clearly received as a welcome guest.

Christine, however, received a far less warm reception. The Comte kissed her hand politely, but turned and talked exclusively to Raoul. His wife gave Christine a perfunctory welcome, then turned her attention to the other couple. Christine definitely was _not_ on the welcome list.

Then, Christine spotted Antoinette, and although they chatted for only twenty minutes, it seemed like forever before Raoul and Christine made their farewells and moved on. I watched as they slowly made their way across the Parlor, with Raoul stopping frequently to visit with friends. He always introduced Christine with a flourish, clearly in hopes of garnering acceptance for her. Nonetheless, Christine mostly seemed to be received with smirks and raised eyebrows by the women and leers from the men. This prolonged trek lasted another grueling half hour before they disappeared into the sitting room at the opposite end of the Parlor. That was when Russ gave the "all clear," and I signaled back for him and Matt to take the ladies promptly out of the room. Erik and I followed after a few minutes, only to be delayed by the hullabaloo in the corridor.

As we arrive in the ballroom, I wonder what on earth could possibly happen next. That's when Erik stops abruptly in front of me, and I nearly plow over him. I follow his shocked gaze.

"Holy hell!" I say under my breath, "What's Matt doing, dancing with Laura?"

"My thoughts _precisely!_" Erik growls. I can feel his anger flare up like an ignited torch and realize I need to get him over to the side of the room and try to calm him down before the waltz ends.

"Erik, let's go over there by that column where it's not so crowded."

Erik does not budge. He's completely focused on Matt and Laura, his breathing coming short and fast. This is definitely not a good sign.

"Remember, Erik, that it's only a dance."

Erik turns and glares at me. I guess that was the wrong thing to say. If he had x-ray vision, I'd have a hole in my head right now. Erik makes a move toward the dance floor, and I realize he's going to cut in on Matt, which would cause a scene. That we don't need right now.

"Come on, Erik. The dance will be over soon. We can't do anything that will draw attention to us. Let's just wait it out." This time I nudge him toward the side of the room. Begrudgingly, Erik concedes and like a panther tracking game, he follows the edge of the dance floor, never taking his eyes off Laura and Matt.

When we arrive at the column, he seems to have brought his emotions under control, at least a little. Hopefully another mini-crisis has passed without detonating. But what's he going to say to Matt when this dance ends? Trying to diffuse Erik's angst, I volunteer, "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. After all, we were delayed. Something might have happened."

At my attempt to smooth things over, Erik merely crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow. His eyes continue to track Laura relentlessly. Suddenly, across the room I spot a woman dressed as a gypsy, whose curly blonde hair falls in a wild profusion around her shoulders.

My heart lurches. _Terese!_

I have the strangest urge to run to her. But, then the lady turns to her partner, and her face is _not_ the glowing face that gazed back at me on Christmas Eve with a warm smile and eyes like the stars. Not the woman who lay beneath me under the moon last week, and shed tears while I kissed her. How I wish she were here with me tonight. I wish I could tell her everything that's happened since she left. That someone who cares would know what I've been through in the past week.

Well I _am_ going to tell her. When I send my monthly letter through the StarLink, I'm going to tell her everything. How I still haven't slept a full night since she left--because of Erik on some nights, and because of her on the others. How I felt when she disappeared out of my arms. How empty they still feel…_and that I love her._

It seems like months have passed since she left, instead of only a week. What I wouldn't give to hold her in again, first in a dance, and then in some place more….alone…out under the stars….

Abruptly, I'm brought out of my reverie by the sound of male voices in raucous debate. It's the three fey matadors standing several feet in front of us. They seem to be worked up about something, and when I look over at Erik, it's clear that although his eyes are still glued on Laura, he's listening intently to their conversation.

"But she is mine!" the matador in yellow declares, "I saw her first! When this dance is over I shall claim her."

"Non! She never did promise you the next dance," the green clad toreador spouts confidently, "and, I plan to press my request. She will no doubt choose the better man!"

The third fop, the one in blue, flourishes his hand for emphasis, "Ah, well. If the best man is to win, that, of course, will be me!"

"Well, we shall leave it to the decision of the dark-eyed beauty from Espana!"

Erik's head suddenly snaps toward the three matadors as he realizes they are talking about Laura.

The green matador retorts, "Ah, but the person who succeeds will have to outwit the French admiral. He seems to be maneuvering very successfully."

Erik's shoulders tighten and his back straightens, bringing him to his full height. I wonder when the steam will start coming out of his ears. I move closer to Erik, and begin to talk calmly to him, trying to distract his attention. I fear he's going to blow his top at any minute.

"Do you see how gently the Admiral holds her? Almost like a lover, wouldn't you say?"

I wince at that comment by the matador in yellow. They don't realize while they're flapping their mouths and red capes, that it's not the Admiral they should be worried about! It's the raging bull in black behind them!

_Christine's POV:_

It takes me a few minutes to form a plan. I've decided. I must know who that man is. Finally, I turn and walk over to Raoul and tell him I'm going to the ladies' powder room. He nods and quickly turns back to his conversation, disregarding me. Good.

I start in the direction of the powder room, pausing only briefly to look back. Raoul remains standing with his back to the door and cannot see me. Not stopping at the powder room, I continue around the Parlor and out the grand arched doorway into the corridor. I take one last look to make sure Raoul hasn't turned around or followed me and then begin to hurry up the grand stairwell to the fifth floor ballroom.

Outside the ballroom door, I stop next to a bench. Lying on its silk cushion is an intricate mask covered in sparkling jewels and white feathers that someone has abandoned. I look around to see if the owner is nearby, but I'm alone in the corridor. I pick it up and put it on. Providence has provided a perfect disguise, which covers my entire face.

Upon entering the ballroom, I walk to a group of colorfully costumed women who are deep in lively conversation. Pretending to be part of their group, I begin to search the room, looking for the tall matador dressed in black. I spot him almost immediately. He's standing next to the man in a pirate's costume who was with him in the Parlor.

I edge my way toward them, trying to blend in with the crowd. Fortunately, there's a large column directly behind the two men. I step into the space behind the column as unobtrusively as possible. Slowly, I edge around it, listening intently to hear the men's voices. At first they don't speak, then the pirate says something which I cannot make out. The matador in black responds with an angry, but familiar voice.

_Mon Dieu! _I have no more doubt. _It is Erik! __It is the voice of my Angel of Music! _

_Dear Heaven!_ The sound of his deep resonant voice sends wave of sensation coursing through me. I lean against the column and take long deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

How did he survive? Why did they report he had been executed?

Then another thought jumps into my mind. Only the wealthy and the upper classes are invited to this ball. How did he get in? What is he doing here?

I haven't seen him near anyone else other than the man dressed as a pirate. And, he does not seem to be accompanying a woman. This situation reminds me of the Bal Masque last year when he suddenly appeared as Red Death. Is he playing a game again?

Has he come to look for me as he did at the last Bal Masque? Does he know that I'm here? My heart soars at the possibility. Then the reality of my life pulls me out of my fantasy, returning me to my senses.

By now, my whole body is trembling, and I doubt that I can remain on my feet much longer. I cautiously make my way to the door and step back into the corridor. Thankfully, no one is around. I replace the borrowed mask on the bench and hastily descend the stairs to the third floor, conflicted and confused. What should I do?

I want to rush to Erik, to ask all the questions that are plaguing me. But if he _doesn't_ know I'm here, how would he react to my appearance? I sigh. All that's happened between us is too personal to expose in public. Now is not the time or the place. And, if Raoul finds out…

The icy tentacles of a shudder run down my back at that thought. If I keep this from Raoul, and he finds out later that I knew, would he break our engagement? Would he be angry enough to send me back to Madame Giry, now that he knows that she's near? Or would he do something worse?

I realized a long time ago how fortunate I am that he offers marriage. Most women of my station are only offered a comfortable life as a mistress with the occasional gift of jewelry thrown into the bargain. If the mistress is looked upon favorably, she may even end up with her own home and possibly financial security for her entire life. But that's even more rare.

When I enter the Grand Parlor, I quickly make my way to the powder room. Gratefully, no one is there other than the maid who's in attendance. I walk over to a silk covered bench and sink onto its cushions, but take no comfort in the opulence of the room.

I need a plan.

I wonder if I should confront Erik and find out why he's here. Should I warn him and tell him that he's in danger because Raoul is here also? Now that Raoul is a Comte, he has more power, more influence with the authorities. And I believe that Raoul wouldn't hesitate to use that power, especially in this instance.

But, my heart begs me to connect with Erik somehow. I must do it tonight while he is here, since I have no idea where he lives. I recall the dark underground cavern and the tunnels, and wonder if he still lives in such a place. However, his demeanor is different now. Even the small amount of time I observed him, I noticed that he seems more self-assured in his movements and doesn't seem to be lurking as an outcast. The two men even seem to be friends. That particular fact is so unlike Erik that it makes me speculate further. The newspaper Raoul quoted last May said Erik was shot as a spy. But a spy for whom? For the French? For the Prussians? Once again, a cold shiver runs down my back. It would be my duty to report him, if indeed he is a spy.

Thoughts keep running around in my head until it aches. I need to return to Raoul before he wonders why I'm taking so long. I stand and straighten my skirts. Walking over to a long dressing table with gold mirrors above, I wet a cloth and refresh my face. Then, taking a deep breath, I open the powder room door.

Finally, a plan begins taking shape in mind. And, it involves Raoul.

Feeling the swift sting of tears at the back of my eyes, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. I compose myself as I reach the sitting room where I left Raoul. He's still talking to the same group of noblemen. When I get the opportunity, I motion to Raoul that I wish to speak to him. He saunters toward me, the curl of his lip indicating his slight irritation.

"Raoul, would you mind if we take a walk in the garden? I have something I need to speak with you about." He looks surprised and distinctly gloomy about my request. My heart sinks.

"There are a lot of people here, my dear, and I need to socialize. I told you how significant this evening is to your acceptance as my wife." He pats my hand and begins to walk away.

I stop him. "It's important Raoul," I hesitate and swallow hard before I continue. "It may be very beneficial to your status. Please just listen to what I have to say."

He stares at me for several moments, and I can feel the cold tentacles again race down my spine. "Of course, my dear. If it's that important…"

"Yes, it is." My voice trails off, nervous and frightened at the events I'm about to put in motion. _Oh God, am I doing the right thing?++_


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N: Many thanks for your comments!! They keep our muses working!!**

**Now...Erik overheard the three matadors talking about Laura…and he's not at all pleased. Seeing Christine has already put his emotions on edge. It will take little to set them off! ****In a night of unexpected events, anything could happen!**

**Please post your comments!! Even those of you who are new to our story…and those of you who are bashful!! We would love to hear from you! **

**And, for those of you who just want to know what happens next--after all Christine is up to something--I'll post the next chapter as soon as we get ten reviews!!**

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Chapter 69 The Stroke of Midnight, Part 1, by Phanfan, Phanna

_New Year's Eve 1871_

_Near Paris, France_

_Jeremy's POV:_

I don't know exactly in which direction to look first. At Matt and Laura, or Erik, or the three matadors? Why on earth are Matt and Laura dancing together anyway? I keep trying to get their attention. They need to be made aware of the calamity that's building up over here in the corner of the room. But, they never look my way and just continue to waltz, oblivious to the black masked volcano that's getting ready to explode.

I'm also keeping a close eye on Erik, trying to figure out when I'll have to intercede if he erupts, and he blows in the direction of the three unsuspecting matadors. Why in the hell are they making such suggestive comments about how Matt is dancing with Laura? Every comment they make puts Erik one step closer to blowing up. Their last barb about how gently Matt holds Laura, comparing it to the embrace of a lover, definitely ignited Erik's hot spot. I watch him expectantly. Anything now could set him off.

"Ah, but surely she does not prefer a French Admiral to a hot-blooded matador!" The yellow-clad matador says with a ribald laugh, "She has already indicated her interest in me, did you not notice, Vicomte?" He gives one of the other matadors a challenging slap on the back.

That's when I see Erik's hand slip inside his cloak.

"Erik!" I lunge toward him and grab his wrist. "Don't you dare use your Punjab lasso! If you even try, I'll make your life miserable for as long as I can manage!"

Erik glares at me, baring his teeth, as he jerks himself free of my grasp. Our tussle is loud enough to get the attention of the three matadors who turn around just in time to see Erik pulling away. Before I can get between them, he takes a step forward and towers over the matador in yellow, "You, Monsieur, are talking about my fiancé! You have impugned her character by implying that she made advances to you!"

The matador looks up at Erik and takes a prudent step backward, "No, Monsieur! Not at all! I did not imply anything indiscreet on the part of the young lady. Only that she seemed interested in dancing with me! Surely that could not be improper! After all, I am more than a fair dancer." Then he does some fancy steps to illustrate his point and grins at Erik for emphasis.

While this exchange has been going on, the waltz ends and finally Laura sees my imploring hand, waving her over. She turns and walks toward us on the arm of Matt, both of them unknowingly about to walk into a bullfight.

Erik is beginning to spit out his rebuttal, "But you went far beyond indicating Mademoiselle's interest in dancing with you! You implied that the French admiral she is dancing with is holding her like a lover! You made that statement despite being introduced to her earlier this evening as my fiancé! How can you justify such a statement?"

Leaning over the yellow matador, Erik's shoulders are pitched forward, ready for battle, his eyes flaring with challenge. What Erik doesn't notice is Laura only a yard away and horrified by what she's hearing. Her cheeks suddenly flush with red, and her mouth drops silently open in shock. I doubt it'll take long before she reclaims her voice and uses it. That doesn't bode well, either. Things are getting out of hand way too fast.

"Perhaps you take offense too easily, Monsieur!" The yellow matador merely adds fuel to the flames.

"_Offense?"_ Erik's anger now erupts, "Should I not take offense at _any_ slur on the good character of my fiancé?"

"My making an observation about this gentleman's behaviors," the matador points directly at Matt, "toward Mademoiselle was merely a statement of fact. How could it be a slur?"

Looking up at Erik's imposing figure, the matador in yellow deftly draws his sword. He doesn't point it at Erik, but instead holds the point down, merely implying his readiness to use it, if necessary. His sudden and confident shift to swordsman makes me change my assessment of him as only a fop. I do the only thing I can under these conditions. I pull my own sword and hold it in readiness.

In a flash, Erik also draws his sword.

Instantly, Laura cries out, "No! Erik! Stop!"

The next thing I know, Laura has physically thrust herself between the bull and the matador. Facing Erik, she places her hand over his on the hilt of his sword. Her voice low and calm, Laura declares firmly, "This is all a misunderstanding." Then she turns around and faces the toreador in yellow whose shocked expression mirrors how I feel. Laura appears to be totally clueless about the rules of this type of male confrontation. When swords are drawn, no one is supposed to get between them. And what's even worse, how can I protect her or Erik under these circumstances?

Astonished, I glance over at Matt and see that he's tensed and ready to act in a split second. His hand is inside his jacket, and I know he's holding his gun.

Her voice quivering slightly, Laura gazes directly at the matador and explains, "Monsieur McBrighton danced with me because he knows that I've recently sustained a severe injury to my ribs. I didn't want to publicly disclose my delicate condition, which made dancing quite difficult. He was holding me very carefully to spare me pain in my side. That's also the reason I declined your request for a dance. I am simply not physically able to match your very…exuberant dance style."

The matador cocks his head to the side as his eyes go from Laura's pleading expression to Erik's seething anger. Then, suddenly, a suave smile of understanding breaks out across his face. He takes a step back and sheaths his sword. Clearly accepting Laura's explanation of the situation, he removes his hat and bows to her with a flourish.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, please accept my apologies for causing you any distress." Then switching his gaze to Erik, "and, there is no offense taken on _my_ part."

After an uneasy moment, Erik puffs out a large breath through his nose and puts his sword back in its sheath. He then nods curtly to the matador. Neither man bows to the other, still wary, but finally the matador gives a French dismissive shrug of his shoulders and leaves with his two companions.

Laura turns around and faces Erik. She's clearly peeved at Erik's behavior, but there's an undertone of concern in her voice as well, "Do you realize that you nearly got yourself into a sword fight over some off-handed comment? You could've been seriously injured. Or killed! Did you even consider that?"

I look nervously around at the people nearby who saw us draw our swords. I decide it's time to get this conversation away from their prying ears. "Shall we take this discussion somewhere else? Let's go over to the private alcove on the other side of the refreshment table. I think we could all use a drink about now!" Matt runs his hand through his hair and nods grimly in agreement.

Erik and Laura look around for the first time and notice the curious stares of a number of people. They give me no argument as I herd all three of them across the ballroom to the farthest end where a table is set up with a variety of wines and liqueurs. I order wine, knowing I'll need to keep my head clear to get us through the rest of this evening. With drinks in hand, we settle into a quiet and private corner hidden behind a bank of potted palms.

Throughout this entire debacle, Matt has remained totally silent. Now he stares down at the glass in his hand and swishes the wine in it absentmindedly. I, too, saw how he was holding Laura, and it did look as though he was trying to be careful with her injured side. But, I know we need to clear the air so that this is resolved now and doesn't magnify into something more serious between the two men.

Thankfully Laura begins the discussion. "The matador was pressing me to dance, Erik, and none of my excuses were working. He just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. So, Matt came to my rescue by dancing with me. It was as simple as that."

I look over to gauge Erik's reaction. I wonder if that'll be enough to allay his territorial instincts. He's holding one of Laura's hands between both of his and rubbing his thumb across her fingers. The tension seems to be slowly dissipating as he considers Laura's explanation.

After a few minutes he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it. "I am sorry, Laura. Perhaps I acted rashly, but their words struck to my very core. I cannot bear to hear such things spoken in regards to you." Then he looks into her eyes and says with a husky voice, "You are very precious to me. And, you should not have put yourself in danger…again."

I cough and exchange knowing looks with Matt. Without saying another word, we both get up and leave the small sitting area. I'm quite certain Laura can handle this situation now. And I'm sure she'll be much more effective in chewing Erik's backside than I ever could.

_Antoinette's POV:_

My feet ache from the tight shoes, and all of the dancing I have done this evening. There have only been two dances I did not participate in, and I turned those down only to catch my breath and cool off for a few minutes. I am tired. Ah, but it is a good feeling. It has been far too long without dancing in my life. Dancing makes me feel young. And, I do feel young tonight. And, _alive_. I smile, remembering how Jules and I had grasped any opportunity to dance. Then, in the years following his death, I was busy as Dance Mistress at the Opera House. It was quite rewarding and satisfying to teach the young dancers, but I never got the chance to dance for myself, like tonight. Yes, I do miss dancing.

Having just completed a waltz with very energetic partners, Grace and I relax on a settee near one of the open windows, using our fans as well as the welcome breeze to cool ourselves. Neither of us has been idle this evening. Under cover of my skirts, I slip my feet out of the tight shoes and sigh with relief.

Earlier, I told Grace about Christine's visit in the Grand Parlor, being particularly careful about what I said, so no one would hear. Even though Jeremy and the others are very concerned that Christine is here tonight, it was such a delight to see her and talk with her, despite the danger she brings to Erik. Thank the Virgin Mary that she did not ask any questions about him or pursue what happened after that night at the opera house. I am not sure what I should have said, not being prepared.

Christine looked as beautiful as ever. It did bother me that she seemed upset at Raoul several times during the conversation. There is something that simmers underneath the surface of their relationship. But, surely she does realize what a fortunate match she has made. After all was said and done, Christine made her decision that night by leaving with Raoul instead of remaining with Erik. Now she must live with her choice.

So, I am very relieved that Christine is excited about her upcoming wedding to Raoul. I only pray that she will not find out about Erik before then. It would be best. Once she is married, there will be nothing that she can do.

Despite any differences of opinion they may have, Raoul is an excellent choice for her. He will be able to give her the material things that are so important in life to a young bride and future mother. He also has the connections of nobility which enable him to cut across the objections of society and present her as his wife.

Moreover, when I observe Erik with Laura, I understand that Christine is much too immature to fulfill what Erik needs in his life. He needs a woman that will stand by his side. Laura is the one that makes Erik whole. As hard as it is, for I truly wanted Erik and Christine to marry, I realize that Erik never exhibited to Christine the depth of feeling he gives to Laura. Both Erik and Christine have made the right choices.

Earlier, as I was taking a break from dancing and glancing about the room, I was quite surprised to see Matt leading Laura in a slow waltz. About halfway through the dance, Jeremy and Erik entered the ballroom. Erik stopped, and I saw his expression when he spotted Matt and Laura. He glowered darkly at them and for a moment I saw the Phantom reemerge. I noticed Jeremy talking to him, eventually leading him away from the dance floor. I am sure Jeremy has everything under control.

Suddenly, a gentleman dressed as Sir Galahad of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table approaches me and introduces himself as Monsieur Benet. When he asks my permission to dance, I curtsy and graciously accept.

The knight sweeps me away on his arm, and we step into a square formation with other couples, face the center and begin a _quadrille de contredanses_. I am pleased to find that he is an excellent dance partner. So many times this evening my partner has stepped on my toes. One peacock-costumed gentleman in particular, stepped on them at least _three_ times during a lively polka. I must ask Laura if they have special shoes they wear in the future that helps save a woman's toes.

As the knight leads me in the dance, I get the distinct feeling of someone staring at me. I look around, trying to see if I am just imagining it. But, the room spins in fast motion with the steps of this dance. Finally, I give up trying to locate who is looking at me, or if there is anyone at all. I talk with Monsieur Benet, who is quite charming. He tells me he recently lost his wife, and his children encouraged him to come to the ball this evening. We spend many enjoyable minutes talking. At the end of the dance, he returns me to where Grace and Horatio are standing. Bowing deeply, he asks my permission for another dance later in the evening. I smile and nod my assent.

As I watch him walk away, I reflect that it would be very nice if he did come back to claim another dance. He is the best dance partner I have had all evening. The orchestra plays a few notes, indicating that a waltz is about to begin.

Once again, I get the sensation that someone is watching me. I turn and search the room, now feeling uneasy because I cannot seem to find the person. At last, I catch sight of a man dressed strangely as a hangman in browns and blacks. He is standing near one of the open French doors, looking at me. Before I turn away, I notice that he has a full hood covering his head so I am unable to see any of his features, though I do notice that he is tall and broad shouldered.

I busy myself, talking to Grace and watching the dancers begin to assemble on the ballroom floor, preparing for the waltz. I glance at the hangman out of the corner of my eye, but there are too many people crossing between us. At one point, he looks away from me. Apparently something has caught his attention across the room, so I seize the opportunity to study him more closely.

I was correct in my perception of him. He is tall and quite solid in his frame. Despite the severity of his hangman's costume, he is actually quite pleasing to look at. I can see the firm muscles of his arms and admire the cut of his jerkin which clings to the contours of his long legs. I look at his hands. They are wide and tanned, not those of a nobleman. That is interesting. I look at his hood, hoping to discover more about him, and then I feel a flush of heat on my neck. _Mon dieu!! _What in heaven am I doing? I am not some young _demoiselle _looking for a prospective husband!

In the midst of my scrutiny of him, he turns toward me, catching me off guard. He holds my gaze with his eyes as he walks toward me. Hypnotized, I watch him for a few seconds. There is something about him… Grace makes a comment, and I turn to her.

Grace and I are suddenly deep in conversation. At least, Grace is. I can feel him scrutinize me as he comes closer. I just wait, trying to guess what will happen next.

He steps in front of me and executes a gentlemanly bow. His voice is low, a deep, throaty whisper. He touches his throat, indicating it is hurting or injured. After the war of the past year, it is not unusual to see injured men. "Madame," He is looking directly at me, "May I have the pleasure of this dance?" His voice is a bit hard to understand. Grace glances at me, and I can see her surprised look.

I nod, "Oui, Monsieur." I am most curious about this stranger. When I place my hand on his proffered arm, a tingle runs through the ends of my fingers. I wonder what the strange sensation means.

As we move onto the dance floor, I am still trying to understand why this man seems to be causing such feelings in me. He places his right hand in the proper position just above my waist but low on my back, and his touch launches a butterfly in my stomach. Very unusual.

He is an experienced partner and leads me through the graceful twists and turns of a most elegant waltz. I follow him effortlessly. We do not converse at first, but the silence is not uncomfortable. In fact, we are gliding and circling the floor as one, moving to the rhythm and beauty of the music.

Suddenly, he pulls me closer to him, and my heart races faster. _Who is he?_ _And why have I not slapped his face for his impertinence?_ Once again, I can feel the heat of a flush. I am astonished that a complete stranger is causing me to feel this way!

Then, before I can react, he leans over, his breath warm and moist against my ear, "I watched you dance with the others and could not resist dancing with you myself." His mouth hovers against my ear.

_I am totally speechless. _

"Mmm, you smell wonderful," he whispers.

_No one in my life has ever said such things to me!_

"It feels natural to have you in my arms."

_He is much too bold! _

"I felt you tremble the first moment I placed my arm around you."

_My treacherous body trembles even more in response._

"And, I can now feel your pulse quicken."

_My breathing also quickens, and __I believe my mouth is now hanging open._

"You are lovely tonight, Antoinette."

My eyes close for a few short seconds before I realize what he said. _Mon Dieu! He __knows who I am!_

"_Joseph!" _I exclaim.

He places his finger on my lips to hush me. The last strains of music fade away, and the people around us begin to leave the dance floor.

"It's alright. Horatio knows I'm here. But don't tell anyone else." Then, he raises his hood slightly to kiss my hand and walks away, the warmth of his lips still lingering on my skin.


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N: Well!! Thank you for your enthusiastic response!! Wowser!! It took only two days for ten reviews!! A goblet of champagne and pink cupcakes for each of our wonderful reviewers!! **

**Well…You all wanted to know what Christine was up to…**

**So, without further adieu... **

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**Chapter 70 The Stroke of Midnight, Part 2, by Phanfan, Phanna & KFC**

_New Year's Eve 1871_

_Near Paris, France_

_Laura's POV: _

My uneasiness has only deepened as the evening wears on. I'm troubled by the barrage of one difficult situation after another, and it makes me uncomfortable that it's still a half hour before midnight. After that, we can politely leave the ball without raising eyebrows.

Erik is also feeling the strain. I can sense it in every movement he makes. His old instincts and behavior are resurfacing, and I can see his constant vigilance to everyone and everything around us.

What I want most right now is for him take us home. I just want to be lying in his arms in our safe haven. Instead, my head is throbbing, my ribs are again getting very sore, even painful, and I'm tired. I've danced too many times tonight with Erik. But, it was so glorious. When he swept me around the floor, no one and nothing else existed. In our world there was only the two of us.

But I have no doubt I'll suffer for all of this tomorrow. At least I'll be home, and Erik will be there with me. I step closer to him and take his hand in mine, hiding them between us in the folds of my skirt. He doesn't look away from the conversation he's having with Jeremy, but he gently squeezes my hand, letting me know he understands.

Horatio and Grace are out on the dance floor. They've had to be careful about how many times they dance together. They were introduced as brother and sister and can't act otherwise. I've noticed that Antoinette has been the belle of the ball tonight, constantly being asked to dance. I've never seen her so radiant, especially after she finished a dance with a gentleman dressed as a hangman, of all things!

Just now I notice a redheaded woman in a voluptuous lavender dress, like a ship steaming toward us. On closer inspection, I realize that, instead of walking normally, she's weaving back and forth. Obviously, she's drunk. What's incredible is that she isn't spilling any of the red wine from the glass she's holding. I continue to watch in amazement, wondering if she'll be able to maintain her balance and arrive at her destination without mishap.

When she stops in front of us, I blink in surprise. She turns to Jeremy, reaching her hand out, trying to grasp his arm. "My hero!"

Jeremy quickly catches her arm before she's able to complete her backwards stumble. "Madame!" he yells.

"I have come to zee ballroom to dancesh." Her arm flails outward, indicating the large room around her. I just stare at her in disbelief. Does Jeremy know her? Good grief, when would he have the time to meet someone tonight? He's been very busy watching over Erik ever since we arrived!

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Erik's lip is curling up at the edge. He's amused!

"Madame, may I assist you to a seat and bring you some refreshment? Perhaps a cup of tea or coffee?" Jeremy's still holding her upright and tries to steer her toward the nearest chair.

She puts her hand out to pat Jeremy's arm, but misses it, patting the air instead. "Non, non, my dear hero! Eet ish I who shhould bee waiteeng on you. You found my diamond broocsh." She gives Jeremy a wide smile and bats her eyelashes coquettishly.

I hold my hand over my mouth to cover my smile. She looks at me, "Eet was from my loveer, Antoine." She glances down at a large sparkling pin situated in the center of her…uh…ample cleavage at the 'v' of the bodice. She dabs the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, sniffs, and then turns to Erik.

"Perhapsh, Monshiuerre you would care to dancesh?" She wobbles back and forth, but manages to keep her balance. Startled, I look up at Erik, wondering if he knows her, too.

Erik shakes his head, "Madame, I have made a commitment for the next dance." He looks over at me, smiling. Then everything happens at once.

The precarious balance she'd been barely hanging onto, suddenly fails her, and she begins to tumble sideways toward Jeremy. As he grabs her, the glass of red wine in her hand flies into the air and lands on the front of my skirt, slaloming down as if on skis. The gentle ride on my skirts keeps the glass from shattering on the floor, but the red liquid makes a wet trail all the way down.

Erik withdraws a handkerchief and begins to dab at the stain, but it's soon clear that it's useless.

"Don't worry, Erik, I'll just go and have the maid help me blot it off and clean it with some water. It will only take a little while." Irritated, he nods in agreement. As he, Jeremy and the other men assist the woman to a chair, I escape in the other direction and head quickly for the ladies' powder room.

It takes a long time for the maid to rinse off the stain. The wine had spread over almost half of the front of my gown and saturated into the underskirt. Once the wine has been removed as much as possible, it takes additional time to pat my skirt dry with towels. Thankfully my dress is crimson with black lace, so the stain does not stand out too noticeably.

I make my way back to the ball room through the crowded hallway and arrive just as a waltz is ending. With a heavy sigh, I pause at the doorway and rub my throbbing temple, but that doesn't seem to ease my headache. All that has happened in the two weeks I've been here seems to come crashing down on me. I just need to be away from here. Away from the noise, the crowds, the press and demands of people. I just want to be alone with Erik in the gamekeeper's cottage. Under my breath I say a prayer that this evening will soon be over.

_Christine's POV:_

Raoul leans down and puts his hand under my chin, lifting up my face as he gives me his final advice, "Comte Delanney is very gracious to allow you to sing here tonight. You are right, perhaps this will indeed turn out to be advantageous for us. Your singing has always been captivating, and hopefully now it will charm all my friends." Then he hastily kisses my hand and leaves to find a vantage point where he can watch my performance.

The conductor motions for me to accompany him, and I walk up the spiral stairs to the mezzanine where the orchestra is located. Nervously I follow him until we're standing in front of the musicians, looking down upon the ballroom floor below.

I wait and watch. How much longer will it be before the waltz ends? I search the dance floor, trying to find the matador in black, but without success. The only person I recognize is Madame Giry. My eyes continue to scan all the people standing around the edges of the room.

Finally I spot him. He's standing with his back to me, over to the left side of the room, talking to the pirate and several other men.

Suddenly the waltz is over, and the conductor turns to me, asking what I wish to sing. I have no doubt what my choice will be. This is part of my plan, and I instruct him to play the special song that my Angel wrote for me to sing at my debut. The song has become popular in Paris over the last year, so the conductor recognizes it. He nods his approval, then asks, "Shall I introduce you now, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, please, I am ready."

"Madames and Monsieurs, your attention, please!!" The conductor announces in a theatrical voice that carries above the clamor of the crowd below. It takes almost a minute and repeated calls for attention before the room comes to a silence. Then he says with a great flourish,

"_Mademoiselle Christine Daae has agreed to honor us with a song!" _

The crowd responds with polite applause. While this announcement is being made, I look only at Erik, watching intently for his reaction to the words. Erik's relaxed posture suddenly changes as if he's been struck by lightning. I hold my breath, wondering if he'll turn around to face me. For the next several infinite moments, I am suspended, watching, as he slowly turns to look directly at me.

As the orchestra starts playing, I wait for my cue and begin _our_ song,

_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye,_

He looks back at me, stunned, his mouth slightly opened in recognition. I sing to him for many moments until I remember that I must be cautious. Raoul must not that find out Erik's still alive. So I look away from him and turn my gaze around the room, playing the part of a professional performer. I look toward Raoul who's standing at the opposite end of the room. Raoul seems to be looking around, watching the crowd, trying to gauge their reaction.

_Remember me once in a while—please promise me you'll try. _

Continuing to turn to the right, I can see Madame Giry standing near a table of refreshments. She beams a smile of encouragement, and I nod slightly in response. Then, I spot the dark haired woman dressed as a Spanish señorita, Madame Giry's friend from America who I met earlier this evening in the Grand Parlor. Strangely, she isn't watching me, but seems to be looking in Erik's direction.

_When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be free._

Again I turn toward Raoul who is still watching the reactions of his friends…

_If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me…_

Then, expectantly, heart pounding, I gaze back toward Erik who has not moved. My thoughts race. What will he do now that he knows I am here? Will he come for me? I feel a momentary sting of joyful tears, but will them to go away. I must not make any wrong moves now. I sing, looking into his beautiful eyes…

_We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea—but if you can still remember, stop and think of me…_

His black mask covers much of his face, so I cannot see his expressive green eyes clearly enough to tell what he is thinking, what he is feeling. But I can see that he's spellbound. His whole demeanor tells me that he's entranced, remembering our song. Is he having the same feelings that I am at this moment? I want him to know what is in my heart. With my next words, I remind him of the feelings we shared only months ago.

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen—don't think about the way things might have been…_

I sing to him as long as I dare, but it isn't safe for my gaze to remain fixed on Erik. Reluctantly, I turn my eyes back to Raoul who seems pleased at the rapt attention of the crowd. Then I dutifully turn to the right toward the people who are standing on that side of the ballroom.

_Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned._

Madame Giry is still watching me with a proud smile. The Spanish señorita is still staring at Erik. I wonder if anyone can tell that he's staring at me? Has any one else noticed? My eyes dart quickly to Raoul, who is wearing a self-satisfied smirk at the reaction of his friends. I relax. My plan is working.

I turn back to Erik, elated that he is still caught in the spell of our song. Now that he knows I still care for him, he will come to me! My heart beats wildly as I sing the last lines,

_Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind._

_Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do..._

_Jeremy's POV:_

I can't believe this is happening.

Since the moment Christine appeared on the balcony, Erik's eyes have not strayed from her face. Before she began to sing, she looked directly at him, leaving me with no doubt that she knows it's Erik.

When it was announced that she was going to sing, I thanked heaven for the drunken lady, and that her spilled wine sent Laura to the powder room where she would not have to witness this spectacle. Then my heart sank when I saw Laura step back inside the ballroom, just as Christine started her song.

As Christine sang, turning to look at the people in each part of the room, Erik stood as though mesmerized, his body tensed with emotion. Each time she turned our way and looked directly at Erik, he became more and more transfixed.

Throughout the song, Laura has remained motionless. Her face is pale as she watches, completely stunned by the effect of Christine's voice and horrified by its power over Erik.

"_There will never be a day when I won't think of you…"_

Christine's final notes soar effortlessly above the swell of the orchestra and fill the huge expanse of the ballroom, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Applause breaks out across the crowd, but Erik still does not move. A sense of panic overtakes me as he continues to stand, enthralled

_Damn it, Erik. Snap out of it!_

With each passing second, my sense of dread increases and the look on Laura's face becomes more grave.

"_Erik!_" I hiss.

He doesn't seem to hear. I move to his side and grab his arm, trying to wake him from the spell. But with his eyes still riveted on Christine, he literally tears his arm from my grasp and shoves me back.

Dumbstruck, I glance back at Laura, whose face has now turned completely white. Time seems suspended as she stares at Erik in disbelief.

Then the enormous ballroom clock begins to strike the hour. As the hammer sends a measured ringing throughout the room, the applause turns to wild cheering. Couples embrace to see the old year out and the new one in with a kiss.

For a moment I lose sight of Laura as the exuberant crowd mills around us. Then when the sea of revelers parts again, I look toward the door, but Laura isn't there. As the chimes continue to resound above the din of the ballroom, I search desperately for any sign of her, hoping that she's trying to make her way back to us. But she's nowhere in sight. Then the great hammer of the clock strikes its final blow and a thunderous cheer erupts across the room. My heart nearly stops. It is midnight. And Laura is gone.


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: Thank you to each of you for your thoughtful comments and reviews! They do so very much to inspire our muses!**

Well...Laura had fled. She seeks refuge from all the pain she is feeling, from all that has crashed down on her and her life. But on this night, is there refuge for her anywhere?

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****Chapter 71**** FLIGHT by KFC and Phanna **

_January 1, 1872_

_Outside Paris, France_

_Laura's POV:_

My head pounds in unison with the twelve strokes of the clock, ushering in the New Year. The enthusiastic cheers grow louder, and I can't take it any longer. I need to get out. I'm exhausted, my side is throbbing and tender, and my head feels like it's going to split right down the middle.

The ballroom din follows me out the door and past hordes of people in the hallways. Holding my skirts away from my feet, I hurry down the staircase, ignoring the persistent pain in my ribs. Anxiously, I try to figure out where I can go just to get away from everything and think. Some place quiet and alone. I don't want to go back to the Grand Parlor, but aside from the overcrowded powder rooms, there's no other place I can think of. Certainly none that will give me any sort of privacy. I'm desperate for a few moments to myself, someplace where I can sit down, close my eyes and breathe.

The staircase seems endless. The large winding spiral is dizzying when going down all five flights in succession. At the third floor landing, I decide not to return to the Grand Parlor. It's too crowded and noisy. By the time I reach the last flight of steps, the pain in my side feels like a stabbing knife. Like the pain in my heart.

As I approach the main floor, a movement catches my eye off to the right. Three men stand in a secluded alcove adjacent to the stairwell, and I recognize one of them as Herr Günter. He turns his head toward me as if he feels my presence. Shivers of revulsion run down my spine. He reminds me of a cold-blooded reptile as he stares at me, so I hurry on, trying to disappear into the crowd of people milling about the foyer.

I make my way toward the main entrance, moving through the revelers who jostle against me, causing more pain to shoot down my side. I have to get out of here, now. Out into the air. I think I'll go to the gardens and spend a few moments alone, gathering myself before I must face Erik again.

Stopping only briefly for my cloak, I burst out into the night air. The massive doors close behind me, shutting the crowd and its incessant clatter inside the mansion. A cold, sharp wind blows against my face and bites through my clothing. I inhale the night air deeply into my lungs. Just to be able to breathe is a welcome relief.

Suddenly I'm startled by explosions overhead—fireworks, whistling and screaming as they climb into the sky. Turning back, I see a kaleidoscope of color burst over the rooftop. But as brilliant hues flash like lightning over the grounds, I notice the three matadors standing on a third floor balcony. They're wildly toasting the New Year, too drunk to realize that they're on the wrong side of the building to see the fireworks. When they notice me, they stop talking and wave flirtatiously. I pull my cloak tighter around me, turn around and walk away.

When the last flash of colored light fades, the sky is dark again and a string of foreboding clouds moves swiftly across the moon. Drops of cold rain begin to fall as I walk beside the foot lamps that flank the driveway. As the rain increases, I decide to seek the shelter of the carriage instead of going to the garden. I pass the warming house, where the carriage drivers wait beside the fire. Our driver, Louis, recognizes me and hurries my way, his face almost hidden by the large overcoat he's wearing. His collar is turned up and his hat's pulled down against the weather. His breath leaves a trail of little white puffs in the air.

"Are you ill, Mademoiselle Counselor?" he asks. "Do you need to be driven home?"

"No Louis." I try not to look at him because I don't want him to see the tears about to fall. "I just need some fresh air. I'm going to sit inside the carriage and wait for the others."

"Of course, Mademoiselle." He leads me to the coach and opens the door, helping me climb up the steps. "The coals in the brazier are still warm."

"Thank you."

"Can I get you anything? Maybe a hot cup of tea?" He lifts his cup, still steaming.

"No thank you, Louis. I just want to rest for a minute. Would you please keep an eye on the coach so that no one disturbs me?"

"Certainly, Mademoiselle."

"Thank you."

Exhausted, I sink into the seat, thankful to finally be alone. I tuck the blanket around me and lean my throbbing head against the soft, velvet cushion.

I gaze down at the ring Erik placed on my finger just a few nights ago—my wedding ring. Even though I know Erik reacts with his emotions first, it hurt me to see him so enthralled tonight, watching Christine perform. I realize he'd been totally caught off guard and wasn't prepared to see her. None of us were. Jeremy and the others went to great lengths to make certain that Raoul and Christine weren't attending this ball. But life has a way of intruding and taking us places we never expected to go.

Tears slide down my cheeks. I can't believe this. Why…after all we've been through, our promises, our trials, our love. After our wedding, and the gamekeeper's cottage…_how could he? _

I didn't want to leave Erik in the ballroom listening to Christine, but what could I do? I saw Erik's reaction when Jeremy put his hand on Erik's arm, trying to shake him out of his reverie. Clearly Erik had been transported somewhere else, somewhere in time to his past with Christine. After all, she was his first love. She was his obsession for many years. The memories are still there and can be triggered. Unfortunately, so can the feelings that go with them.

She knew just how to make him remember, and he was certainly broadsided. I argue in my mind, as if in the courtroom. Defending him, hearing the prosecution. Listening to both sides. Believing in my defense, but nagged by the questions…the uncertainty.

In his defense, he mentored and trained her voice into the beautiful instrument that I heard tonight. _Music is a powerful force. _He wrote music just for her. Such deeply personal recollections cannot be set aside easily. Those memories are part of him, of his past. Clearly he and Christine once had a connection. But, that's in the past. She has hurt him so cruelly. Now it is for Erik to reconcile those memories and feelings from his past with his future.

I continue my internal debate. In my heart I know that Erik and I are not only connected in soul as he and Christine were through their music. He and I are bound on every level…body and mind, soul and spirit. She may have been his first love, but she's not _first _in his heart

I turn my head on the cushion. The faint scent of Erik lingers there, making me want to feel the warmth of his arms, comforting me. But he isn't here. I will wait for him to think this through, which he will. He will come to me when his emotions are under control, and we will talk. Then I will know what to say and do. I do love him with all my heart, as difficult as it is at times to be patient with him.

I wonder what has happened since I left him standing there transfixed. Not even the clock had been able to break the spell he was under when I turned to leave. What's going on inside? He must have come out of it by now, and Horatio and Jeremy certainly would want to get him out of the mansion and off the premises. It's too risky for him to be here when he's been recognized. Are they in trouble already? Has there been a scene? Have they been detained for questioning? Or, are they looking for me?

I lean forward and pull back the curtain that hangs over the window, hoping to see them approaching the carriage. But instead, I see a man standing under a lamp post near the edge of the driveway. He seems to be looking in my direction. I strain to see in the dim light, hoping that it's Matt, but it isn't. This man's appearance is disturbing. I pull the curtains back over the window and peer through the slit between them. Is he really watching this carriage? Or am I just tired and paranoid? I'm now beginning to regret my choice to come out here. What if no one saw me leave, and they are looking for me inside? Maybe I should go back.

I glance out the window again, but there's still no sign of Erik, or any of the others. Now the man who was watching me is talking to someone else. I put my hand on the door latch, deciding to take the risk, get out and walk back inside the mansion. But then the man actually turns and points toward my carriage. The man beside him nods.

Where is Louis? Where is Erik? I look out the window on the other side of the carriage, but again see no one I recognize. Not even Matt or Russ.

Now I'm frightened. I didn't realize coming out here alone could be dangerous. And I thought someone would follow me. Surely they'll soon realize that I'm not in the mansion. How long will it take them to figure out that I must be out here?

Anxiously I look through the curtains at the two men who are still standing and talking, obviously watching me. I'm beginning to think that it would be wiser to get out now and take my chances walking back to the mansion, rather than staying alone in the carriage. But just as I'm about to open the door and get out, I see Louis coming. _Thank God!_ I lean back in my seat, relieved. I catch a comforting glimpse of his familiar hat and overcoat as he moves past the window. The carriage rocks slightly when he climbs into the driver's seat. I'm glad that he's here, but still anxious about the men who are eyeing the carriage. Louis taps lightly on the panel between the interior of the coach and the driver's seat. I slide the panel aside just an inch or so.

"Mademoiselle," he whispers through the panel. "Those men saw you get in here. I don't like the way they're watching you. I think they're up to no good."

So, I'm not just paranoid. Louis senses it too. And he's only one man. How would he be able to defend me against two thugs? He may be seriously hurt if he tried. I wonder, is it me they might be after, or do they want this carriage for some reason? Perhaps they want both the carriage and the driver, and have been waiting for Louis to come back. Suddenly, even though Louis is here, I'm feeling no better than before.

I whisper back, "Are Matt or any of the other guards anywhere around?"

Louis replies after a moment, "Non, Mademoiselle. I don't see any of them, anywhere."

My heart sinks. I thought at least one of them would have followed me. I never think about being watched anymore, I'm just so used to them always being nearby. But perhaps no one saw me leave because of the all chaos in the ballroom when the clock struck midnight. And who knows what else may have happened with Erik since I left. Might he have insisted on going to meet Christine? Would Jeremy have been able to stop him without causing a scene?

I am about to suggest to Louis that we take our chances and have him escort me back to the mansion. I look outside to see if the two men are still there and catch them glancing my way again.

"Mademoiselle," Louis whispers, "I have an idea. Why don't you let me drive you down the road for a few minutes. We'll make them think you've gone. Then we'll turn around and come back, but park on the far side of the driveway. Then I'll escort you back inside."

I'm in such distress about what may be going on inside the mansion that I don't want to wait even a few more minutes to get back to Erik. Suddenly, one of the men starts moving toward our carriage, and my decision is made. "Alright, Louis…drive."

The carriage lurches as we pull away. I see the man slow his pace and drop back into the shadows. When we reach the iron gates at the entrance to the château and turn left onto the public road, I sigh with relief and let the curtain fall closed.

I rub my throbbing temples. _Oh Erik….where are you?_ I feel a silent dread in my heart that I don't know how to interpret. I'm so tired, so overwhelmed with all the draining twists and turns my life has taken in the past few weeks.

I'm having trouble thinking clearly, getting my bearings. Did my leaving so hastily create an additional complication in an already precarious situation? Once they realized I was gone, they probably assumed I went back to the Grand Parlor. Undoubtedly, they would check there first, and when they didn't find me, they would search the balconies. Grace and Antoinette would look for me in the powder rooms. Gathering together and figuring out what to do might take a little extra time, especially if Erik is complicating matters. My mind keeps going over all the possibilities of what might be happening. I wonder what situation I'll find when I get back.

After what seems like many minutes, I look out the carriage window to see how far we've gone. Surely it's far enough now. The moon hangs between clouds, barely illuminating the edges of the road and the outlines of trees through the drizzling rain. The lights of the mansion have grown small in the distance. Shouldn't we be turning around? Why is the carriage speeding up instead of slowing down? Pain shoots through my ribs again, as I'm jostled over the ruts and holes in the dirt road.

Suddenly the skies open up, and the rain pounds on the top of the carriage. As I'm watching out the window, we round a curve. Thunder crashes in the distance, soon followed by a streak of lightning. In that flash, I see a rider on horseback behind us. My God! Someone is following us!

Louis is obviously aware of the rider. I feel the carriage lurch again in the softening road as he picks up speed. Amidst the sound of the rain on the carriage roof, I hear his muffled voice urge the horses on. The wheels begin to careen against the ruts in the muddy road.

My heart pounds furiously. For a moment I wonder if this rider might be Erik coming after me. But another look out the back window dashes the faint hope I had. The highwayman is close behind us now, and although I cannot see his face, his form is not Erik's. Lightning flashes again and fear sweeps through me. I think it's the man who approached us in the carriage circle. He found a horse and followed us.

I feel the carriage wheels sliding back and forth, struggling to stay on the rain-drenched road. Louis is trying to outrun the highwayman, but I don't know if he can do it.

When I glance out again, the dark rider is still gaining on us. The rain isn't slowing down the pursuing horseman. I see him lean forward over the animal's neck as he pushes his horse faster.

Suddenly I panic. The rider is close enough to the carriage, that I can see he's holding a gun. I'm sure Louis has a gun as well. Will it come to that? I think of the weapons stowed beneath the carriage seat. Another chill spreads through me. Because I'm a Quaker, I will not use a weapon against anyone. Not even to defend myself.

I feel the carriage lurch and jolt again, then drag as if the wheels are being pulled toward the edge of the road. Louis is yelling at the horses, urging them on. I'm surrounded by the sound of hooves, behind the carriage as well as in front. Clutching the edge of the seat, I breathe a prayer of protection for both Louis and myself.

Suddenly we hit a deep hole, causing us to swerve from one side of the road to the other in a long uncontrolled arc. Miraculously, the carriage regains its momentum and straightens out. Then, in the next moment, the carriage abruptly shifts to the left, and we begin to slide sideways over the shoulder of the road. I can feel the horses pulling, struggling against the weight of the foundering carriage.

I hear Louis cursing as the carriage tilts dangerously. I'm thrown onto the floor. I grab the edge of the seat, trying to stabilize myself and praying that we aren't on the edge of a steep embankment. Louis' whip cracks out, and the horses neigh loudly as they desperately battle to keep from being pulled over the edge. Then a gunshot tears the air.

_Dear Lord! Please not Louis!_

Despite the horse's frantic struggle, the carriage keeps slipping. I no longer hear Louis calling out to the horses. Then, there's a sickening thud as Louis' body falls sideways against the driver's seat. Next comes the horrible sensation of hanging in the balance as the carriage is about to go over the embankment. Clinging to the seat, I brace myself for the inevitable.

Then the carriage door flings open. I let out a scream of terror as a dark figure reaches in, grabs me fiercely and pulls me out. Powerful arms hold me as I fight to break free in the darkness and chaos. A voice is calling my name.

"Laura!" It calls again.

"My God! Matt!" I cry, looking up to see him, wind blown and drenched with rain.

"You're alright, Laura. It's me!"

The carriage slides further down the embankment, pulling the horses as they fight to keep their footing on the road.

Then panic hits me again_. "Louis!"_

I look up and see his crumpled form falling from the driver's seat. "Matt! You shot Louis!" I cry as his body hits the ground.

Matt's vise-like grip holds me back as I strain toward the limp figure. "Trust me, Laura, that's not Louis!"

I feel a wave of nausea as Louis' hat falls from the man's head. Oh God, it _isn't_ Louis! I sink back into Matt's grasp, stunned.

Then the terrified horses lose their footing and are pulled back on their haunches. As they fight to regain their balance, they rear and twist, throwing their hooves high into the air above us. I see Matt turn, thrusting himself between me and the flailing hooves. Then I feel myself being shoved…hard.

For a moment all goes black, and I am paralyzed with pain. I open my eyes to find myself on the ground, in mud and scraping grit. Throbbing with pain, I raise my head and let out a silent scream at the sight and sound of hooves pounding against earth and flesh as the horses finally break their rigging and escape.

I cannot breathe. In horror I watch the carriage disappear over the embankment, leaving Matt's body lying deathly still on the road.

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Edits and tweakings by Phanfan. 


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: Profuse thanks to each of you who take your time and thoughtfulness to leave your comments! **

The night is not over by any means. Events that have been put into motion are still unfolding…

**

* * *

****Chapter 72 Unforeseen by KFC and Phanna **

_New Year's Eve 1872_

_Paris _

_Joe's POV:_

The Grand Parlor is stifling with all the people in here, so I head for a balcony to get some fresh air. I glance around as I step out to make sure I'm alone. The night's chilly air is a welcome relief. The clouds rolling in and lightning off in the distance warn that it's going to rain. That's not good. That means the ride back to the château could be downright messy.

I step over to the balustrade, which faces the front side of the château and look out at the view. There are foot lamps and several taller gaslights along the semi-circular driveway. All of the black carriages lined up in a row remind me of a funeral procession. Beyond the driveway is a large expanse of yard with a white gazebo in the center. On each side are formal gardens laid out in intricate patterns, each geometrically mirroring the other.

I can hear the ending notes of a waltz in the ballroom coming from the open doors two floors above. Within moments there's an announcement and then the clear singing voice of a woman. It's not my kind of music, but I can appreciate the talent of the singer. She does a nice job.

My mind wanders back over this very strange night. Nothing has gone as planned. Earlier this evening Marek unexpectedly turned up at Château Mercier. After contacting Terese on the computer link, we batted ideas back and forth, trying to figure out just what went wrong. He felt that it wasn't just a glitch in the time travel. He had the feeling that there was more to it. He commented that the technology still hiccupped occasionally, but never like this. To be sent to a wrong destination was virtually impossible. There are too many redundant backup systems. He felt something was going on. And, it may involve sabotage.

We agreed that the best plan was for him to stay at the château and wait to talk to Terese again, while I came here to Château Delanney and let Horatio know what's going on. Because I'd been scheduled for duty tonight, I didn't have a costume. Since the others had the formal invitation with them, I knew I'd have to sneak in, but I had to have a costume or I'd stick out like a sore thumb. I scouted around and found some old clothes. It was my idea of the hood, though, that made my costume. Actually the hood started out as a black cloth bag that I found in the sewing room.

My mom made sure each of us knew how to take care of ourselves, including how to sew. Well, at least the basics. So with a little ingenuity, I cut the black bag apart and then reassembled it into the hood I'm wearing. Pretty clever if I do say so myself!

When I reached the mask ball, I found Horatio in the ballroom. I was lucky enough to catch him alone, since Grace was out on the dance floor. Antoinette was dancing with some guy dressed in a peacock's garb. I saw her wince once or twice when he stomped on her toes. She looked so happy and alluring tonight. There was just something different about her, so I decided on the spot to wrangle a dance with her sometime during the evening.

When I told Horatio what happened with Marek, I could see his mind working everything out. His orders were to keep a low profile, and keep my ears open, taking note of any comments about Erik, aka Monsieur Mercier.

Horatio told me, "With that costume, you should be able to wander without being noticed. We had a run in with a Prussian officer by the name of Colonel Kraus when we first arrived in the Grand Parlor. Kraus was practically interrogating Erik about whether he'd be staying in France or returning to America. That wasn't a casual conversation. He was clearly digging for information."

I told Horatio that I'd see what I could find out. With a few more instructions from him, I took off before any of the ladies could return.

After spotting Colonel Kraus in the Grand Parlor, I followed him and was able to get close enough to eavesdrop for awhile. He blustered his way through most of his conversations. I could tell by the looks on the faces of the people he was talking to that they didn't particularly care for him. I didn't hear anything that was useful however. But it was obvious that he was definitely sucking up big time to anyone with a title.

When I made my way back to the ballroom, Horatio was dancing with a very attractive woman dressed as a courtesan. I hadn't noticed _her _before. Grace and Antoinette were in the middle of a conversation with a few ladies at the side of the dance floor. When Antoinette glanced my way, I knew the hangman's mask prevented her from recognizing me. She tried to be inconspicuous while she checked me out, but I'm glad she didn't see my huge grin under the hood. That's when I decided to make my move and ask her for a dance. I've always enjoyed bantering with her, and there's so much more to her than meets the eye. She's intelligent, caring and very feminine beneath her solemn façade.

I managed to dance with Antoinette and her perfume still clings to my shirt from holding her closely. I remember how she felt in my arms, and the way she responded to me. It was fun whispering in her ear, trying to prolong my mystery. But in the end, she knew. I've decided to find ways to spend more time with her in the future.

After leaving Antoinette, I searched Horatio out. Thankfully, he was alone again. I sidled up next to him, making sure no one was near and informed him, "Interesting group of people tonight. I followed Colonel Kraus and was able to listen in on a few of his conversations. He's not liked, but he's smart and follows all the social rules. I suspect he has an agenda and doesn't dare tick any one off."

Horatio spoke to me, but kept his eyes on the room, "Yep, he's definitely got something up his sleeve."

"I also overheard part of a conversation between three peacocks dressed as matadors." I glanced toward Erik, Jeremy and Laura who were standing on the opposite side of the room, "They were discussing Erik and Laura. In particular, Laura. It was probably something to do with the 'altercation' a while ago that I saw between Erik and them."

"Yeah, there was a bit of a stir," Horatio laughed stiffly, "I'll explain later. Just keep your eyes on them. I don't trust them."

"Will do."

"Oh, by the way, if you don't already know, Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae showed up here this evening. None of us have a good feeling about that little development either!" He smiled wryly.

I just snorted, as he continued, "Also, Jeremy said there was a man named Herr Günter who boldly walked up to their group earlier and introduced himself to Erik. Günter bragged that he was a successful businessman with several manufacturing companies in America. Then he came out and practically stated that he knew Erik is the Phantom of the Opera. I just find it strange that the first time Erik comes out in society, all these people seem to home in on him."

"Yeah, that does seem strange. I wonder if he's…" But I didn't get to finish because Grace was headed toward us, definitely on a mission. She had concern written all over her face. I casually stepped away from Horatio, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

I went down to the Grand Parlor and found Herr Günter in the gaming room. In fact, he seemed to be sneaking around, listening—much like I was doing. But he acted differently. Creepy, sinister and definitely weird. Two men approached, and after a heated discussion, the three left the Grand Parlor. He most certainly warrants watching, especially now that Horatio has alerted me that he knows who Erik is.

Cheering and applause break through my thoughts. The woman's song has ended, and I hear the hammer of the clock pounding out the twelve strokes of midnight along with the wild cheers of the crowd from the ballroom and Grand Parlor.

I smile, wishing for an instant that I had someone special next to me, celebrating this New Year. The three colorful popinjays who tangled with Erik earlier come out and stand on a balcony next to me. They're talking loudly, clearly drunk and having their own little party. A few words drift over, but nothing that makes sense.

When the front door opens, the light spilling across the stairs draws my attention. I watch as a woman hurries out. It's Laura! Damn! What's she doing out here by herself? Something makes her turn, and she looks up at the château for a second, but I don't think she's looking at me. Maybe she notices the matadors. As she walks along the driveway, I see Louis rush out of the warming house and talk to her. Then Louis helps her into the carriage and begins to walk back to the warming house. He's just about there when someone grabs him and pulls him into the shadows.

Every fiber in my body goes on alert. I can't possibly make it down there in time to help Louis, so I stay where I am, hoping to figure out what's happening. I squint, trying hard to see what's going on below, but it's too dark.

Suddenly I see two men positioning themselves so that they can watch the carriage that Laura sits in. This is not good. Then, out of the clear blue, I see Louis walking back toward the carriage. _What the hell's going on?_ Did he overpower his attacker? He reaches the carriage and steps up into the driver's seat. I see him turn to talk to Laura through the small panel. In a few moments he takes up the reins and begins to move down the driveway, heading toward the main road. What does he think he's doing? _Where in the hell is Matt?_ He's usually right on Laura's tail when he's assigned to her. Did Laura lose him accidentally in the crowd?

Just as I'm about to turn and leave, another figure on the entrance stairs catches my eye. It's a man, but I can't tell who it is. It isn't Matt though, it's not his shape. The man's standing in the shadows of the building. I can see him turn, following the path the carriage is taking as it rolls down the driveway. I spin on my heel and take off. Something's definitely rotten in this château tonight.

_Laura's POV:_

_For a moment all goes black, and I am paralyzed with pain. I open my eyes to find myself on the ground, in mud and scraping grit. Throbbing with pain, I raise my head and let out a silent scream at the sight and sound of hooves pounding against earth and flesh as the horses finally break their rigging and escape. _

_I cannot breathe. In horror I watch the carriage disappear over the embankment, leaving Matt's body lying deathly still on the road. _

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, as if in a nightmare. I blink and try to clear away the reeling scene that surrounds me. The world seems to move and spin in hazy unreality. Then one thought breaks through the fog of my mind, _Oh dear God! Matt!_

He's not very far away. I must get to him. I hold my ribs protectively with one arm, as I pull myself across the ground to where he lies motionless in the muddy gravel. The rain trickling down his body runs into the rivulets of water coursing around him, then flows to the edge of the road.

I stretch out my hand to push away the drenched locks of hair from his forehead. My heart begins to drain at the feel of his blood on my fingers. _Oh dear God._

I push my fingers farther through his hair and find more bleeding. Gently lifting his head out of the pooling water, I apply pressure to try to stop the blood flowing from his wound. "Matt, wake up!" I cry, unable to hold back the tears of panic and dread.

I pull back his rain drenched overcoat to see if he's bleeding any where else. The cold rain on my hand contrasts with the slight warmth of his body, but in the eerie light it's hard to know whether his dark clothes are soaked with water or blood.

He lies silent and still. Panicked, I call his name, hoping he will hear me. I keep my hand on his head wound, carefully keeping his head from falling back into the water that is now pooling around us in the muddy ruts of the road.

I hear the soft plodding of hooves behind me. Matt's dark horse stops beside us and lowers his head. In dismay I realize how aptly the stallion is named—after Chiron, the mythological centaur, known as the "wounded healer." Gently the horse sniffs the air around Matt's body and nuzzles his shoulder. "Chiron," I whisper, "Our healer is wounded."

I lean close to Matt, but cannot hear over the sound of the pouring rain, whether he is still breathing. Fear grips me that Matt will not wake up. Fear that he is dying on a godforsaken muddy road, with no one here who knows how to save him, in a time and place where he doesn't belong any more than I do. "Matt…can you hear me? Please wake up!"

In the wash of moonlight I see, as if for the very first time, every feature of his face, the lines around his closed eyes, the texture of his skin. The ever watchful face that always had me in his protective line of sight.

He was always there, always my shadow. Every sunny day, every rainy day. When I saw him, when I didn't see him, he was always watching in case some harm came near me. _He was always ready to do this._

"No, Matt…" I feel so helpless.

He tries to turn his head and open his eyes. I feel a wave of relief that he is not gone yet, and that he might be able to hear. But his eyes do not open. "No, Matt," I plead with him, "You can't leave me now. Please don't leave me."

He stirs painfully, slowly opening his eyes. Then they close again, and he looks so peaceful. He goes limp in my arms. "Matt!" I resist the urge to shake him. My voice quavers, "Open your eyes! Open your eyes and look at me!"

He moans, and I keep talking to him. "Matt, stay with me. Matt, I'm here." I say over and over, willing him to stay in this world.

Then he moves again, and I hear a low whisper. "Laura…" he coughs.

I cradle his head in the bend of my arm and wipe the rain from his face. "Matt, you're hurt," my throat is choked with fear, "and I don't know how to help you."

"Is there blood?" he asks groggily.

I try to swallow my tears. I don't know how to tell him this. "Yes….you have a large wound on the side of your head. There's lots of blood. I've been trying to stop the bleeding."

Matt grimaces as he raises his hand to his head. I'm afraid to take my hand off the wound, for fear it will gush. "Let me feel it," he says.

Reluctantly I take my hand away, and guide his to the wound. I feel frustrated, not being able to help him assess his wounds. Matt is always there for everyone else when they are hurt, and now that he's injured, he's stuck with someone who has no idea what to do.

"It's not deep," he rasps. "And you've stopped the bleeding."

Flooded with relief, I wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Laura, are you alright? I'm sorry I had to throw you so hard." He moves as if he's trying to get up. "

"I'm fine, Matt…stay down…don't get up yet. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No! I don't think so. I've just got the mother of all headaches." He lets me help him sit up, but doesn't stand. I worry that he will faint from the loss of blood and the shock his body must be in.

"You need to get up out of the mud, Laura." He reaches over to try and help me up.

"Don't, Matt! Let me help you." When I try to get up I'm suddenly overcome by a stabbing pain in my ribs that I had ignored while I was afraid Matt was dying.

While I muster the will to stand up, Matt slowly gets to his feet and reaches down to assist me to my feet. I gasp and almost cry out as I struggle to stand. He lifts me the rest of the way. "I'm so sorry you're hurt so bad. But I had to shove you. I just had to get you as far away as I could."

"Matt!" I exclaim as the terrifying scene flashes before me again—the hooves in the air above me, and the look on his face as he turned to take the brunt. "That's twice now."

"Twice what?"

"Twice you've saved my life." I'm fully feeling the weight of my hasty decision to leave the ballroom. "Matt, I'm so sorry. This almost cost your life. I should have known you would follow me. I just didn't see you. I thought maybe no one saw me leave, or you were all looking for me inside."

"Laura, _I've always got your back_."

"But you almost lost your life over a rash decision I made in a moment of fear," I feel sick to my stomach.

"It doesn't matter what kind of decision it was. Just k_now_ I'm there, and I'm going to keep you safe."

Chiron moves aside, and I can see over the embankment. The carriage is overturned at the bottom of the ravine. Just over the edge of the road, I see what looks like a heap of dark rags. In horror I realize that it's the battered body of the carriage driver. I let out a cry, and Matt hides my face against his coat. "Oh Matt, that could have happened to you. Because of me."

"Shh…shh..." he tries to comfort me. I close my eyes, but all I can see in my mind is the look on his face when he stepped between me and the flying hooves.

"You just turned and took it." My stomach still clenches as I look up at him, amazed at his willingness to trade his life for mine.

"You did the same, once," he reminds me softly.

"But this shouldn't have happened. You were there, like always. I didn't need to leave and now you're hurt."

"Laura, nothing ever hurt me worse than the day I wasn't there for you."

"Matt," my voice breaks, "I understand."

He holds me gently as I press my face into his soaked coat. This was the other future I could have chosen. He would have stayed with me. Life would have been normal. I'd still have my work and my life…

But I would not have Erik…

_Oh Erik_…. Just your name brings up a well of emotions that push against my heart and threaten to overflow. What has happened? Why aren't you here? _Are you really mine, even now? _

I am so weakened from injuries and trauma that I begin to shake with cold. "Matt, did you see? Erik was so taken with Christine tonight, he wouldn't even listen to Jeremy."

"I know. I saw."

"What happened after I left?" I try to prepare myself for whatever he might say.

"I don't know. I came after you." Matt shrugs his riding cloak off his shoulders and wraps it gently around me. I look up into his familiar face, and suddenly I remember that he still doesn't know I'm married. My throat constricts, and I can't find words to tell him. At the thought of Erik, tears spill from my eyes, mixing with the rain that trickles down my face.

"Laura…Laura," Matt wraps his arms around me again, bolstering me. Almost unable to stand, I lean into his embrace, exhausted on every level. Sobbing, I release everything. The tension and weariness. The physical pain. The stress of having to adjust to a lifetime's worth of change in just two weeks. My hurt that Erik refused to be broken from Christine's spell. My uncertainties about the future, and my fear that I may have made an irrevocable mistake if Erik's heart is not completely mine. And the terrible reality that I can never leave this time period. That I am not going to wake up and find that it was all a dream.

"Look at me…." Matt lifts my face. But in this state of exhaustion and pain, I hardly dare look into his eyes.

"Breathe, Laura…" He tries to soothe me. "Don't worry, there's nothing to fear." His strong arms surround me like a fortress. "Just wait out the storm. Erik loves you. _I know he does_."

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Editing by Phanfan.


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N: Again, thank you to each of our FABulous readers who so considerately take your time to let us know your thoughts and feelings about our story. We writers raise a toast of pink champagne to each of you!!**

**And, speaking of champagne, today is the annual honor fest known as the Oscars. May I digress just a little to wax reminiscent? Each year when the Oscars return, I think back only a few years ago to when Phantom of the Opera came out…and was shunned by the Oscars except in three of the minor categories. I will never, ever look at the Oscars with either the interest or respect that I had held for them before that unbelievable event. No nomination for Best Movie, Best Actor (Gerard Butler), or Best Supporting Actress (Emy Rossum) or Best Supporting Actor (Patrick Wilson). IMHO, all those nominations were deserved, and indeed, considering the incredible quality of his performance, I felt the Oscar should have just been taken off the shelf and handed to Gerard Butler without further adieu. **

**In my many years of watching movies, which began in the 1950's, so includes a very good knowledge of the movies even back to the 1930's, I place Phantom of the Opera on my "all time Best Ten Movies Ever" list. Indeed, the Epic Case combines two roles that Gerard Butler made his own: Marek in Timeline and Erik as the Phantom. One can only ask why POTO was shunned at the Oscars, especially since the movie most honored that year did not (IMHO) hold a candlestick? Well, my answer is that the PTB (the powers that be) do exist, and they are alive and well. I also propose that they did not want attention directed to POTO because ALW very bravely took on the PTB in that movie. There are references to the PTB in Masquerade and in various other scenes in the movie. Indeed, POTO is a movie with many, many layers of meaning embedded in its rich symbolism. I have hosted discussion threads on that subject and what we have been able to discern in that movie is truly amazing! And, I also host a private discussion board about all things POTO, Erik and Gerard Butler. If you would like to join, just PM me! So, on this Oscar night, I would also like to raise a toast to all those who worked so hard on Phantom of the Opera, that very unique movie, and created what has been referred to as "a masterpiece for the ages!" **

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Now, of course, this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for. What has been happening with Erik? How has he felt? What is he thinking? What will he do?

Well…he is about to give you a window into his soul and tell you himself….

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**Chapter 73 MEMORIES, by Phanfan**

_New Year's 1872_

_Paris, France, Bal Masque_

_Erik's POV:_

"Madames and Monsieurs, your attention, please!!" The conductor announces from the mezzanine in a voice that commands the crowd to stop and listen. It takes several such calls before the room becomes still.

Then he declares with considerable pomposity, "One of the divas of the Opera Populaire, whose performances are renown, is here tonight! Mademoiselle Christine Daae has agreed to honor us with a song!"

The crowd responds with polite applause. Stunned, I turn slowly toward the front of the ballroom and look up at the delicate beauty, almost like a porcelain figure, standing expectantly on the mezzanine. Conflicting emotions overwhelm me, tearing me asunder, between anticipation and dread.

Christine is looking in my direction. Does she know I am here? Why is she doing this? We took such precautions, employed such careful tactics, to conceal me from her notice.

The conductor raises his baton, and the orchestra starts to play. Christine's singing fills the room with bell clear tones,

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"

The haunting words and melody carried lightly by Christine's rich, lilting voice, take my breath away. And the song. This song is the one I wrote for her debut. The debut that I plotted meticulously: crashing a curtain down on Carlotta, designing Christine's costume and manipulating the managers to choose that very one for her first appearance in the spotlight.

Christine looks directly at me, into my eyes, as she sings the first lyrics. No doubt remains. Her impassioned eyes tell me that she is singing only for me.

My heart pounds as I listen to her voice, the voice I so loved that I shaped and molded it, day by day, year after year, into perfection. My blood begins to throb in my temples.

She is radiant. Her elegant chestnut curls form a halo around her head. The billowing skirt of her blue gown surrounds her like a cloud and makes her waist appear even more tiny and fragile. And, the low cut bodice exposes her swan-like neck and ivory shoulders, exactly like the gown she wore the night of her debut.

_Suddenly the blue gown shimmers before my eyes and seems to transform, to transmute into the pure white gown she wore that fateful night. She is a vision in that angelic aura, wearing a myriad crystals in the shape of exploding stars, glittering on her gown and in her hair. _

_Enthralled by her voice, I am suspended in timelessness. I have never heard anything so beautiful in my life. Passion rages through me. I must possess her._

_But there is Raoul in her dressing room, ordering her to leave with him for the evening! How dare he? I turn the key, locking him out._

_Her mystical beauty is intoxicating as __I__ take her hand and lead her through the mirror, singing together as we glide over the water in the boat, courting her with my song as I unveil my feelings. But her face. She faints into my arms when she perceives my intentions, that she be mine forever. _

My chest tightens…

_I place her gently on my bed. Surely she will understand when she awakens. Hearing her approach, I close my eyes and feel her gentle touch, her fingertips on my cheek. Then, she rips off my mask!_

I try to breathe...

_My horror is released. My anger spews out. She must see the man, not the monster. Instead she cowers in fear and tears flow down her face. It is a disaster! All I can do is return her._

I gasp for air, but it does not come…

_Images pass in front of my eyes in a blur. The agony of watching Raoul courting her, bring__ing__ her flowers. My warnings are not heeded. She must be allowed to shine, to show the world her voice. Carlotta's croaking voice stop__s__ the performance. Joseph Buquet's body dangl__es__ fatally from the flies._

I fight for air….

_I watch, helpless in the shadows as Christine asks Raoul to take care of her. He holds her in his arms and kisses her! My heart is ripped from my chest. _

_Then, the Bal Masque! And, the ring hanging there on a golden chain and proclaiming that she is his! I grab it, tear it away! She is mine!_

I cannot breathe…

_I sing to her at her father's crypt, and she is coming to me. But Raoul is here again! He draws his sword, and I respond with mine. I am besting him, but a gnarled tree root catches the heel of my boot, and I fall. Christine cries out to Raoul not to harm me. I watch from the frozen ground as he stabs his sword toward my heart before pulling away and taking her from me once more._

I choke and gasp for air…

_Beautiful and exotic, she moves seductively on stage, offering herself to me. I burn for her as she promises to be mine. We cross the bridge and embrace. I feel her responsive body in my arms, but then, when I sing of my love for her, she unmasks me before that gaping crowd_.

_We plunge down, down. My rage is unleashed as I take her to my lair, as I give her the wedding dress, as Raoul finds us. My rope renders Raoul powerless. Now I look to Christine and tell her to choose!_

"Damn it, Erik. Snap out of it!"

_Raoul is pleading now for his life…_

"Erik!"

_Raoul calls out. Then he grabs me._

I tear my arm out of his clutches and shove him back.

_Christine is standing there, far away. She looks down at me, but does not come. The mob roars around me, and I feel them closing in._

_Again I feel Raoul's hand on me, so I choke him_.

"Don't touch me, Raoul," I hiss, "never touch me again!"

"No! Erik! It's Jeremy! Not Raoul!" The voice is muffled, as if coming through a tunnel.

The white fog begins to recede. Slowly images begin to take form and shape. I am suddenly aware that my hand is around Jeremy's throat. Strong hands grab me, pulling me back. I release Jeremy and see him bend over, gasping for air. Horatio and Russ hold me in vise-like grips, and Horatio hisses into my ear, "Erik! What are you doing? It's Jeremy, not Raoul!"

The room begins to spin around me. Although my chest is heaving, I cannot seem to get enough air. Jeremy's face hovers in front of mine, and I try to focus on him, on what he is saying.

"Erik, remember what Freuda taught you? Breathe in slowly, slowly."

I follow his instructions.

"Yes, that's right. Now, breathe out slowly, slowly."

I try to slow my breath.

"Breathe in slowly, Erik. Now out, _slowly_." Jeremy's voice continues in a soothing drone.

I remember that this is the breathing exercise that Freuda taught me to use when I am having a flashback episode.

I begin to be aware of the crowd around me, as the sounds which go from a dull, distant rumbling to the cheers of the revelers. Beginning to breathe more evenly now, the air in my lungs seems to bring me back to my senses. I realize that I am protectively surrounded by my friends. Horatio and Russ still hold my arms, but no longer in a tight grip. Jeremy is in front of me, rubbing his throat and talking in a calming voice, entreating me to breathe deeply, evenly. Agitated and worried, Grace stands next to Jeremy, and Antoinette is on his other side, her eyes filled with alarm.

As my mind clears, the first words I utter are, "Laura. I want Laura."

"She's not here," Jeremy replies.

I look at Antoinette and ask, "Would you please bring her from the powder room? I need her."

Antoinette looks at me with troubled eyes. "She is gone, Erik."

"Gone?" I do not understand what she means. "But Laura is here! I know it! She came here with me." The nightmare I was just thrust into is past. That part of my life is over. Now my life is Laura. And she is here, with me. She is my wife! That was not a dream. Was it?

I look at the faces around me. Something is terribly wrong. "What has happened? Where is Laura?"

Jeremy takes a step back. His eyes seem to probe me, assessing my condition. Impatiently, I spit out, "What is it? Tell me!"

"Laura left," Jeremy's voice has an edge of warning. I know it well. He is telling me that danger lies around the corner.

"Where has she gone? How can that be?"

Grace clears her throat, trying to be heard over the wild cheering of the crowd, "Erik, when Christine started to sing, Laura was standing at the entrance to the ballroom. She witnessed the entire song, as well as…" irritatingly, Grace's voice is drowned out by the deafening noise of the crowd around us.

"And what? What happened?" I shout.

"Erik, you were totally transfixed, staring at Christine the entire time she sang. Even when Jeremy tried to snap you out of it, he couldn't. You shoved him back." Grace pauses, her voice strained as she adds, "And Laura saw it all."

"I did that?" Disbelieving, my eyes search the faces of those around me.

"Yes, you did." Horatio says angrily.

"But you weren't here, were you, Erik?" Jeremy cocks his head and studies me, "You were seeing things out of the past. You were having a PTSD reaction, weren't you?"

"Mon Dieu! Truly! I was somewhere else. In an old nightmare!" I jerk my arm free of Horatio's grasp and rub my forehead with my fingers, pondering what I have been told. This can't be happening. Laura and I are bound together. Surely this cannot sunder that? I know her compassionate heart. Surely she will understand.

"We must find Laura!" I declare as I search the eyes of all around me, seeing my own shock mirrored in them.

"I agree, Erik, but that's not our only problem," Horatio speaks now with authority, "Christine clearly knows you're here. We have to get you out of the mansion as soon as we can. And we don't know whether she will tell Raoul you're here, and that would be disastrous." He begins giving orders. "Russ, you check the balconies on this floor, and Grace, check out all the powder rooms adjacent to the ballroom." Turning to Madame Giry, he speaks more kindly, "Could you please go to the third floor and search the powder rooms there?"

Antoinette nods in agreement, but says nothing.

"Then Jeremy and I will guard Erik and go down to the Grand Parlor. We'll search there for Laura. When each of you has checked your areas, go directly down to the first floor and wait by the main entrance. We'll regroup there and leave right away."

As everyone departs to their task, Antoinette puts her hand on my forearm and says, "Don't worry, Erik. We will find Laura. It will be alright." But her eyes tell me otherwise. She is clearly fearful of what lies ahead.

I pat her hand and console her, "Yes, surely it will be." Then she rushes off, intent on her quest.

With Jeremy and Horatio flanking me, we push our way through the crushing crowds of raucous partygoers. Some are toasting the new year, others are hugging in companionable excess. We pass several couples in intimate embraces, kissing deeply. My heart sinks. I should have Laura in my arms right now. Surely we will find her quickly, and I will be able to hold her and tell her what is in my heart.

As we exit the ballroom, Jeremy looks over his shoulder and reports, "Christine is still at the front of the room. She's being inundated by admirers, and I can see that even Raoul is not able to reach her! That should keep them occupied for awhile!"

"Good!" I exhale in relief.

As we begin to descend the grand stairwell, we hear the explosion of fireworks outside. Flashes of colored lights are visible through the tall windows that flank the stairwell. Somewhere Laura must be seeing those as well. But where? Where is she? The stairwell is crammed with people going to the Grand Parlor. Aggravatingly, our progress is delayed.

When we finally reach the Grand Parlor, our search is painstakingly slow. There are three side parlors and any number of private sitting areas, secluded behind banks of palms. Jeremy and I proceed through each of the areas, making sure no corner is overlooked. Horatio separates from us to check the balconies.

In the middle sitting room, I spot a woman at the far corner, sitting on a settee, her back to me. Her black hair is covered by a Spanish lace mantilla. Laura! I elbow my way through the crowd, pushing aside a young man who stands obliviously in the pathway, preoccupied with imposing his attentions on a young woman.

He begins to object to my shoving him aside, so I turn quickly and confront him, snarling, "Do you have a complaint, Sir?"

He stops, frozen in his tracks. His face belies his fear, as he regards my hand on my sword. He mumbles anxiously, "No, none at all. I apologize for standing in the way."

I turn on my heels and give him no further thought as I press through the crush of people, trying to reach the seated woman. When I am but a few feet away, I call out, "Laura!" The woman turns and looks up at me. It is not Laura. It is not her beautiful, dark eyes and full sweet lips. I hiss out my apology for interrupting the woman's conversation, and wade back into the mass of people. Jeremy fights his way through the pressing crowd, and when he reaches me, he shakes his head regretfully, confirming that his search has also been futile.

As we search for Laura, my dismay plummets into cold fear. Where has she gone? Did she leave the ball room of her own accord, or was she taken against her will? I am responsible for this. My fascination with hearing Christine and the voice that had given me such joy in times past, had captured me again and held me in thrall. And, that had led to my descent into darkness, that stygian past that comes back to haunt me whenever such memories are triggered. To Laura, I must have appeared to be transfixed. Instead I was having a hellish walk through a life that I have put behind me and never want to return to, ever again.

We go to the last of the sitting rooms and search it. But this is the one where the gambling card games are played, so only men congregate here, and no women are in sight. We turn and work our way across the main parlor to the opposite side, near the windows. Wading through the many groups of chatting, laughing, drinking people has now become a desperate and frustrating undertaking.

My guilt eats at me. What must Laura be thinking? Even worse, what is she feeling? Does she think that I have betrayed her love, her loyalty, her compassion, even her sacrifices? But how could she not? She saw with her own eyes that I was fixated on Christine and apparently even pushed away Jeremy when he tried to help me come to my senses.

How can I explain this to Laura? How can I explain what I was feeling when I saw Christine? What I was experiencing when the nightmare visions engulfed me? I have so much to tell her, to explain to her. Will she understand? Will she forgive me after what I have done?

When we have completed our circuit of the Grand Parlor, Horatio again joins us. The look on his face tells me that he was also unsuccessful. His brows dipped low with concern, he says, "Let's go downstairs to the main entrance and meet up with the others." I cannot keep the look of despair from my eyes, and Horatio puts his hand on my back. "Perhaps one of the others has found her. Don't worry, Erik. She must be here."

I do not respond. Laura was not in the ballroom or the Grand Parlor. Where else could she have gone? My anguish over what she must be feeling about me, about my seeming betrayal, is now being overtaken by my fear about where she is—and if she is safe.

With Horatio and Jeremy again flanking me, we make our way through the groups of costumed merrymakers. Their high spirits and joviality have become grating to my darkening temper. Just as we are exiting the Grand Parlor through the large, draped doorway, the group of women in front of us turns and waves final adieu to their friends. As we are forced to stop and wait for them to conclude their drunken farewells, the sound of a familiar woman's voice is heard outside in the corridor.

My head swivels instantly toward the voice as my heart dips down to my stomach. It is Christine. She is standing next to Raoul, talking with several admirers. Christine faces me, but Raoul has his back toward me. I freeze. We are trapped behind the women, and if we push them aside, that would draw attention to us. For Raoul to turn and see me at such close quarters could be disastrous. He may recognize me.

"Damn!" Jeremy whispers behind me.

I nod my head in agreement. Horatio turns then and sees the couple.

Now the worst happens. Christine looks up from the woman standing before her who is effusively praising her singing. Christine's brown eyes widen with shock when she sees me standing so close.

For many moments we gaze into each other's eyes. Hers openly disclose her feelings, silently sending her fervent, even sensuous, longing. It is the same invitation she gave me when we sang Don Juan to each other, so mesmerized by each other that we ignored the watching eyes. Even the watching eyes of Raoul. She enticed me then, using her voice to promise her love and tempt me with her passion. Then she unmasked me and unmanned me in the presence of a gaping crowd, just like those here tonight. I remember it all in vivid detail.

Tonight in reply, my eyes look coolly back at Christine. Expressionless. Emotionless.

Suddenly the women in front of us move on. Horatio and Jeremy shove me ahead of them, and we are through the door and rushing down the hallway, weaving around the groups of people. When we reach the stairwell, I push aside anyone in my way and move rapidly down, down, desperate to get to the main floor and learn if Laura has been found and is waiting for me. Please, God! Let her be there!

When we get to the bottom of the stairwell and turn toward the main entrance, I hear my name called out.

"Monsieur Mercier! Please! A moment!"

I look over my shoulder. It's Colonel Kraus coming down the stairwell, not far behind. He is followed closely by four Austrian soldiers, all in uniform, like himself. When I stop and turn toward him, Jeremy and Horatio step in front of me. The three of us wait, on guard, as the group of men walk toward us.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?" I snarl out. My patience is gone.

"So you are leaving already!" He stops and rests his hand on his sword hilt.

Jeremy's hand goes to his own sword in response. The Colonel sees the defensive movement, and puffs out, "No, no, Monsieur! I meant nothing of it! I was merely resting my hand the hilt. It is the comfortable posture of an old soldier. Take no offense of it!"

Then, returning his attention to me, the Colonel asks, "I wanted to seek you out before you left this evening. I wish to make an appointment with you to discuss matters of a sensitive nature." He waves his hand at the throngs of people and adds, "As you can see, this is not a good time or place to discuss business."

"Yes, Colonel, that would be satisfactory. Feel free to call on me a week from tomorrow at Chateau Mercier. We can talk then."

The Colonel nods in agreement, bows and leaves with his entourage.

"Well, I wonder what that was about?" Horatio frowns, glancing over at Jeremy and me.

"We will find out soon enough!" I turn and stride rapidly down the wide corridor, forcing my way through the milling people who have come in through the French doors from the gardens. It has begun raining and all those who were watching the fireworks are now rushing back inside, making the crush of people even worse.

Finally we reach the main entrance, but only Grace is waiting for us.

As I approach, she tells me what I already know, "I did not find Laura! Russ and Antoinette have not arrived here yet." I cannot hide my foreboding anxiety, so she adds, "I am sorry, Erik."

Jeremy asks for our cloaks, and as we are putting them on, a man strangely dressed in the costume of a hangman enters the main door and bolts toward us. Jeremy begins to unsheath his sword, but Horatio puts his hand on Jeremy's arm, restraining him. "No, Jeremy! It's Joe!"

Unbelievably, Joe swipes off his hood, confirming his identity.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Jeremy blurts out.

Joe explains breathlessly, "Well, that's a long story—for later! I was on the balcony outside the Grand Parlor just now. I saw Laura go out the main entrance as the fireworks started, and she went to the carriage when it began to rain! I also saw Louis being ambushed, but it appeared he escaped and went to the carriage, then drove it off!"

"He drove away with Laura?" Panic is overtaking me.

"Well, I thought it was Louis. I went down to find out what was going on. The man I found in the shrubs wasn't the person who ambushed Louis! It was Louis! I was bending over him, trying to revive him when Matt streaked past me on his horse, hell-bent-for-leather after the carriage!"

I begin running toward the door, Jeremy on my heels.

Horatio's voice calls out behind me, "We'll get a carriage and follow!"

My heart is pounding now in my throat as I run as hard and fast as I can. When I get to the stables, I find Horatio's horse and mount it, not bothering with a saddle. Jeremy is mounted and at my side when I lean forward and urge the horse into a gallop. Oblivious to the wind and rain, I race perilously down the road, which is barely visible in the murky darkness. Only occasional lightning in the distance lights the way.

All that I sense is the rhythmic pounding of hooves in the mud and rain pelting down, cold and biting against my skin. I do not care. Horrific images come to my mind as I imagine what could be happening to Laura. Images that stab at my heart. Unspeakable images. Who has taken her? Has Matt found her? Or was he ambushed, leaving Laura at the mercy of kidnappers or thieves?

Terror drives me on, heedless of danger.

The rain slows to a haze. On the road ahead of me I make out the ghostly shape of a man. He holds a gun and aims it at me. I pull back on the reins and bring my horse to a halt.

A voice cries out, "Stop! Don't come any closer, or I'll shoot!"

"Matt! Is that you?" I yell frantically.

"Yes!" Matt's voice calls back, "Erik! Thank God!"

I spur my horse toward the shadowy image, "Matt, have you found Laura?"

"Yes! She's behind the tree, over there." He points to an ancient oak with long, sprawling branches. The tree is set back some distance from the road, so I spur my horse into a gallop. When I reach it, I leap down and walk around the massive trunk, seeking Laura, but fearful of what I will find.

When I see her, I cannot speak. She is on the ground, leaning against the tree trunk, drenched and muddied, with Matt's cloak over her like a blanket. I walk over and kneel next to her, lifting my hand tentatively, reverently touching her cheek. It is scratched and bloody. "Oh, Laura!" I pick up her hand and kiss her palm gently, not able to look into her eyes. "I am sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, Erik," her hand gently cups my uncovered cheek, "I can."

The pain in her voice shocks me. I look up and can see the agony in her eyes.

"You are hurt! What has happened?"

"The carriage was sliding off the road. Matt had to pull me out of it before it went over the embankment."

"Mon Dieu! You might have been killed!" That thought stabs my heart like an icy blade.

"My ribs were injured again," Laura says with a strained voice, "Worse than the first time, I think. They're more painful."

"Horatio is following with a carriage. We will have you home soon," I kiss her palm again and hold it on my cheek. Her hand is cold, and she is shivering. I warm her hand between mine and will my strength into her. "And then, I have much to tell you. There are things I now understand about myself that I want to share. But for now, just rest and let me warm you." I lift the coat and slide carefully underneath it, setting with my back against the trunk. I gently place my arm around her, and she leans back into my shoulder, placing her head on my chest. I let out a sigh as I hold her close to me. Our clothes are drenched and muddied, but I am just thankful that we are together.

Under my enfolding arm, I can feel the slow, steady thumping of her heart. It begins to match the pounding of my own, beat for beat. The same as the first time I held her like this under the tree on the island. My mind goes back to that beautiful day, recalling the warm summer sunlight and the glorious feeling of her in my arms. I tighten my arms around her slightly, protecting her and trying to give her what warmth I can on this cold, dismal night. But that special memory fills my heart to bursting, so I kiss the top of her head and whisper into her hair, "I love you." She snuggles closer and raises her head, kissing my neck softly at the spot where my pulse beats.

Then we hear the carriage pull up. Horatio, Grace and Antoinette appear out of the darkness with questioning eyes, but they say nothing as they help Laura and me to our feet. We lift Laura into the coach and lie her down on one of the benches. I look up and notice that Jeremy, Matt, Russ and Joe are all here, mounted on horses. Horatio tells me to ride inside the coach with the women, and that he will drive up on top with the driver.

When the carriage has barely begun to roll forward, it comes to a jolting stop. Laura lets out a moan of pain. I reach over and take her hand, looking out the window to see what has caused the driver to stop so abruptly. That is when I see them. Over a dozen horsemen on the road ahead of us. Their swords are drawn and several have guns. Gunfire rings out, and a body thuds against the carriage seat above. More gunfire breaks the air like thunderclaps. Then, men yelling, horse's hooves pounding wildly in the mud and bodies hitting the ground collide in a melee of sound.

Antoinette lets out a scream.

Laura gasps, and Grace yells out, "Horatio!" She grabs Horatio's sword, which he had left on the floor of the carriage, too bulky to wear when he climbed into the driver's seat.

"No Grace!" I am startled at what she intends to do, "You cannot fight out there!"

"Horatio is out there, and I don't know if he's dead or alive! I'm going, and you can't stop me!" Grace glares at me, then looks out the carriage window and says under her breath, "Well, Erik. The odds aren't good. We're way outnumbered. But we have to play the hand we're dealt, don't we?" Then without looking back at me, she asks, "Are you ready?"

"Yes! I will be beside you!"

Grace quickly turns and places a gun in Laura's hand, "If they open this door, shoot to kill!" Then she is gone.

Laura struggles to sit up and cries out, "No Erik! Don't go!"

"Laura, lie down. You will be…safer…" I hold her back. Then, struggling to keep my voice calm and reassuring, I add, "Do as Grace says! If they open that door, shoot!"

I lean down and kiss her warm lips, "Remember, I love you always."

I turn quickly to Antoinette whose cheeks are flooded with tears. Taking her hand, I squeeze it comfortingly, but all I manage to say is, "Dear friend."

As I move toward the door, Laura grabs my hand, "Erik, I cannot use this gun." Then she raises my hand to her lips and kisses it, whispering, "_I love you_._ I will join you on the other side_."

With one last look into her infinitely deep, dark eyes, I thrust myself into the blackness of night and ruthless sounds of battle.

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Thank yous to my diligent editors, Phanna and KFC! 


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N: Thank you for all your thoughtful reviews! We SO appreciate your heartfelt comments. So many of you expressed how moved you were when you realized that Erik was experiencing a PTSD episode. Indeed, flashbacks occur when something happens to remind a person of his previous traumatic experiences. Then, it appears to them as if they are living it again. What could be more traumatic to Erik than his two experiences of Christine removing his mask at the very moments when he trusted her, and she seemed to be expressing love to him. His thoughts about the second unmasking in front of hundreds of people clarified to him for once and for all that she had not only unmasked him, but unmanned him. When he regarded her without emotion as they met in the parlor doorway was he finally laying his past to rest? **

**And, of course, all of you were shocked at the attack on Erik and all his good friends. But, Erik has many enemies. And, he also is in a position to do a lot of good if he lives. Much is at stake. **

**This is an M rated story, and I want to give a warning that this chapter is entitled "Battle" because that is what the entire chapter is about. So, if you do not like such scenes, please skip this chapter and pick up the story with the next chapter.**

**As you all know, the regular posting schedule is every two weeks. If there are twenty reviews by next Saturday, I will post the next chapter then, so that you will not be kept waiting for two weeks to find out…what happens…**

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**Chapter 74 The Battle, by Phanna and Phanfan **

_January 1, 1872_

_Outside Paris_

_Jeremy's POV:_

The rain has stopped completely now. Moonlight filters through the clouds just enough to light the muddy road for our long journey home. I take a deep breath. I'm glad that we found Laura and Matt, and they're safe. Laura has reinjured her ribs, and Matt has a few bruises and cuts, but he reassured me that both of them will be alright. It could have turned out so differently. Too much has happened tonight, and I won't feel comfortable until we get back to the château.

I watch as Laura is carefully lifted into the carriage and settled on the bench. Horatio tells Erik to remain inside the carriage, and he climbs up into the driver's seat next to the hired driver. Joe told me that Louis wasn't in any shape to make the trip tonight, so he's being cared for at the Delanney mansion for the next couple days, then we'll send someone to bring him home.

It certainly was lucky that Horatio didn't have any trouble finding a carriage to hire. Apparently, this rather luxurious one was available for a reasonable fee. But, the driver is a little unusual. His livery is very formal, befitting such a fine coach and horses, but when Horatio spoke with him, he seemed a little slow-witted.

As the carriage rolls forward, Joe and Russ ride on the left side, and Matt and I are on the right. A quarter of a mile down the road the sound of galloping horses fills the night air ahead. Suddenly well over a dozen riders are bearing down on us, armed and ready for battle. My gut clenches. Damn, I had a gut feeling that this night's troubles weren't over yet.

Horatio orders the hired driver to stop the carriage. A bullet whistles through the air and hits the wood on the corner of the driver's seat, ricocheting off. Horatio pushes the driver to the floor, and they take protection behind the wooden footrest. He pulls out his gun and takes aim, but holds off firing until the riders get closer. After all, we don't have repeating guns. Once we fire the single bullet, there won't be any time to reload. Every shot has to count.

Horatio shouts orders to the four of us to use a pincher formation as we ride to meet the oncoming men. More bullets begin to fly through the dark night air. I take note that the attackers aren't particularly accurate with their aim since they haven't hit any of us so far. That means they're probably not trained soldiers. That helps. I raise my gun and take careful aim, knowing that I need to make it count.

The four of us move forward swiftly, separating from each other. Firing their handguns, Joe and Russ take out two of the leaders who are barking out orders. Then they draw their swords as they close in on the left flank of the riders. Matt is at my side as we circle around from the other direction. He takes another man out with a direct hit. The odds are getting a little better. I move to the right and fire at one of the sturdier looking men. My bullet hits him in the shoulder, propelling him out of his saddle. After he hits the ground, his horse shies and comes down hard on his body, and he doesn't move.

As I draw my sword, I feel the tip of a blade slice through the fabric of my pants on my upper thigh, leaving a trail of blood. I urge my mount sideways, fast enough to avoid any further injury, then turn and engage the thug in a sword fight. He's very strong and plunges the sword at me with a downward thrust, aiming a deathblow at my chest. I parry with all my might, and the clashing swords send a shock wave up my arm. But it throws him off balance just enough that I can pull back quickly, then thrust my blade home. He falls out of the saddle, and I hear the mud splat as he hits the ground, but I have already turned and am surveying the battle.

Horatio is in a scuffle at the edge of the road. He hits one of the ambushers, knocking him to the ground and pinning him on his back. Both are using knives, and with a swift punch to the man's arm, Horatio dislodges the knife.

Just beyond Horatio, the driver is in the middle of a sword fight with another of our attackers. How did he manage to get a sword? I'm surprised at how skillfully he's wielding the weapon.

Suddenly there are horses behind me, and I spin my horse just in time to deflect the sword of a burly rider. His horse barrels past me, then the rider turns his mount and charges. Our swords clash and after many blows and parries, I knock his out of his hand. He quickly pulls a knife and sends it spinning through the air at me. I duck, and it whizzes close to my head, but misses. Just then Matt rides up behind the man and takes care of him.

I quickly look around for Russ and Joe. They're still at the front edge of the battle, near the carriage horses. Joe is bleeding in his sword arm, but fighting ferociously. Russ and he are still on horseback and holding their own.

Glancing toward the carriage, I see Grace standing not far from the door. Bloody hell! Erik just got out of the coach! What is he thinking? Horatio told him to stay inside! If he's killed everything is lost!

A group of five horsemen break out of the fray and ride toward the coach. Grace says something to Erik and positions herself at his back. I pull my horse sharply around and take off in their direction.

Matt turns Chiron to follow me, and we race to get to the coach. Grace takes aim at one of the riders coming directly at them and shoots him out of his saddle. Erik doesn't have a gun, but he steps forward with his sword, clearly intent on defending himself and the carriage against the approaching attackers. One of the riders heads straight for Erik and tries to pin him between the horse's large body and the carriage. Suddenly, I catch the glint of moonlight off of Erik's sword and hear a scream as the man clutches his side, keeling over the horse's neck and dropping his weapon to the ground. The horse is spooked and begins to rear, dislodging the man. When the body drops, the horse takes off in the other direction.

Erik moves away from the carriage and begins fighting with another mounted rider. I reach the carriage just in time to use my sword on a tall hulk of a man who has moved up behind Erik. He makes no sound except a distinct thud as he hits the side of the carriage and crumples into the mud.

Keeping Erik in sight and trying to protect him as best I can, I knock another man off his horse with a blow to his side. Grace steps in and neatly takes him out in short order with her weapon.

There are several bodies now on the ground, and it's harder for the riders to get close to Erik. From the number of attackers going after him, there's no doubt in my mind that he's their primary target. Even though they engage the rest of us in battle, they all move toward Erik whenever they can.

Abruptly, one of the men jumps off his horse, plowing through everyone in a direct attack on Erik. I yell a warning, and Erik turns, effectively dispatching the man.

Matt's still mounted. His horse and the horse of one of the attackers closely circle each other, as the two men stab fiercely with their weapons. Suddenly another horseman comes up from behind, and grabs Matt, pulling him off Chiron. Matt brings his foe down with him, and they land hard. But Matt rolls and is back on his feet immediately, gaining the advantage for the moment. A dark line of blood runs down his face. Good God! Now he's fighting a man on horseback to one side of him and a man on foot, to the other side! He can't keep that up very long.

Before I can ride over and help Matt, a gunshot rings out loudly over the clash of swords and men fighting. It comes from the carriage! I spin around, my gut wrenching at what it may mean.

A man is propelled backwards out of the open doorway of the carriage, a red bloom of blood spreading across his chest. Antoinette is sitting near the door with a smoking gun clenched in her hand. Good girl! She seems to be very capable of taking care of Laura and herself. I yell out to Antoinette to close the door and keep down.

Turning back toward Matt, I see that the man fighting him on the ground has knocked Matt's sword out of his hand. Then the attacker lunges toward him, his sword held forward to spear Matt. Matt sidesteps and manages to grab the man from behind in a strangle hold around his neck.

The man on horseback charges toward Matt, swinging his sword in an arc. Matt plants his feet firmly and centers his body's weight, while keeping a vise grip on the man he's holding. Then as the blade plunges downward, Matt turns slightly and the sword impales the man he's holding. Pulling a knife from the man's belt, Matt flings the body toward the killer and steps forward, taking on the attacker.

Since Matt seems to be taking care of his situation, I ride over and position my horse in front of Erik, creating a buffer between him and the fight that is still raging all around us. I glance around to take stock of our situation. We have taken care of most of the men who posed an immediate danger to Erik. Horatio and the driver are still fighting their individual battles, and Russ is on horseback, using his sword. Then I notice that Joe's horse is riderless. I search the entire area where he had been fighting, but he's nowhere in sight. There are a number of bodies on the ground. I hope his is not one of them.

Since I'm here protecting Erik, Grace is making her way toward Horatio. All the remaining fights are one on one. It looks like we might have won our battle. Our modern skills and training have given us an advantage over these nineteenth century men.

I look down at Erik who is standing next to my horse and catching his breath. "Erik," I snap, "you were ordered to stay in the carriage!"

He just gives me a scathing look in return.

But no sooner have I said that, then more riders stream up over the embankment, riding directly at us. Erik stiffens and utters some very descriptive French words that mirror my sentiments exactly. Both of us recognize the leader of this group.

Herr Günter!

I'm not really surprised. So he's the one behind tonight's evil schemes. I had a feeling he was up to no good. Six other men surround him, and he's heading straight toward Erik, a nasty snarl on his determined face. The other men ride in a protective vanguard in front of him.

Two of the men split off and ride toward Matt and Russ. The others come for us. I rein my horse around in front of Erik, protecting him as best I can. Herr Günter has a twisted smile on his thin lips as he and two of his men approach Erik and me head on. The other two ride around to our sides, trying to outflank us. As Erik moves to engage the man who approaches him, he slips in the mud on the road. I turn to cover Erik's back, but he recovers his balance quickly. The man moves in for what he thinks will be a quick kill. Instead, Erik uses his sword from below and hits him in the side. The man falls in the other direction onto the ground.

I finish off my opponent, then quickly turn on Herr Günter while Erik takes on another of his henchmen. I catch Günter by surprise and yank him from his saddle. He pulls his gun and aims point blank at Erik. Diving at Günter, I knock him down, pinning him to the ground. When I seize his arm, the shot fires harmlessly into the air.

I grab his collar and pull him to his feet, anticipating the feeling of his nose breaking under my fist. But along with his collar, I grab part of his hair, only to be shocked that it comes off in my hand!

What the hell?

I stare at him in surprise. He has a panicked look on his face.

I throw the wig aside. But in my astonishment, he's broken loose and turned tail, running away.

One of Günter's men circles behind Erik who is still embroiled in another fight. I intercept him and launch a punch from behind. He turns at the last minute so the strike isn't as effective as I intended. Since neither of us has a sword, we use our fists in a knock-down, drag-out fight.

As we exchange blows, I hear the sound of more riders coming our way. I groan inwardly. Just how many men did Günter think it would take to overpower us and eliminate Erik? I renew my efforts to beat the man in front of me to a bloody pulp so I can deal with the new attackers.

Then I catch a flash of garish color out of the corner of my eye. I turn to find the three strutting peacock matadors entering the fray—and they're joining our side! I take a hard clout to the side of my jaw for that small moment of distraction. Damn! Then the brute has me down on the ground, strangling me. Suddenly, he's pulled backwards off me. Erik throws his limp body aside, then leans down and helps me up.

I spot Günter and Horatio fighting on the far side of the road, at the edge of the embankment. Erik and I are too far away to help, and we have problems of our own. I make note that three matadors are helping Russ hold off the new group of riders. Taking Erik by the arm, I shove him around the coach and to the other side to get him out of harm's way. We stand with our backs to the coach and our swords at ready.

Down the road, we can still see Horatio battling with Günter. Horatio has a large dark spot on his left shoulder of his cloak. He's hurt, but still fighting. Then Günter hits him on the shoulder full force, square on the wound, and Horatio, reeling in agony, falls to the ground. He turns and grabs a large stone in his right hand, then throws it at Günter's head, striking him. When the rock hits its mark, Günter screams, and blood begins to stream down the side of his face. Intentionally, he begins kicking Horatio who is still down, and we see Horatio go limp. In horror, Erik and I watch as Günter then walks over to Horatio's hand, outstretched in the mud of the road. He brings his boot down on Horatio's right hand several times, apparently trying to crush it.

A woman's scream pierces the chill night. Grace fiercely attacks, drawing Günter away from Horatio. A heated sword fight begins between them. Grace is so enraged that she aggressively forces him backwards several steps. Then, his boot catches on a tree root, and he falls backward to the ground. Grace stands over him threateningly, her sword poised over his chest. Unbelievably, they're having a conversation, each spitting words at the other. Horatio moves, as if trying to get up, and Grace glances quickly over at him. In that split moment, Günter reaches up and knocks her sword aside. He quickly sits up and pulls a derringer from his boot. Grace sees the gun and dives to grab it. The two wrestle, both with their hands on the gun, between them. Then the shot rings out. I hold my breath.

It is Grace who rises to her feet and goes over to help Horatio get up. Horatio cradles his hand, but walks over to Günter's body and picks up his sword in his left hand.

Then as Grace and he head our way, four men come around the end of the coach, straight for Erik. I leap in front of him, and take on the first of the men. Fighting back to back, Erik and I protect each other. Then, suddenly Erik is down. I can see blood gushing from the wound. Erik's trying to get back up to help me fend off the attack, but he's too wounded to stand.

When Horatio and Grace arrive, they take on two of the attackers. Horatio is using his left hand, but still fights valiantly. Just then, a rider comes around the coach holding out a pistol. Horatio and I both see the man take aim directly at Erik. But I am too far away. Horatio is fighting closer to Erik, and a split second before the gun goes off, he throws himself in the line of fire. Horatio's body jerks from the impact of the bullet, and he falls on top of Erik.

Suddenly many more horsemen are surrounding us. Where's Matt? Then I feel the blow to the back of my head.

Oh God, how can I tell Laura that I wasn't able to protect Erik, to keep him safe? That's my last thought as I fall to the ground, and the world goes black.

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Kudos to KFC and Youalone, our wonderful editors!


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N: Profuse thanks to each of you for your wonderful comments and reviews! We writers appreciate hearing your thoughts. You truly do give valuable input! **

**And, we also hope you are having a blessed Easter!**

So, in a battle of life and death…Laura and Madame Giry are trapped inside the carriage…

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**Chapter 75 Aftermath by Phanfan and Phanna **

_January 1, 1872_

_Outside Paris_

_Laura's POV:_

It seems like eternity since Erik left, since I kissed his hand and told him I would join him on the other side. If he dies, I don't want to live. I cannot imagine my life without him.

And yet I am powerless to do anything. In another time, another place, I threw myself in front of a bullet and saved his life. I would do that again if I could. But instead I am forced to sit here and listen to the hellish sounds of men screaming as sword batters against sword all around the carriage.

The pain from my side, although tolerable now that Antoinette has bound it, limits what I can do. But more than the pain limits me. I cannot take up a sword like Grace or use the gun as Antoinette did just minutes ago against the man who climbed into our carriage, his knife held out threateningly as he came at me. In conscience I cannot harm others. All I can do is protect, and I would sacrifice my life again for Erik. But this time I am helpless. All I can do is sit here, waiting.

Then what I most feared happens. A scream of pain on the back side of the carriage pierces the air. Unmistakably, it is Erik's voice. I struggle to get up, but Antoinette reaches over and takes my arm. "No, Laura! You cannot help. Erik is in God's hands now!"

Tears flow uncontrollably down my face, and I put a hand over my mouth to hold back the sobs. I close my eyes and again see Erik's face and feel his hands gently holding my cheeks as he kisses me, his lips warm and soft, his eyes filled with love.

A gunshot suddenly explodes on the side of the carriage where Erik cried out. My body jerks in reaction. Then the ominous sounds of horse's hooves as more riders approach the carriage. I hear them ride over to the side where I know Erik is. Jeremy's voice calls out orders, then stops in mid-sentence. I moan in desperation and fold my arms around my waist, holding my ribs to ease the pain. A shudder goes through me at the sounds of men fighting and dying.

I look over at Antoinette. Our eyes communicate everything. We know it will not be long now. Soon the attackers will come for us inside the carriage. Antoinette hands me one of the carriage lanterns and tells me to use it in defense. I take it, knowing it will only hold them off a little.

Then the sounds of battle seem to stop. The silence is deafening. Voices call out in French and German. I hear no one speak in English or in a familiar voice. A horse halts in front of the carriage door, and I hear the rider dismount, his boots splashing in the mud as he approaches. Then the handle of the door turns.

I wipe the tears from my face and murmur, "I will join you soon, my love. Soon."

_Antoinette's POV _

"_I love you. I will join you on the other side."_

Even though Laura had whispered those words to Erik for his ears only, I could not help but hear them. The blood in my veins freezes because I know that she means exactly what she says. She will not remain in this world without him. I cannot hold back the tears nor bear the thought of neither of them surviving this horrific battle.

I bend my head and begin praying. Praying for Erik, praying for Laura, praying for all of us to come through this night unharmed. I hold back a large sob as the carriage door shuts behind Erik. My prayers especially go with him, and I ask angels to encircle him with special blessings to protect him.

I glance at Laura. She has fallen back on the cushions of the bench, saying nothing, strangely quiet. That bothers me more than her tears which are flowing down her face. I must get myself under control. She needs me now. I wipe my own tears away. They will not help our situation, but a calm mind and a plan will. We need to distract ourselves from what is occurring outside to keep from going mad with worry.

I lean over and touch Laura on the arm, distracting her attention away from the door that Erik just closed.

"Laura, I need you to help me remove the wooden pantier from beneath my gown. It will only hinder me if we need to move quickly." I lift my skirts and hold them so that she can untie the strings in the back. She slowly raises herself from the cushions and sits up. I hear a small gasp of pain. Then I feel her fingers untying the strings. When she is finished, I stand and let the heavy, cumbersome wooden form that holds my gown away from my body drop to the floor with a large clunk.

I study it for a moment, considering. But I decide it is too big and bulky to be of any use as a weapon. A thought occurs to me. I turn and remove the cushion that I am sitting on. The wooden seat lifts up to reveal an empty compartment beneath. I grab the wooden pannier and shove it into the space. My large wig follows. At least those bulky items are out of our way, giving us more room inside the coach to maneuver.

Turning to Laura, I see the pain in her eyes from the stress put on her ribs from sitting up. I remember what Matt did to relieve her pain, so I tear a pale lavender ruffle off the bottom of my skirt and flatten the fabric. She looks at me questioningly.

"If you will allow me, I am going to wrap this around your midsection very firmly. That was what Matt did when you first injured your ribs. Maybe that will help." She leans forward slowly and does not say anything as I wrap the fabric around her several times, making sure it fits snugly, then I tie it off.

When I am done, she does not lie back down and says with less pain in her voice, "Thank you, Antoinette. That does help. And, it's easier to sit up now."

"Good! If we need to defend ourselves, at least you will be able to move." I pat Laura's hand trying to reassure her, but the look in her eyes tells me that I have failed miserably. Nothing but Erik's safety will comfort her.

Laura looks down at the small derringer resting beside her on the bench seat. "Oh, Antoinette. I couldn't use the gun, even if it were in self-defense."

I knew when she told Erik she would not be able to use the weapon, I would have to decide whether _I could_. I look down at the small gun and hope that it will not be necessary to use it at all.

Then I make my decision, "Please hand it to me. I am sure that if a situation arises where it is necessary, I can manage." Jules had once told me that a weapon was to be respected and handled with care. One day, when we were picnicking in the country, he instructed me in the use of a gun. He told me there were circumstances when a weapon was necessary to protect oneself or the innocent. I have no doubt he is looking over me right now and telling me that this is one of those occasions.

I shudder at the touch of the cold derringer when she hands it to me, but I hold it in my hand, resting on my lap, ready to use it if I must. The heart wrenching sounds of men fighting are all around us. When I glance at Laura, her face has turned ghostly white. The worse part now is the waiting and wondering what is happening outside. Our imaginations are probably our worst enemies.

I know Laura is thinking of Erik, and I, too, fear for his life. And the lives of the others. Erik is a beloved brother to me. I could not bear to go through the pain of his loss once more. The Virgin Mother herself had intervened and performed a miracle in returning him to me. Silently, I renew my pleas in prayer, asking Her to watch over Erik and the others during this terrible battle.

The people who have come from the future to help him have all become my friends. And, Laura, dear Laura. My eyes sweep over her, and I want to tell her how much she has come to mean to me. She has become a good friend, and I had hoped that one day we would become sisters in our hearts.

I think of Horatio and Grace, so in love with each other. Horatio with his blustering ways at times, but so kind and honorable underneath all the gruff. And Grace, so out of place in her feminine role here in this century. They try to keep it secret that they spend the nights together. But everyone in the château knows. There is a new glow on Grace's face lately. I send a special prayer to the Blessed Virgin to protect Grace, and the secret she may carry within her womb.

Erik is fortunate to have Jeremy by his side. I know that a deep friendship has developed between them. It is most gratifying to see the two men together. There are times that I catch them laugh and tease each other as friends do. Erik has never before had a friend in another man. He has always been so alone, never trusting anyone. But Jeremy has broken through Erik's armor.

I worry about Matt. I can see the love he holds secretly for Laura, and my heart bleeds for him. He is such a good, kind man, and I have always hoped that one day he would meet a woman who will love him.

Suddenly, the frightened neighing of a horse is so close we can hear the horse breathing heavily in and out. A man grunts in pain, and we exchange looks of dismay. Laura's face pales even more. I shake my head, warning her to remain silent.

My thoughts turn away for a moment from the horror my imagination conjures up and my concerns for Russ come to mind. He has become a dear friend to me. Our talks together are reminiscent of the talks that Erik and I used to have at the opera house. When Russ is passionate about a subject his eyes become a deep blue, so very similar to Erik's green eyes. And Russ has a particular stubborn lock of hair that always falls across his forehead. I remember brushing a comparable one away from Erik's face on more than one occasion when he was twelve or thirteen. So many little mannerisms that Russ has reminds me of Erik.

Then there is Joseph. Hot tears sting the back of my eyes. Even though he confounds me, he has managed to bring out emotions that I have not felt for years. He is so vibrant and alive. And full of mischief! Indeed, he takes great pleasure in baiting me and then bids me to join in his lighthearted cavorting. Mon Dieu! But it is his eyes when he talks or watches me that make me feel warm inside.

Without warning, the carriage door is jerked open, pulling me back to our terrifying reality. Before Laura and I have time to react, a filthy, bearded man reaches in and tries to grab Laura. My hand is trembling, but I raise the small gun and aim for the center of his chest, squeezing the trigger. The noise inside the carriage is deafening. I remain frozen until I hear Jeremy's voice yell out for me to close the carriage door. Quickly gathering my wits about me, I lift my skirts so I can reach the door and pull it shut once again.

Laura and I sit in stunned silence. We stare at each other, both of us feeling sick at what I have done. Then my stomach rebels. I grab for the blanket on the seat as I empty the contents of my stomach into it. Laura holds me until I am able to sit up on my own once more. Then she tears a piece of lace off her wet skirt and gently pats my face and the back of my neck with it. Dragging out a small leather flask, she bids me take a sip. The drink burns my throat and creates a trail of fire all the way to my stomach. But it seems to help, calming my quaking insides.

Thankfully, no one else attempts to open the carriage door. It feels like endless time has passed as we sit inside our agonizing sanctuary, listening to the sounds of horses nickering, swords clanging and men falling. Then we hear noises on the other side of the carriage. We remain as still as we can, not knowing what is about to happen. Suddenly the sound of a man's wounded yell shatters the air. Laura and I look at each other. We know that was Erik's voice. She leans forward to open the door. I grab her hand, shaking my head no. A few seconds later, a shot is fired right next to us, and I scream.

Soon there is more confusion as horse's hooves are heard on that side of the carriage, making my heart stop. We are defenseless against so many. I look around frantically, trying to find something in the carriage that we can use for a weapon. The small derringer is now useless. I grab the two lanterns that hang high on the inside wall and hand one to Laura, whispering, "Aim for their face if someone opens the door. Only one man can enter at a time. I will throw my lantern first."

She nods in understanding. We wait, terrified, as we listen to men scuffling all around the carriage. Voices call out in French and German, but we hear none speaking English. What has happened to our dear friends? Then, in horror, we realize that someone is trying to open the carriage door. I begin to tremble again as my stomach lurches.

When the carriage door is suddenly flung open, I throw my lantern with all my might, hoping to disable at least one of the enemy before they attack us. The man adeptly raises his arm, and the lantern falls harmlessly to the ground.

We both stare in shock. It is Colonel Kraus! Laura lifts her lantern, preparing to throw it when we hear him address us, "Please Madame, Mademoiselle. We are not here to harm you. We have come to help."

_To help?_ Is this a trick? We exchange suspicious gazes and remain on guard. Laura still holds her lantern up in the air. Then Russ appears beside him, "It's alright. Laura, Antoinette. Colonel Kraus and his men are here to help us. Please follow his instructions until I can come back for you."

"Russ! Where's Erik? Have you seen him? Do you know how he is?" Laura is trying to stand and move to the door.

Russ looks away, "I'm sorry, Laura, I haven't seen him. Jeremy, Matt, Horatio and Joe are missing too. I am looking for all of them right now." Then Russ turns and runs off to the right, toward the front of the carriage.

My heart sinks with what Russ has just told us. "Colonel Kraus has the fighting stopped?"

"Ja, Madame. It is over."

Laura motions Colonel Kraus to get out of her way. "Move aside. I'm getting out."

"Perhaps it is best that you do not leave the carriage. A battle field is not the place for ladies. I advise you to remain inside." Colonel Kraus' German accent sends shudders down my spine. It was only last year that we were at the mercy of his countrymen. They laid siege to Paris for four months and everyone in the city was close to starvation. It is hard to believe that he is here assisting us.

Laura ignores his words and speaks with her most authoritative tone, "Thank you, Colonel, but I am getting out. I must find Monsieur Mercier."

I add my opinion, "Indeed Colonel, we must see about our friends!" Obviously the man has never met two determined women. The Colonel is forced to offer his hand and help us out of the carriage. I try not to show the revulsion I feel when I accept his hand.

I look over at Laura whose eyes scan the horrendous scene around us. I fight to keep control of my stomach. Bloody, torn bodies lie all over the road and into the forest. Horses lie still in the mud, or paw forlornly at a body on the ground. My heart plunges with fear for our friends, and especially for Erik and Laura. Surely after all they have been through, these past few days could not be the only time they are granted to be together.

Laura turns to the left to go around the back of the carriage, to the other side where we heard Erik cry out. A horseman pulls up in front of her, blocking her path. It is one of the Frenchmen, the one dressed in yellow who had challenged Erik at the bal masque. "Non, Mademoiselle. It is best you remain where you are."

"Please, Monsieur, move aside! I must find Monsieur Mercier."

"Mademoiselle, I think it is best that you do not. I have seen him. His brave friend took a bullet intended for your Monsieur. His friend's body lies on top of him. I think that neither of them still lives. It is best that you not go there now. We will attend to their…to them."

"No!" Laura cries out in shock, "I must go to him!" She turns to me and says, "Please Antoinette, let me have a few moments alone with Erik. Please go and find the others. Find Matt and Horatio and Grace and Joe!" Then she turns to the man on horseback and orders, "Move aside!"

He shakes his head dubiously, but reins his horse out of her way, letting her pass. I watch as she goes around the back of the carriage, one arm holding her ribs, but her head held high in determination. Mon Dieu! Tears flow down my face as I turn the other way and begin my search.

I have not gone far when I spot Russ bent over a body on the road. I rush over. It is the hired driver. He is groggy, but sitting up and has a long cut down the length of his arm.

I kneel down on the other side of the driver and look over at Russ, "I'll take care of him. Please keep searching for the others!"

Russ agrees and heads off toward the woods. I begin to tear my petticoat into strips, binding his arm in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. After I have finished, he assures me he is fine. I suggest he sit there and gather more of his strength before moving.

Hearing the sound of footsteps behind us, I spin around. Another one of the matadors that we met at the Bal is walking toward us.

"Madame, let me be of assistance." Pointing at the driver who is still sitting on the ground, he adds, "I will take care of this gentleman if you will allow me." I just stare at the brightly colored matador in astonishment as he helps the driver to his feet and then leads him toward the carriage. How is it that the Frenchmen dressed as matadors are all here, helping us? Or for that matter, Colonel Kraus? I shake my head and push my questions aside. There will be time later to sort all of this.

I continue scanning the bodies lying all over the muddy ground, looking for my friends, especially a blue-eyed man dressed as an executioner.

Suddenly, nearby, I hear a groan. I cringe, wondering if it is still an enemy who will attempt to use his weapon on me. I look around and spot a sword on the ground. When I start to bend to pick it up, I hear my name, "Antoinette, over here."

I look around and see an arm moving slowly, barely above the ground. "Matt? Is that you?"

"Yes, can you help get this body off me?"

He is pinned under a large bear of a man. I grab part of a shirt and begin to tug, trying to move the body. Matt shoves as I pull, and then he is free of the cumbersome weight. Matt just lies there for a few moments, gulping deep breaths of air. I stoop down, trying to see where he is hurt. There are streaks of blood on his face, and the front of his shirt is covered in red.

"Oh Matt! You are badly wounded, non?" I exclaim in concern.

"No, Antoinette, I'm alright. Most of this blood isn't mine. I just need a moment to clear my head. Someone hit me from behind, and I just came to when I spotted you."

"Oh thank goodness!" After a few moments he sits up and surveys the area, asking about everyone. "I have seen only Russ and you. And the driver is wounded, but he will be alright."

"What of Laura?" He sits up, groaning. Then as he rubs the back of his neck, he asks, "How is she? And Erik? Do you know what happened to Erik?"

"He fought on the other side of the carriage," my voice trembles with emotion, and I struggle to get the words out, "When we got out of the coach, they tried to stop Laura from going to him. They told us…" I cannot speak the rest of the words, so I just shake my head. I can feel my tears start again and wipe them away.

Matt struggles to get to his feet, so I quickly reach out and help him up. He glances around at the devastation that lies everywhere. "I need my medical kit." Then he whistles for Chiron. Immediately the horse turns and trots over. Matt takes his medical bag and heads back toward the carriage, his legs working heavily from his grogginess and pain. Calling back over his shoulder, "Antoinette, keep looking for the others."

I turn and walk in the other direction, searching the ground. My heart aches for everyone. As I pass the steep embankment I can see the tracks where the Mercier carriage slid off the road. Suddenly, I hear a low moan. When I look over the edge, my heart stops. It is Joseph. He is lying on his side, covered in mud. The only thing recognizable is a patch of light colored hair. I call out to Matt, then turn to help Joseph.

The embankment is steep so I am cautious when I step over the edge, moving sideways so that I can keep Joseph in sight as I descend the few feet to him. I am almost next to him when I lose my footing and begin to fall. I land on the rocky soil, and a large stone painfully bites into my leg. Unfortunately, I also land partially on Joseph, causing him to grunt out a string of curses.

The momentum of my fall causes our two bodies to slide down the steep hill a few more feet. Then strong arms encircle me, keeping both of us together until we come to a halt. I am trying to catch my breath when Joseph opens his eyes. Even though I can see the pain there, he tries to give me one of his rakish smiles, "Damn Antoinette! Are you trying to rescue me or finish me off?"

"Oh Joseph, I am so sorry. Where are you hurt?"

He does not loosen his hold around me, but takes his time answering. His voice is raspy when he finally speaks, "One of the bast…uh…men skewered me with his sword through my leg." Then his eyes close tightly, as his head falls back onto the muddy, slippery hillside.

"Joseph!" I cannot hold back my tears. He is injured and now I have made matters worse by landing on him! Why isn't Matt here yet? "Joseph, please wake up."

But he does not. I shake him trying to revive him. His arms are still clasped around me when I hear Matt clear his throat. I glance up and see Matt looking down on us. "Well, it looks like you've found Joe, Antoinette." I can feel my cheeks flush at being caught in such a compromising position.

I ignore my deep embarrassment, "Matt! Joseph has a wound to his leg. I do not believe he will be able to get up this embankment without help."

"Ok." Matt looks down at me, and I can see a slight quirk of smile in the moonlight. "Could you wait with him until I get back?"

If it is possible, I blush even deeper. But with his eyes still closed, Joseph answers for me. "Yes, Matt. She will wait here and …take care of me. But make it snappy. My leg hurts like the devil."

Matt leaves, and I carefully sit up, "Joseph! I am going to wrap your leg to stop the bleeding. I am sorry, it may hurt." Trying to keep my balance on the steep hill, I tear more strips from my skirt and talk with him, answering his questions as best I can about how everyone fared. When Matt comes back, he has two of the matadors with him. They deftly get Joseph back up the embankment and onto the road.

Matt examines Joe's wounds. "Your arm just has a superficial cut. The sword went straight through your leg on the outside of your upper thigh. Luckily, it's a clean wound and didn't hit an artery. You'll be out of commission for a while, but you'll live." He grins down at Joseph.

We hear a man yelling and look up to see a rider coming toward us in a gallop. He pulls his horse to a stop and looks down at Matt. "Are you the doctor?"

Matt nods.

"I have been looking for you. The Mademoiselle says for you to come to her. She says to hurry."

Instantly, Matt grabs his medical bag and leaps to his feet, running toward the carriage. I let out a small shriek, part horror, part hope. Leaving Joseph in the care of the two matadors, I hurry on Matt's heels.

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Thank you to our editor, Youalone!


	76. Chapter 76

**A/N: Thank you for all your comments and heartfelt thoughts! Profuse thanks for each of you who takes your time to tell us what you think and feel! Those are truly valued and stoke our muses! **

Well…This has been a long night, and so many ghosts of the past have revisited….

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**Chapter 76 Journey Home, by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Jeremy's POV:_

Icy cold fingers probe my neck_. "Pulse…strong…ok…" _Matt's voice is nearby but I can't pull myself up from the blackness. Then I drift back into unconsciousness again.

Matt's voice intrudes again through the encompassing fog, as if coming through a tunnel, _"Horatio…gently…dead."_ With agonizing effort I bring my hand to my head and rub the lump on the back where unrelenting pain radiates in stabbing pulses. I can't quite force my eyes open yet, so I massage my eyelids, trying to coax them open. My mind searches, trying to make sense out of what has happened to me. Then everything floods back. A battle. Günter. Erik wounded. Horatio diving in front of a bullet. A crunching blow to my head. Not able to hold on, I sink back into the darkness.

When I come to again, I don't know how much time has passed. A minute? Ten? Eternity? All I know is that I feel my body lying on its side, almost as if I'm not quite connected to it and assessing it from outside. This time I'm able to open my eyes. I'm facing the carriage. It's begun to rain again, and the icy drops hitting my face help me stay conscious. The ground is cold, and the puddling water soaks through my clothes, causing a chill to run through me. A couple of men are squatting over someone on the ground about six feet away from me. I can make out that Matt is one of them.

I hear soft sobs and glance around to my left. Laura is cradling Erik in her arms, holding him so closely that I can't tell where one of them begins and the other ends. His face is deathly pale. _Oh my God._ _Erik is dead. _I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat.

I need to comfort Laura. But, when I try to move, the right side of my head screams in pain. A wave of nausea hits me, and I inhale deeply, trying not to give in to it. Slowly, I'm able to raise myself to a sitting position.

"Monsieur, may I help you?" I look at the shoes on the ground in front of me, attached to of a pair of yellow, tight fitting pants. It's one of the matadors who helped us fight off the attackers.

I shake my head in response, but I'm instantly sorry I did. Pain shoots unmercifully through my head. Hoping that speaking is much easier, I manage to croak out a 'no.' He nods and hurries away toward the spot where Matt is still bent over someone.

I'm only about ten feet from where Laura is holding Erik. I gather my strength and finally manage to get on my feet. Stumbling the short distance, I collapse next to her. I can barely get the words I want to say out of my constricted throat. "Laura…" My chest tightens in pain, but it isn't from an injury. It's from the loss of a friend. I hang my head, trying to tell her what I'm feeling, "I'm sorry…so sorry…that I couldn't protect Erik."

When I look up, her brown eyes are bereft, streaming with tears, "He's hurt so badly, Jeremy. He can't die. I cannot live without him." Her eyes plead with me to help. It takes me a split second to register what she's just said.

"He's still alive?" Good God, why isn't Matt over here? I yell out desperately. "Matt!"

He looks up, but shakes his head. What does that mean? That Erik won't make it?

I scramble to my feet, wobbling a bit, but I steady myself and rush over to Matt. "Erik needs help Matt! Hurry!"

He says under his breath, "I've done all I can for Erik out here." I look down and see that he's working on Horatio who's covered with blood. He has a large open wound on his shoulder. But it's his right hand that catches my eye. It's grotesquely swollen, and twisted like a tree branch. I'm still trying to get the picture of Günter doing this to Horatio out of my mind when Matt gently turns Horatio over and examines the gunshot wound, which is bleeding badly.

Matt glances up at me as he begins to apply pressure to the flowing blood. "This is bad, Jeremy. I need to get Horatio and Erik in the carriage and back to the chateau, ASAP. I'll be able to help them more once we get there." He looks pointedly at me, and I realize what he's saying. He has medications in his med bag he can use when he gets Horatio and Erik in the carriage, and out of sight of the men from this century. More importantly, when we get to the château, he can do a transfusion and use the modern medical supplies stored in the underground rooms.

I go back to Laura and bend over her. Looking closely at Erik, I can see the faint rise and fall of his chest. His leg is bandaged, but it's almost completely soaked in blood. "Come on Laura. We need to get him in the carriage. We'll get him back to the château where Matt can take care of him properly."

Realizing I'm still unsteady on my feet, I look around for help. I motion to the matador who just offered his help and several other men who are coming around the carriage. As the men approach, I recognize them as Prussian officers.

"Weren't you at the bal masque with Colonel Krauss?" I ask in disbelief.

One of the men answers in a thick German accent, "Yes, we are. I am Captain von Brunnel, at your service." He comes to attention and gives a sharp, formal bow of his head.

"They came to our assistance, Jeremy," Matt stands up, and rubs the sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve. Coming to a stop next to the Captain, Matt nods his head in grim salute and adds, "We're deeply indebted for your assistance against the attackers, but now we need help with the wounded. I'm a doctor, and these two men are gravely injured. We need to take them to Château Mercier post haste. Could you help us carry them into the carriage?"

"Certainly!" The Captain issues orders immediately in German to the other men. The matador, the Captain and I carefully lift Erik, while two of the other officers assist Matt with Horatio. Laura walks next to Erik, keeping a hand on his shoulder as if willing him to live. I look into her face and see that the tears have stopped. Despite the fear in her eyes, there is a determined set in his jaw and mouth that says she will see this through.

Laura climbs into the carriage and sits down, then we gently lift Erik onto the same bench, placing his head in her lap. Horatio is carefully placed on the other bench. I wince when I place Horatio's mangled hand on his chest. Looking back out the open door to the battle field, I try to spot Grace, but don't see her anywhere. I wish she were here with Horatio. Thankfully both men are unconscious so they're not experiencing the pain from their wounds.

Matt, who's kneeling on the floor between the two benches, opens his medical bag and rummages through it, pulling out a container. He swiftly cuts the bandage off Erik's leg, exposing the bleeding wound. He opens the container and sprinkles a powder over the open gash, explaining to Laura that it will help clot the blood.

As Matt is binding the wound, I place my hand on Laura's, "He'll pull through this, Laura! Erik is too tough to let this get him. And, there's no way he'd ever leave you."

My words bring tears back to her eyes, "Thanks, Jeremy," she says in a whisper, as her throat chokes around the words.

"We'll be home soon, and Matt will be able to fix Erik up! Don't worry," I squeeze her hand in reassurance, then climb out of the carriage and shut the door.

"Jeremy!" I hear Russ' voice and turn to see him running toward me.

"Russ! You're Ok?"

"Yeah!" with an exhausted sigh, "Just a few bangs and bruises, but mostly alright!"

"What the hell happened? How did the Prussians get involved?

"It's the damnedest thing. They rode up just when it looked like everything was lost. There was no one left fighting on our side except the matadors and me. Everyone else was down. But the Prussians finished off the rest of the attackers." Russ runs his hand through his black hair, "If it weren't for Kraus and his men, I think we'd all have been finished."

I stare at him for a few seconds as this sinks in. "Wonders never cease, I guess. But, we still have to _wonder_ what their agenda is." Then rubbing my forehead, trying to ease the throbbing, I look around at all the men and milling horses, "Speaking of the devil, where's Colonel Kraus?"

"As soon as the battle was over, he rode back to the Count's mansion. He's going to procure a carriage for the wounded."

"Good! That'll be needed. Have you seen Joe?"

"Yes, a couple men are carrying him back to the carriage. He's got a bad wound in his leg and can't walk."

"And Grace and Antoinette? Have you seen them?"

"I haven't seen Grace at all. Joe told me Antoinette was helping him for awhile, then she followed Matt when he took off to help Laura. Isn't she here with you?

"No, she isn't. I haven't seen her!"

"Hell! She's missing, too?"

"Russ, find Antoinette and Grace. Bring them and Joe! I put you in charge! Offer medical care to all the men who helped us, as well as lodging at the château. Their riding along provides extra guards on your journey home. Erik and Horatio are in bad shape and we have to get them back to the château right now!"

The matador in yellow, who has been bending over the wounded driver, comes up to me just as I'm climbing up into the driver's seat. "Monsieur, I am concerned about the driver's wounds. He also needs immediate attention. Could he ride in the carriage and receive care from your doctor?"

I look over at the driver who's lying on the ground. It appears that he has lost consciousness. "Yes, put him in the carriage. Our doctor will tend him."

"And, Monsieur, you are not in good condition yourself. Please permit me to drive the carriage. And, my two friends will also accompany us. You need to have protection in case there are still stragglers who seek to attack you."

Considering my splitting head and dizziness, his proposal makes sense, "I accept. Thank you!"

I finish the laborious process of climbing up into the driver's seat and settle in as the driver is placed inside the coach. It'll be a bit crowded, but Matt has been in choppers under enemy attack, cramming men into cramped quarters, flying them out of harm's way. He can manage this. As the yellow-clad matador climbs up to the driver's seat beside me, my thoughts return to Laura. God, please don't let Erik die on the trip back.

The carriage begins to roll forward, picking up speed as the matador encourages the horses. His two friends ride on each side of the carriage. Although still questioning their motives, I'm appreciative they're riding along with us.

Moonlight streaks through the scattered clouds and lights the road. Although the rain has stopped again, I'm soaked to the bone and pulling my cloak around me gives little comfort. The jerking of the carriage as it hits the ruts in the road does nothing for my headache either. But I remain on full alert, scanning the forest and surrounding fields, searching for any of the attackers who may still be lurking.

Thankfully, the trip is uneventful. When we arrive at the outskirts of the château, and turn up the long driveway, I look up at the tower where I know Marek will be on guard. I signal with a thumbs-up, trying to let him know the accompanying men are on our side. By the time we reach the main entrance, Marek is coming out with five of the sturdiest men who work at the chateau, and I notice they all have guns at ready. Perhaps he didn't see my signal. More likely, he's just wary and being extra careful. Living as he does most of the time in the 14th century can do that to a person. After all, the three Frenchman may have come to our rescue, but what are their real intentions? Who are they really? Marek's caution is justified.

I call out as we pull to a stop, "Marek, we were attacked. Erik and Horatio are in bad shape. These men helped us!"

Marek nods his head incredulously at the matador brightly adorned in yellow who's climbing down from the driver's seat, "We thank you for your help, Monsieur!" Then one eyebrow raises higher as the two other matadors on horseback ride up to the porch. He glances at me and his brows plunge down in question, but all I can do is shrug.

Matt jumps out of the coach and begins shouting out orders. Everyone moves with lightning speed, carefully carrying Erik and Horatio up to their rooms. Marek gives orders for a couple of the servants to carry the driver to one of the empty bedrooms on the third floor.

Laura and Matt accompany the servants who carry Erik, while Marek oversees the men who take Horatio to his room. I note with interest that the three Frenchmen accompany the driver up to his room. Their attention to him is unusual. It's as if they know him. As if he is a friend of theirs. Why would a carriage driver be the friend of three dandies? But, then, these dandies are very skillful with swords. Curiously, just like the driver turned out to be. Yes, they'll all bear watching.

Before I go upstairs, I give instructions to the servants to stoke up the fireplaces and begin preparing food. I also tell them that they are not to come into the bedrooms unless given orders otherwise by Marek or me. With Horatio out of commission, I am senior officer of the Team, but Marek outranks me. We'll have to sort that out later.

By the time I get to Erik's room, the servants have already left. Laura is removing his mask and beginning to wash his face. Matt and I waste no time going to the hidden panel in the corner of Erik's room and hurry down the stairwell to get to his medical supplies. Gathering them quickly, we rush back upstairs. Matt sets up two IV's: one gives him a blood transfusion, and the second is a clear solution to which Matt adds antibiotics.

Matt glances over at Laura, and with a calm voice that tries to reassure her, explains, "I'm using a blood substitute that I store here for emergencies. It doesn't have to be refrigerated. But, he's going to need plasma, too. I'll have Marek contact STARLab and have it sent right away. In the meantime, this will help replace some of the volume of blood Erik has lost."

Then, walking over to her, Matt places a hand gently on her shoulder. "I need to go to Horatio now and administer the same IVs to stabilize him. I'll be back as soon as I can. Jeremy and you need to bathe Erik as best you can in the meantime to prepare him. I'll be stitching up his leg when I get back."

"I understand," Laura puts her hand over Matt's and squeezes it, communicating silently that she will be alright.

When Matt leaves, I stoke up the fire in the fireplace. Then I help Laura sponge bathe Erik, cleaning off the mud of battle. As we find each bruise and bloodied cut, Laura lets out a small gasp. I look up and see she is biting her lip, controlling her feelings. When we have finished, we cover him with a clean sheet and blanket.

Exhausted, I settle into a chair next to the bed, but Laura remains standing, holding Erik's hand and looking at his face, brushing his forehead with her fingertips. She gazes lovingly at his uncovered, scarred face. I wonder if Erik realizes that his disfigurement makes no difference to Laura at all. That he never needs to worry about what any of us think about what's under his mask.

Matt returns with an extremely worried look.

For the first time Laura looks away from Erik and asks with deep concern. "How's Horatio?" Matt shakes his head, but says nothing and gets to work on the long gash on Erik's thigh. He cleans it, and then, with me assisting as best I can, he begins to sew it up in layers.

Russ arrives just as Matt is finishing. He steps inside the door and stops respectfully, not wanting to intrude, but needing to give his report. While Matt and Laura are wrapping the wound, I walk over and nod for him to tell me what happened with the others. He confirms that Joe is upstairs in his room and doing alright, but that Matt needs to come and take care of him as soon as possible. He tells me that he has informed Marcel, Louis' son, that Louis is still at the Delanney mansion because of his injuries, but that they weren't serious, and he would be fine.

"And, what of Antoinette and Grace? You found them?"

"Yes. Antoinette heard Grace calling out. Apparently Grace had been in a sword fight at the edge of the embankment, and the rim gave way underneath her. Probably because of the rain saturating the ground. It was like a mudslide on that side. Antoinette's pretty plucky. She climbed down to see how Grace was. That side of the road borders on a ravine, and Grace had fallen quite a ways. Since she sprained her ankle badly, she couldn't climb back up herself. It took a bit of determined climbing just for Antoinette to make it back up to the road, and by that time, your carriage was pulling away. It was no easy task carrying Grace up that muddy slope. We could barely get any traction, and the ground just kept crumbling away under us."

"How is she?"

"Well, apart from the sprained ankle, she's got her share of cuts and bruises like the rest of us, but is alright otherwise. She's with Horatio, of course."

"And Antoinette?"

"She's fine. I put her in charge downstairs. She's in her usual, efficient mode. She roused the rest of the staff and has them stoking up the fires, putting on kettles of water to boil and preparing breakfast."

"How are the others?"

"Two of the matadors and several of Kraus' men were also injured, but their wounds aren't serious. Antoinette is tending to them until Matt can see them later."

"Thanks, Russ. Good work. Go and take care of Joe until Matt can get to him. We'll be up soon." I slap Russ on the back, but as he turns to go, he asks stonily, "How's Horatio. Is he going to make it?"

"I don't know." I clench my jaw at the thought of Horatio dying, and what that will mean to Grace.

When Russ leaves, I go back to the huge, four poster. The fire I stoked is warming the room up rapidly. I stop at the foot of the bed and gaze down at the still form on the bed. It doesn't look like Erik. His complexion is pale, and he's so lifeless. Laura is stoically helping Matt with the dressings on the other wounds.

"How's he doing, Matt?"

"He's stable. Right now that's the best we can hope for."

I rub the bridge of my nose between my eyes, partly to relieve my agonizing head ache and partly in frustration, not being able to do anything more for Erik. I look over at Laura. There are traces of tears on her cheeks, but she is totally focused now on taking care of Erik, so her emotions are held in check. "Are you alright, Laura?"

Her voice quivers as she replies, "Yes."

"I've left orders that the servants remain below and not come up here. If you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you."

"I'm going to check on Horatio, then I'll bring you some hot tea and food."

She gives me a half smile, then turns back to Erik.

Matt and I leave quietly and go over to Horatio's room. When we step in the door, Marek moves away from the bed to give Matt access to Horatio. Grace is sitting on the other side of the bed, looking like death warmed over. Someone fashioned a makeshift splint that's wrapped around her leg until Matt can check her out.

Horatio's eyes open, but I can tell from the firm set of his mouth, he's in pain. Matt begins cleaning and working on the wounds from the bullet that Horatio stopped for Erik. He bandages the front of Horatio's shoulder, then winds a larger bandage around his shoulder and across his back.

I inwardly wince when I see Horatio's right hand, the one Günter violently crushed with his boot. That's already turning black and blue and is resting on a chemical ice pack. But, what's worse is that I can see mangled bones, some of which have broken the skin on the back of his hand.

Taking a deep breath, I ask, "How are you doing, Horatio?"

"Like hell!" He grunts like I'm insane for even asking.

Horatio studies me for a moment. I can see his eyes drooping and wonder if that's from the pain meds beginning to work or something else. Is his condition getting worse?

"How's Erik?" Horatio asks between teeth clamped tightly in pain.

"He's got a serious leg wound, and he's lost a lot of blood. But he's getting artificial blood and antibiotics," Matt replies, then turns turning to Marek adds, "Could you contact STARLab? Ask them to send plasma for Erik right away."

"Of course. I'll do tha' right now," Marek replies and brushes past me, moving toward the door.

Grace's strangely tensed voice halts him in his tracks, "No, Marek, stay. If you're going to contact STARLab, you probably need to tell them some other things, too."

We all turn to Grace and look at her, surprised at her unexpected statement. She sighs wearily, but does not take her eyes away from Horatio, "The PTB has access to our time travel technology."

"What?" Marek spits out.

For the first time, she looks up and cocks her head in confirmation, "You see, the man who…did this to Horatio, who was trying to kill him…that man was Rick Charmant."

I blurt out, "Who? Are you referring to that guy who was wearing a wig? Herr Günter?"

"Yes, the man who was masquerading as 'Herr Günter."

Suddenly I remember Rick Charmant, "Isn't he the one who…"

"Yes, he's the bastard who killed…" Graces voice breaks, "…Jenn, my sister. He was working for the PTB and was also responsible for the failed attempt to kill Erik." Her voice lowers, "That attempt ended Laura's life in the future. Although he was never caught, I figured we'd left him behind when we came back to the past."

Marek returns to Horatio's bed and leans against one of the tall bed posts, processing Grace's information, "Tha' could explain what happened t' me tonight. Something interfered with the signal, and I ended up here. I wonder if they were somehow connecting to our transmissions. You're right, STARLab needs to know right away." He again heads for the door.

"Marek! Wait!" The edge in Matt's voice stops Marek in his tracks. "There's something else you may need to discuss with STARLab."

Turning around and blinking, Marek says with exasperation, "Now what?"

Looking down at Horatio, Matt says sadly, "You need to make a decision. The knife wound to your shoulder in the front is already cleaned and stitched. It's the least of your injuries. The bullet you took for Erik is still in there. It entered through your upper back and is lodged in your scapula. The bullet has to be removed, but it needs to be x-rayed, and I don't have the facilities to operate here, either." He pauses and lets this sink in before he continues on.

"But your hand is what really worries me, Horatio. I can't fix it. The hand is so damaged that you're going to need orthopedic surgeons to work on it."

Horatio looks over at Grace. I can see her shoulders shaking slightly with sobs that she's trying to hold back.

Matt continues, in a lower, softer tone, "We take our hands for granted, but they're a complex piece of our bodies. They contain tissue, tendons, nerves and twenty seven bones. Horatio," Matt pauses until Horatio looks up at him, "_amputation_ is the only thing I can do for you here. You're going to lose your hand if you don't have a hand surgeon work on it immediately."

A sob finally escapes Grace. All of us realize what Matt is saying. Horatio needs to be transported back to the future to have the bullet removed and to save his hand.

Everyone is silent while Grace pleads with him, "You need to listen to Matt. Please, Horatio, let them send you back."

Horatio cups Grace's face with his good hand and looks deep into her eyes. Then he glances up at Matt. "The only way that I'll go is if Grace goes with me." Horatio's mouth tightens now in determination, "I won't leave her here." He signs heavily, "You all might as well know. We're married."

Marek, Matt and I exchange glances. This is getting more complicated by the minute.

Marek speaks up first, "Ok. It might take a bit o' push and shove, but we'll arrange for both o' you to go."

Horatio's lips have a decided pinched look. "If you have to, send word to my uncle, Admiral Benjamin Brooks. He'll be the one who can help pull strings."

"Will do, then," Marek agrees.

"And, Jeremy…" Horatio exhales in pain as he talks.

"Yes?"

"You're in charge now. Take care of things around here."

I look into Horatio's pained eyes, but suddenly my throat tightens, and I can't find the words. I just nod.

Marek leaves and I continue assisting Matt do what he can for Horatio. When Matt goes up to tend the driver and Joe, I hurry down to the main floor to get some food for Laura.

Out the tall windows of the dining room, I can see the light of day just beginning to break above the dark shadow of the surrounding forest. I find that Antoinette has everything well in hand. She's ordering everyone around like she's back at the Opera Populaire in charge of the ballet rats. All the men who helped us in the fight have had their wounds tended and are seated around the dining room table, drinking and eating. There is even some joking and laughter. The smell of fresh-baked bread makes it seem almost like a normal breakfast. Almost. Antoinette prepares a tray with hot tea and croissants, and I quickly take it upstairs.

When I enter the bedroom, I walk over to the dresser to put down the tray. There I find Laura's stained, torn clothes dropped in a pile on the floor. Looking around the room for her, I discover she's in Erik's large bed, sleeping. She's curled up beside him as closely as possible, her forehead touching the side of his head. Her arm stretches out, and her hand rests over his heart. So, she finally gave in to her exhaustion. It occurs to me that she never once complained about the pain in her ribs while we were tending to Erik.

I set the tray down on the dresser and quietly slip out the door. Now, it's just a matter of time.


	77. Chapter 77

**A/N: Pink cupcakes and champagne to each of you who posted your comments! You truly help inspire us to continue writing the Epic Case!**

**And, if you enjoy The Epic Case, anything Phantom of the Opera, and THAT actor who portrayed Erik in the movie, consider joining our delightful group at Erik's Corner! If you are interested, just PM me for information about it! **

Now, as the next day dawns, many at Chateau Mercier are taking stock….

**

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****Chapter 77 Transitions, by Phanfan, Phanna & KFC**

_January 1, 1872_

_Château Mercier _

J_eremy's POV:_

Although I quietly enter his room so as not to wake him, Horatio turns his head and groans from the effort. Numerous pillows support him in a semi-reclining position, his bandaged hand propped up beside him to reduce swelling.

He coughs, and I hand him the glass of water from the bedside table.

"Well what's the word?" he asks, taking a sip.

Sitting down beside the bed, I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward within whispering distance. "The word is … 'piggybacking'."

Horatio's brows dip toward the bridge of his nose as he hands back the water glass. He pushes his elbow into the mattress, trying to adjust his position. "Piggybacking…you mean the PTB?"

I nod gravely. "It appears they've been sending digital streams along with ours every time the Lab opens a time window. The Lab thinks the streams somehow converged last night, bumping Marek into the destination the Piggybacker was probably headed for."

"Which means they were trying to send someone here."

"Yes, and something went wrong."

Horatio's eyebrows remain in a "V" shape above his eyes as he takes another drink. "So what do they think happened to the piggybacker?

"Well he either bounced back, or ended up at Marek's destination. And of course there's the possibility that he—literally—disappeared into cyberspace."

Horatio's eyebrows are now almost touching. I can reasonably guess he's now heavily weighing the option of leaving Grace behind. I think of Terese. How I sent her off into cyberspace alone. She made it home, and I never realized there was an added danger. But what if her transport had been the botched piggyback ride instead of Marek's? I've felt nauseated ever since the thought occurred to me.

I try to reassure Horatio. "I know the Lab is working on it. Neither you or Grace will be going anywhere until this is taken care of and transport is secure."

"But can they be 100 sure?"

"Well they're working on the problem of how to stuff the "window" with digital interference, that would allow nothing but our digital stream through. And of course, there's a whole team working to figure out how in hell the system got hacked."

"So while we've been worried about the PTB developing technology, they've been streaming through our time windows right under our noses and on our dime."

"Yeah, why buy an expensive car when you can hitchhike, right?"

Horatio laughs dryly.

"Things are pretty intense back at the Lab," I continue my report. "All the codes have to be changed, for _everything. _The whole system reprogrammed. Basically, we are going to be out of communication during the transition. Anything we say right now is in danger of being eavesdropped. So communication will shut down soon."

"They can't say anything about the new system, while security is still breached."

"Right. Not even instructions for reprogramming our end will be able to be sent over the old link, since obviously the PTB knows the codes."

"So once they've got their end up and running, will someone show up to help get us back on line?"

"That's Marek's guess. But of course we won't have any way of knowing when. Or _where_. I'm sure the arrival location will be changed."

"Well," Horatio says. "I guess we'll just have to keep an eye out for people falling from the sky."

I sit back and sigh. Part of me is hopeful that it might be Terese. Another part of me is worried about the safety of the whole damn transport. And on top of that I'm worried about Terese and the others at the Lab being in danger now that the PTB have just lost their prized means of transportation. My only consolation is that STARLab knows the situation better than any of us, and their safety is in The Program's reliable hands. I just wish I could be there for her.

I hold my aching head in my hands and rub my temples.

"You want an aspirin?" Horatio offers one of the pills Matt left on his bedside table.

"No, you keep it. We don't have many, and it might be a while before you get out of here."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm not exactly sure," I give a slightly insane chuckle. "I think I've caught a few hours here and there over the last week."

My days and nights have all blurred together lately. I don't think I've slept a full night since before Terese came. I'm betting she's not sleeping either now, with what's going on at the Lab. I know I'm going to have to crash at some point, but I don't think there's any way I could right now. Too much is up in the air.

I raise my head, trying to look the part of a tireless officer rather than the zombie I feel like I'm turning into. Horatio's face is staunch, but sympathetic. He knows. He's been here...done this. I've watched the lines accumulate on his face over the years.

"You'll get used to it, Jeremy," his eyes glint with understanding.

It's beginning to dawn on me, "You're not coming back are you?"

"I can't imagine they're going to send us back after this," he grimaces, "There's a very good chance I could lose my career over this. But it wouldn't be the end of the world. I determined that before I played my cards. Grace and I were committed to stay indefinitely. But we had to insure that if 'the unforeseeable' happened, we'd still be together. It's the risk we took."

"Well I'm glad you both lived to suffer the consequences."

Horatio laughs. "Yep, those god-awful consequences…"

"You know, I must be blind as a bat. It never once occurred to me you two might be married."

Horatio just grins and shrugs, then winces with a new stab of pain.

"I knew you brought some sort of contraband," I rub the stubble on my chin, "but I was thinking more along the lines of …well, little stuff."

"Yeah, all that's to be expected. There's always contraband. And you will have to make an issue of it when it surfaces. But don't waste your time worrying about the things people think they can hide. What you've really got to watch out for is the stuff right under your nose. "

I nod. Feeling uncomfortable, I stand up and turn to look out the window. The morning sky is still dark with clouds, and rain threatens to fall at the least provocation.

"Horatio. Something's been bothering me."

"What's that?"

"I've got a weird feeling about those matadors downstairs."

"Weird, as in bad?"

"No. Not really. Not good or bad. It's just…."

"I know. It's something you can't put your finger on."

"Exactly." I turn back toward the bed and cross my arms, leaning against the window casing. "Maybe I'm overly suspicious now. Maybe they are just quick-witted fops. But what was your gut feeling about them at the masque ball?"

Horatio's eyes narrow in reflection, "Well, _honestly, _I wasn't sure, but I had my eye on them. I never saw them do anything telling, though. And I was surprised that they showed up at the fight. Obviously they knew more about what was going on than I would have guessed they did. Last night though, they did appear to be on our side."

"_Appeared_ to be. But it still got them in under our roof. What if it was a ploy to get inside the chateau?"

"That's certainly a possibility," Horatio agrees.

My thoughts begin to run wild. I've got everyone on high alert, since there are outsiders in the house. Of course we're used to it, having the servants around all the time, but somehow I don't feel the normal level of secrecy is enough. Those guys could have come here with intent, and they could be watching our every move.

Damn! What if they already knew something about this house, about its layout and secret rooms and passageways? My mind is suddenly reeling with possibilities. What if they are PTB Piggybackers who watched the battle go bad and rode in at the end pretending to be on our side, so they could survive for the next round. What if they're here to finish Erik off?

I feel like I'm going to break out in a sweat. How can I take the position of first officer, when I may have just allowed the enemy inside the barracks? I stare at Horatio in silence.

"Don't second guess yourself," he admonishes. "You made a decision based on your best judgment. Now just bear all the possibilities in mind, keep a sharp eye out and make sure your bases are covered. Welcome to the top, Jeremy."

I study Horatio's face. Somehow, he doesn't seem to be sweating this as much as I am. I study the lines in his face, the scars of sleepless nights and the stress of unending responsibility and tough decisions. He's sitting here with a mangled hand, a bullet in his shoulder, and his body covered with battle scars. But he's not sweating it. This is all in a day's work. My God, am I ready for this?

"Have you chosen your second yet?" he asks.

I'm sweating now. "Horatio, I wasn't thinking in that direction. Who do you recommend?"

"I recommend you choose your own man."

I look back out the window. Rain is falling now. I watch a drop of water getting larger and heavier until it finally slides down the window leaving a jagged streak.

I turn to Horatio. "What in the world did you ever see in me five years ago?"

He sets his water glass down on the table before answering. "I saw what you'd be in five years."

He eyes me keenly. "And in ten…."

I don't know what to say. I just look at the man who's mentored me for so long, missing him already.

"We carry a heavy burden, Jeremy. It's not a job for just anyone. Keep that in mind when you chose your second. Make it someone you believe in." My eyes sting as Horatio looks me steadily in the eye. "I don't know who that is for you," he says with deepest sincerity. "I only know who it was for me."

_Matt's POV_:

As I close the door to Joe's room and head for the stairwell, I can't ignore the pounding in my head. It's only getting worse. It feels like a meat cleaver is embedded in my forehead where the horse's hoof grazed me. The painkillers I just took haven't had time to work yet, so there's nothing to do except grit my teeth and go on. Joe and the driver are sewn up, and the painkillers I gave them are already working. They were on the edge of contented unconsciousness when I left their rooms.

As for me, I have too much to do before I sleep. When Jeremy came up to help me with both the men, he told me that the matadors and Prussians were waiting downstairs for my medical attention. Apparently Antoinette has done a good job at bandaging and feeding them to tide them over until I get there.

When I reach the second floor landing, I turn to go and check on Erik and Horatio first. I open the door to Erik's room quietly, just in case Laura has fallen asleep. I gave her something for pain and also slipped in a sleeping pill. I told her she needed to go to her room and get some sleep, but she refused and was sitting in the chair next to Erik's bed when I left. As I cross the large bedroom, I can tell that she's no longer in the chair. Hopefully she gave in to her exhaustion and laid down on the nearby settee to sleep. I glance over at it, but it's empty, too. Good, she finally went to her room.

As I approach Erik's large four poster, heavily draped with tapestries, my eyes go to the IVs, needing to check their levels and make sure they are flowing properly. But, something else grabs my attention. Laura is lying next to Erik. Stunned, I freeze and can't breathe. Finally I exhale, but don't look away. Laura is curled closely to him. Her arm reaches out, resting gently on Erik. The quilt has fallen away from her shoulder, and exposes her creamy skin…and her breasts. She's wearing nothing, not even her chemise. I swallow hard. She's absolutely beautiful. It's also very clear that she belongs to Erik.

Gathering myself, I check Erik's pulse. I find that it's steady and strong. How could it not be? I stare at Laura's hand on his heart. She is willing him to live. He's the luckiest guy on the planet. I glance once more at Laura's face before turning away. Now it's time for me to let my wound heal, too. I quietly leave the room and close the door.

_Antoinette's POV: _

Weariness and exhaustion have finally caught up with me. I have not had time to stop or rest since we returned hours ago. After adding a few logs to the fire in the Great Hall, I sit on a nearby settee and place my feet up on a hassock. Looking around to make sure that no one can see such unladylike behavior, I slip off my shoes.

Even though Erik is still unconscious, I have great hope that he will survive this night's horror. Russ sought me out after Matt assessed Erik's injuries and related to me that if he survives it will be a long recovery.

Russ and I talked while we prepared a tray of food for him to take upstairs to Horatio and Grace. I listened in dismay as Russ described Horatio's wounds. Matt said that Horatio will need special surgeries, so he has recommended that Horatio be transported back to the future. And, Grace is to go with him. Marek has already started to make arrangements.

Shuddering when I think of the obstacles and derision that Erik encountered during his life because of his deformity, I pray that Horatio's injuries will not leave him crippled or maimed. Russ told me that Horatio would not be treated in that manner. In the future, he assures me they do not treat people who have disfigurements as they do now. I truly hope he is correct.

Colonel Kraus and his men left about a half hour ago. Before Colonel Kraus left, Jeremy and he went into the library and shut the door. Their conversation did not last long. When Jeremy walked with Colonel Kraus to their horses as they departed, they seemed comfortable with each other, nor did I perceive any discomposure in Jeremy. I am most anxious to discover what Jeremy thinks about the Colonel.

Two of the colorful matadors came downstairs several times during the last few hours, asking for one thing or another, always very polite and gentlemanly. Monsieurs DePere and Moreaux, who had come so readily to our assistance, have impeccable manners. They were quite charming and talkative when I assisted them in arranging a tray with food and drink to carry upstairs for the injured driver. Russ formally invited them to stay at the château with their friend, offering them guest rooms, which they readily accepted.

Reluctantly slipping my shoes back on, I stand up before I actually fall asleep where I sit. Earlier, Russ had asked me if I would take a tray up to Joseph before I went to my room to rest, and I assured him that it would be no problem.

Jeanette is busily bustling around the kitchen as I walk in. Her cheeks are their usual rosy color from the warmth of the room and her constant movement. Small tendrils of moist hair curl around her face as she gives instructions for the day's meals in her efficient manner. She catches sight of me and quickly walks over as I prepare a tray for Joseph. I carefully tuck several croissants into a linen napkin to make sure they will stay warm. Then I place the butter and a generous jar of honey next to a hot cup of tea.

"Antoinette! So you are taking my advice and fixing yourself something to take to you room." She looks approvingly down at the tray, "And, I am glad to see that you are finally eating something. You have not stopped to take care of yourself since you returned home."

"Non. I still need to deliver one more tray. Then I will go to my room and sleep all day!" Jeanette joins in my laughter. She knows that I would not be able to sleep the day away. But I do need a few hours of rest to refresh myself.

Picking up the tray and turning toward the hallway, I clarify, "I will be down for lunch." I can see Jeanette shake her head, in her motherly disapproving manner.

I cannot help but smile. Jeanette has become a dear friend to me. We enjoy chatting with each other when we are busy in the kitchen. Several of her daughters and their families live nearby and sometimes stop in to visit with her. She introduced me to her granddaughter, Danielle, a few days ago. Danielle is a lovely young woman and pleasant to talk to. Even though Matt is a doctor, many of the staff still seek out Danielle for her herbal remedies. There have been several occasions that even I have asked Jeannette for one of her herbal infusions or teas, such as this morning when I prepared a mint tea for my upset stomach. Jeanette has told me many stories about Danielle's skill and the many people she has helped.

When I asked Russ about Joseph, I was told that he is doing fine. Like the others, he has many cuts and bruises from the battle, but the wound on his leg is the most serious. Matt has tended to it and stitched it together. But in the back of my mind, I have been worried. I have not had the time to visit Joseph and see for myself that he is alright.

When I reach the third floor, I place the tray on the small table near the door. Even though I chide myself, I cannot stop from smoothing the front of my skirt to remove some of the wrinkles. Giving in to my quick toilette, I also touch my hair to make sure it is in place. When I am done, I lift the tray and knock lightly on the door. If Joseph is sleeping, I will leave the tray next to the bed where he will be able to reach it when he wakes.

A groggy voice calls out, "Who is it?"

"It is Antoinette. I have some food for you."

"Come in."

I balance the tray and open the door, leaving it ajar for propriety. The warm, comforting glow of the fireplace reminds me of the one that will be waiting for me when I return to my room. I have not been here before and am thankful for the light from the fire so that I can see the arrangement of the room. Joseph's bed is in the far corner, and I spot a small table near him. I place the tray on it and move the table next to his bed.

"I have brought a light repast. I did not know if you would be awake or how hungry you would be."

"Actually, I'm starved." Grimacing, he carefully pulls himself up to a sitting position. I lean over and help by tucking several pillows behind his back. He grins up at me, and I return his smile.

Carelessly, he reaches over and lifts the cup of tea off the tray, spilling a bit in the saucer. "Be careful Joseph, the tea is very hot. You do not want to spill it on yourself." Then I realize he is holding the cup over his lap and feel a warm flush begin to infuse my cheeks.

His smile widens at my discomfort, "Thanks for the warning."

I place my hands on my hips, trying to look stern. "You must not be gravely injured if you can still jest in such a manner." Then I notice the hanging bag of clear liquid and the tube that goes to his left arm, underneath the bandages. "Oh, dear, I should not be so callous."

Suddenly he lets his head fall back on one of the pillows, "Matt did say that I won't be up and walking around much the next week or so." A flicker of pain crosses his face. That is strange. Russ told me that Matt had made sure none of them were in pain. Did he overlook Joseph?

Or, perhaps, Joseph is doing this to obtain my sympathy. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes, you can keep me company for a while. Stay with me until the pain stops." He weakly indicates a chair for me to sit on.

"Of course." I subdue a smile that tries to break free. Yes, this is Joseph playing his charming tricks on me!

"It would be nice if you could sit a little closer to me so that we can talk."

"Alright." Even though he is exaggerating his helplessness, it does give me an excuse to spend a little bit of time with him. So I do as he asks and move the chair closer to his bed.

When I sit down in the soft, high-backed chair, I breathe an audible sigh. As I lean back, I can feel myself start to relax. It has been a long day and night. Joseph's perceptive eyes tell me that he understands.

As he finishes every morsel of food, we talk, ignoring the subject of the battle and last night's happenings. Instead, he starts asking me questions about my life. I explain he will have a chance to meet my daughter, Meg. Happily I tell him that she will be visiting the château. Her dance company has been on tour for several months now, and they are between engagements for the month of January. I wrote to her when Erik moved me into the château. Then surprisingly, this morning I received a letter from her telling me that she will be arriving on the morrow.

When it is my turn to ask about his family he smiles warmly, and I hear the depth of his feelings when he begins to tell me about Texas. I love to listen to him. He speaks French quite fluently, but it has a distinct accent beneath it that I believe may be caused from his early life in the southern United States.

Joseph's eyes light up when he tells me about his younger sister and how he liked to teach her about the animals on the farm. I have noted on several occasions his love for animals. He is always watching over and caring for the livestock on the property. He seems to have a special affinity for them. What a complex man. He is so ready to joke and tease until you think there is not a serious bone in his body. And yet when it is least expected, you see a serious side of him, caring and sincere.

I take pleasure in listening to his deep, comforting voice, which often fills with laughter as he relates an anecdote. His life was so different from mine. As a boy, he grew up having the freedom to travel and do what he wanted. My life was much more restricted. I grew up in Paris and, being a girl, was not allowed such liberties. Even his sisters had many more experiences in their life than I did.

I must have closed my eyes for just a moment and drifted off. Joseph's gentle voice awakens me when he says my name. As I open my eyes and realize what happened, I sit up straight, embarrassed at how impolite and rude it was to have fallen asleep.

There is no condemnation in Joseph's eyes. "It's ok. I can tell you are exhausted."

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to do that. I was listening to your wonderful stories of your family and…"

His voice is soft as he interrupts, "You need some sleep."

"You are right." I wearily raise myself from the chair and start to push it back.

"Don't bother with that." He shifts in bed, casually adding, "You know, you could join me here. We could keep each other warm."

For a full second I glance longingly at the bed before the words sink in. "Joseph! You are incorrigible!"

He smiles, "I know."

As I walk toward the door, I cannot help but feel a stirring deep inside me. I turn briefly as I close the door, "I will bring you a lunch tray later."

_Erik's POV:_

_White horses circle round me, some leaping into the air and seeming to fly. Their manes billow wildly as they rear, threatening me with their flailing hooves. Inside this circle of ghostly horses, I fight fiercely against faceless attackers. I thrust and plunge my sword, felling one foe after another in an endless battle. But there is always another. And another and another. Then Raoul is standing before me, menacing as he thrusts his sword at my heart. I can feel it, pressing on my chest…_

Suddenly my eyes open. I must defend myself. Laura is in danger inside the coach. But white fog seems to enclose all around me. I cannot see. I blink my eyes, trying to make out the attacker. I can feel the pressure on my chest. Slowly shapes coalesce and colors begin to appear, distinguishing one object from another. Deep greens and browns take shape. But, it is not the forest, it is my bed. I am looking up at the canopy and green embroidered tapestries. How can I be here? Was I not in the midst of battle? I remember the horses and attackers. I felt the pressure on my chest.

I struggle to look down. Only Laura's hand rests there, her palm cupped gently over my heart. Her silken black hair spreads on my shoulder and the pillow like a soft, billowing mane. I study her face, her creamy skin and rounded curves, ravenous to partake of her beauty. She is alive and safe! She is here with me. Nothing else matters.

I watch her sleep peacefully, feeling the warmth of her breath on my skin. My mind begins to discern what is real and what is a dream. There was an attack and a battle. I remember the sword slicing at my leg. I could no longer stand, and when I fell, another blow struck my head. That is the last thing I remember.

But we must have won the battle. Here I am, in my room. When I try to move my leg, fiery pain stabs up my body, confirming my recollection. I look above my head and see bags hanging from the post. I remember seeing those when I was taken to the future and awoke in the hospital room. Not only those unfamiliar bags connected to me with tubes, but so many other things in the room seemed too bizarre to be real. It became even more frightening when I realized it was not a dream. Living in the future always did have a feeling of moving in a dream world. Except for Laura. She was always the one thing that was real, substantial. Having her here now tells me that this is real. Her warm hand emanates such love, such comfort, and the nightmares are fading away.

I pick up her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing it. Then I place it on my cheek. That is when I realize the mask is not there. For a moment I panic. Who else has seen me without it? Surely only Matt and Jeremy. My heart slows down and stops racing when I realize that they would have made certain no one else would have witnessed my uncovered face. I trust that they would do that for me. I also suddenly realize that I have no fear, no trauma over their seeing my face. I trust them.

"Erik, you're awake," Laura's whispered voice blows softly on my arm.

I turn my head and look down into her large, dark eyes. Her beautiful eyes. The most beautiful ones I have ever seen. "Yes, my love."

Tears form in her eyes and trail down her cheek, falling onto the pillow. "You are going to be alright." Then she adds with a certainty, "I know it!"

I smile at her, "Then it must be so." I lift her hand and kiss her palm. Her fingers gently stroke my lips and trail up my jaw. Then her fingertips brush my temple soothingly. I lay for many minutes possessed by the feeling of this tender caress.

Horatio's door slams across the hallway, and I remember the injury he suffered to his hand. "How is Horatio?"

"He is very seriously wounded," Laura hesitates, then continues in a barely audible tone, "He jumped in front of a bullet intended for you, Erik.

I look down at her, shocked to hear this. "I do not remember that."

"You were on the ground, already unconscious. A man rode up and shot at you. Horatio took the bullet."

I exhale deeply, "Mon Dieu!"

"Matt is taking care of him. And Marek is here," then she kisses my shoulder, raising gooseflesh with her tender touch, "The battle is over. None of our people were killed." Then she rises up slightly and her eyes search mine intensely, "My love, you fought bravely. And, everyone fought to keep you alive. You are the heart of The Program's mission here. Now you must get well. We have so much to do. There is a world out there, waiting for us to make a difference."

I look into her eyes, but cannot move. Fatigue overcomes me, and I slip into sleep, into the bliss of having Laura with me, forever.


	78. Chapter 78

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! Each of you who takes the time to tell us your thoughts is a jewel!! Your comments are truly appreciated! And...as we approach the end of Book Two, we need to hear from all of you...Do you want The Epic Case to continue into Book Three? After all...This is only the beginning of their lives together and there is so much ahead for Erik and Laura...**

**Also, this chapter posts today as our Mother's Day Gift to all of you who are mothers!! Blessings and happiness to each of you!!**

So...now...everyone is waiting expectantly...at this very important cusp of time...relying on clues to know his or her direction!

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**Chapter 78 CLUES, by KFC, Phanna and Phanfan**

_January 1, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV: _

"What in hell does tha' mean, First Officer Nichols?" Marek looks up from the computer screen and glowers at me.

"I don't know, but it doesn't mean what you're thinking," I snap. "Nothing inappropriate happened to Terese while she was here."

"Well she was downright moody and depressed when she got back from her time trip. And she wouldn't say why. You got an explanation for this?"

Moody and depressed? For some strange reason, I'm not unhappy to hear that. Maybe she misses me?

I re-read the enigmatic last lines of Terese's final StarLink message.

_LEO, I'm bringing coffee beans…and trying not to spill them. _

_SAGITTARIUS, This time, I don't want so many men hanging around my dressing room. _

_TERRE OUT_

I state the obvious, "Well, clearly you're Leo. You're the coffee addict. That's definitely the cryptic message we've been waiting for. It means she's coming."

"Aye, I deduced tha' much! And, she knows I was born at the end of July. But what about all these men hangin' around her dressing room? What's tha' about, Sagittarius?"

"I don't know, _Leo,_" I answer evasively. I may not have slept in over a week, but Marek is not going to get me riled up over this.

"Apparently _she_ thinks you should know somethin' about it. You're born in December, aren't you? Isn't that Sagittarius? So it must be addressed to you."

"Well, I don't know what it means. It's encoded," I glare back at Marek. "We don't even have dressing rooms around here."

"I'll have you know Terese is like my sister and if any o' you have been takin' advantage of her…"

"Whoa! Whoa!" A voice cuts in from behind us. "Stifle the roar, Leo! I know what she means."

I turn, shocked to see Matt down here in the underground computer room. Apparently in a no-nonsense mood.

"She's talking about when Horatio and I picked her up from transport last time. We were expecting a guy from the Lab, and all we brought for her to change into were men's clothes. When it turned out to be Terese, I stayed with her at the cottage while Horatio went back and raided Grace's closet. He brought back the clothes, and I helped her get dressed. There…mystery solved."

I stare at Matt with surprise. He helped Terese get _dressed? _No one told me that. I swallow uncomfortably, feeling a scowl coming on.

"What do you think we are, Marek, a bunch of playboys?" Matt rolls his eyes slightly, in my direction.

"Alright, alright," Marek growls. "So you acted in the line of duty. Tha' still doesn't solve the mystery here. What does this mean? And if Jeremy wasn't even there, why is this addressed to him?"

Matt, in a distinct air of putting on his thinking cap, crosses his arms and stares at the screen. Finally he ventures, "I_ think_…what she means is…she wants Jeremy to come get her this time…_alone_."

A dramatic silence follows this statement. I could have told Marek that much, but its better coming from Matt. Marek's scowl remains fixed on the screen, and now it's his wheels I hear turning.

After a moment, Marek begins to mutter, "Moody and depressed. Moping. Generally despondent. Not sleepin' at night… tired all the time… grouchy…. Yep, it's all coming clear." Marek turns to me with a sly, disparaging look. "Officer Nichols, what have you done to tha' bright sunny lass?"

I raise my eyebrows in challenge. "So are you saying she misses me?"

"Well she's sure as hell missing somebody!" He turns to Matt, "Anyone else around here you think it might be?"

Matt rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Well it's not Horatio, because he's married. Erik is clearly taken. And it can't be Joe, because he's too obviously…available for the taking. Russ never went near her the whole time she was here. And it's definitely not me. So, logically, it must be Jeremy." He gives me a cockeyed grin and adds, "Either Jeremy, or our carriage driver, who I don't think she even met."

I shoot Matt a wry smirk. "Well if that was her logic, I'm a little worried."

Marek snorts. "Love isn't logical. Trust me on tha' one." He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, eyeing me like he suddenly needs to size me up. "I see why she likes you," he says matter-of-factly.

I decide not to flatter him with queries about what he means, but he explains anyway, "We had this funny conversation at Starbucks right before she left to come here. I kept pressin' her to tell me what it was she was waitin' for in a man. You see, to catch Terese's eye, you've got to be very, very ordinary. She isn't used to ordinary people, so when there's an ordinary guy around, she notices."

Somewhat confused, Matt asks, "You sure you got that right?" I'm wondering the same thing.

"Well we're talkin' _extraordinarily _ordinary. So ordinary tha' you really stand out. Only, somehow in your ordinariness, you can become extraordinary without losing the all important ordinariness tha' made you extraordinary in the first place. I wish you could have heard her explain it."

Matt interjects. "I think it probably was profound when she explained it. But you're butchering it, Marek."

"I'm just saying," Marek turns to me, "you may not realize what a feat you've accomplished by puttin' this lass into an all out depression. From what I gather, this level of impressiveness is quite an achievement. And I don't really know what it is or how it's done, but…apparently you've done it."

"Well thanks! I'd accept this gold medal right here and now, but I think I'll wait and see if I can get it straight from the judiciary."

Marek laughs. "It looks like that's within the realm of possibility. The only question is when she's coming. Damn it, she didn't give us any clues about the time, or the place."

"Well all I can say is it better be soon," Matt turns grave. "I've got back up measures for Erik, but Horatio's going to lose a hand if we don't get him out of here by tonight." He looks at me. "You prepared to help me if it comes to that?"

"You want my help with…an amputation?"

"I'm certainly not going to ask any of the ladies for help." Then looking at Marek he asks, "You got the stomach for it?"

Marek looks down at his hands, deep in thought, "I think I'll pass and stand night watch while Russ guards Erik's room."

Putting his hand on my shoulder, Matt's voice is low and apologetic, "You and I have done this before."

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach. "I'll do it if it comes to that."

"Alright, then I'm going back upstairs to do some rounds on the less critical patients in the ward."

I stop Matt. "Tell me about the matadors. What's their condition?"

"Well, St. Just is in the worst shape. He's at risk for an infection, but I'm not too worried. He's resting up. The other two have minor injuries and are mostly sitting around playing cards and flirting with the ladies."

"And the carriage driver? Not Louis, but the other one."

"You mean the young Brit?"

"He's not French?"

"No, evidently not. I took a bullet from his arm, and he's a bit out of it still. But I can't tell if he's groggy or just a little dimwitted."

"How soon do you think the Frenchmen will be leaving?"

Matt shrugs. "Maybe tomorrow if St. Just is looking good by then."

Marek interjects. "The sooner they're out o' here the better, Matt. If I were you, I'd fix them up with brandy and send them home."

Matt looks at me for a decision. "I can have them out of here tonight if you want."

I shake my head. "No. Just keep an eye on them. Erik is covered 24/7 now. Either Russ or I will be outside Erik's room."

Marek growls at me, "It's too bleedin' risky havin' them here when we don't know who they are."

"I know the bloody risks. But I'm damn well going to find out who they are and what they're up to before I let them out of my reach." I look back at Matt, "Do your doctor thing and keep them here until I let you know otherwise."

Matt nods.

Marek still sitting, glowers. "Alright, chief. You know what? I agree. I think you're right. Three scoundrels in hand are worth a hundred at large. What do you want me t' do to help out?"

"For now, guard duty on the tower while Russ covers Erik. I've got some things to take care of."

"Don't forget tonight," Matt reminds me. "I'm going to need your help with Horatio.''

"It's not going to come to that," I state matter-of-factly.

"It bloody well may," Marek mumbles.

"Nope! I know when and where Terese is coming in."

Marek raises his eyebrows at Matt. "Has he got some kind o' inside track with her?"

Clearing his throat, Matt gives me an admiring stare, "Maybe there's some telepathy going on."

"No. I just solved the riddle." I watch Marek and Matt's brows furrow and they hunch back over the computer screen.

"It's like any good riddle." I pick up my coat and start to leave the room. "Takes a clever mind to write it, and an ordinary one to solve it."

_Antoinette's POV:_

"Joseph! You are cheating on me!"

He stares at me for several puzzled moments. Then he throws his head back and howls with laughter. When he finally composes himself enough to speak, tears of mirth still glisten in his eyes, "Antoinette, you crack me up…uh, I mean make me laugh." He starts laughing again, his whole body shaking with the effort.

I look heavenward for guidance and dare to ask, "What did I say that amuses you so?"

"You just accused me of cheating at cards. Well, at least I'm pretty sure that's what you're accusing me of." His eyes crinkle at the corners with his wide grin as he continues, "But I swear it's the way you phrased it that's so funny!"

I glare at him.

Impervious to my unconcealed look of displeasure, he adds fuel to the fire, "You're just miffed because I'm winning!"

"Oui! No one can win so often!"

"It's just plain ol' luck."

Suspecting he has done something to 'create' his luck, I give him my most piercing stare. He shuffles the cards while trying to hide a smile. Then he holds the deck up and asks charmingly, "Want to play another hand?"

It's evident from the look in his eyes he has some tomfoolery in mind, but before I can comment he adds, "There's a variation of the game I'd love to teach you."

Although he will almost certainly say something outrageous, I cannot stop myself from asking, "And what is that?"

His eyes dance as he answers in a honeyed voice, "It's called strip poker."

"_Strip_ poker? How do we play…" Suddenly I realize what he is proposing and manage to sputter, "You are a scoundrel, Joseph!"

His glee is so contagious I eventually give in and join in the laughter, shaking my head at his audacity. I study this man propped up with pillows sitting in bed, and know he is not going to mend his outlandish ways. He is always going to be a scamp, a rascal, albeit a charming one. Though, I must admit to myself that his comments oftentimes make me feel young, alive and attractive.

"Joseph, you must not say these things in front of anyone else. Especially Meg. She will be here on the morrow, and I do not want to worry that you will shock her with your comments." I look at him pleadingly. "She is very young and innocent. She may not understand that we are just friends."

Joseph gazes at me as if he is trying to figure something out. Then he moves his hand toward his chest. I watch as he places it over his heart, causing his linen shirt to fall open, revealing a glimpse of his chest beneath. "Of course. I swear I'll behave."

He looks sincere as he speaks. I hope he will remain true to his word. It would be difficult to explain our current relationship to Meg. She is young, and despite what I have learned from the others during various discussions, in this era friendships between men and women are not common. The woman in such an arrangement is looked upon as loose or wanton, although it does not affect the reputation of the man in a similar manner. From conversations with Russ and Joseph, I realize this type of relationship is acceptable in their era. I just do not want Meg to question anything while she is visiting, especially anything that would harm Erik and the people living here.

So, this subject has been on my mind since I learned Meg will be coming to the château. Joseph's promise puts my mind at ease. At least for the moment. I lean back in the high backed chair and try to relax before I must leave.

When I brought a tray of food at noon for us to share, Joseph asked me to stay and keep him company afterwards. He was already restless with the forced bed rest. We talked while we ate lunch, and he was relating anecdotes involving some of his friends. Suddenly, he asked if I knew how to play cards.

"Non, I do not. My father was a member of a men's club, and I remember that he would sometimes come home very excited. When he won at cards, he would lift Mama into the air and swing her about until the room was filled with their laughter." It surprises me when I relate those long ago memories to Joseph so easily. So much time has passed since those cherished years with my parents before their deaths. It is rare that I speak of them. But there is a part of Joseph that allows me to reveal things with no censure on his part. Clearing my throat, I added, "I also saw many of the men at the opera house play cards when they were finished with their job. Sometimes I would stop and watch."

"Would you like to learn?"

I took time to think about his question and came to the conclusion that there was no harm in learning to play cards to pass the time and keep Joseph company. "Oui."

"There's a deck of cards in the top drawer." He had pointed to a tall oak bureau on the other side of the room. "On one of the trips to Paris with Erik, I ran across a shop specializing in gaming supplies."

I found the deck and handed it to him. He opened the box containing a lovely set of colorfully painted cards and held them up, fanning them out in a circle. He continued to tell me about the cards he held. "This deck is handmade. They aren't like the ones I used. The clerk, Monsieur Perry, said this deck was specially made so the cards could be read either way you place them in your hand—you know, either up or down."

He must have seen my bewildered expression because he gave a little laugh, then explained. "In my time, they all have the double pictures and numbers so you don't have to worry about turning them up or down in your hand." He took one of the painted cards and turned it toward me so I could see what he was talking about, flipping it first up and then down. The cards the men used at the opera house did not have the double numbers. "Monsieur Perry also told me this deck was varnished so they'd be easier to deal. The corners of the cards are rounded to save them from wear and tear. The guy surprised me 'cause I thought cards always had rounded corners."

He shrugged his shoulders, but stopped as a flicker of pain crossed his features. "Anyway, in my time, the decks are mass produced and all look pretty much the same. No pretty colors and designs like these. And in my time, they're cheap! I have to tell you, these cost me a pretty penny." He makes a snorting noise.

While he talked, I cleared the small table next to the bed and sat down in the chair opposite him. He began instructing me about the game called poker. Surprisingly, it did not take long to understand the rules. We played just to practice and did not bet the first few games. When he was sure I had grasped the concept of the game, he explained the system of betting

Joseph broke matches in half for our 'chips.' After playing the first few practice games, I thought this card game quite pleasant and enjoyable. We began betting, and he won the next few games. Then I won three in a row! It was so exhilarating! Joseph nearly lost all of his matches to me before he won again. But he did not lose any of the games afterwards!

Drawing myself back to the here and now, I sigh and stand. Meg sent a message this morning, letting me know she should arrive tomorrow in the late afternoon. There are many things I need to do to prepare for her visit.

"Where are you going?" His hand is still on his linen shirt, though it now rests across his stomach.

Hastily averting my gaze, I explain, "I have things to do other than sit and wile away all the afternoon hours, playing card games with you."

He starts to say something but his smile turns to a grimace of pain when he inadvertently moves his wounded leg.

"Joseph, you have been sitting upright for too long. You should lie flat so you can be more comfortable."

"Yep, I agree with you this time." His teeth clench as he tries to move himself down in the bed, but I can see his leg still causes him pain from the effort.

"Do you want me to get Russ to help?"

"Nah, I can do it."

I step next to the bed. "May I do anything to help?"

He hesitates, before answering, "Yes. Can you help me slide my leg down at the same time that I scoot down? My leg hurts too dam…err, much to lift it on my own."

"Oui." I gently place my hands under his injured leg, just barely holding it off the bed. I can see his muscles tighten as he uses his upper arms and begins to shift himself down in the bed. I move his injured leg at the same speed he scoots his body down. He does not have far to move, but I can see pain in the rigid line of his mouth. When he stops, I set his leg gently down and look at him.

Small beads of perspiration cover his face, and he does not say anything.

"Would it help if I placed a pillow under your leg?"

He manages to shake his head no. Not able to help at this moment, I walk over to the fire and add another log. Pouring water from the small kettle which sits on the hearth, I make a cup of chamomile tea, knowing it will help relax him. Danielle taught me how to prepare it earlier, and made sure I had some to bring with me. She was telling me how she helped treat many of the wounded soldiers during this last year. When the tea is ready, I carry the cup back to Joseph. He looks questioningly at me.

"It will help you relax. Just sip it. It is hot."

He nods and takes small sips. I move around the room, straightening and setting everything in order. Finally, I can tell the pain must be easing, and the tea seems to be helping him rest. He hands me the empty cup, and I take it away.

Picking up the wash basin, I return to the fireplace, pouring hot water into it from the small kettle. Using a small cloth, I dampen it and wipe Joseph's face. As I lean over him to clean the side of his face away from me, his arms encircle my waist. He pulls me close to him before I can react, whispering against my ear, "Thank you, Antoinette."

All my senses unexpectedly assail me. The warmth of his body radiating through his linen shirt against my bodice, the touch of his taut arm muscles around my waist, the feel of his warm moist breath upon my ear and the manly scent of him. I feel my body quiver and pray that he cannot.

Not wanting to break the spell nor move from his embrace, I answer softly, "You are most welcome, Joseph." My voice sounds unsteady, even to my own ears.

Pulling away from him, I unwisely pause just a moment to look into his eyes. What I see there both scares and makes me tremble. He moves one of his hands to the back of my head and begins to lower my mouth toward his.

"Non!" I jerk away, feeling my cheeks flame and my heart pound. Turning on my heel, I flee the room.

_Jeremy's POV: _

I move quickly through the tunnel.

_SAGITTARIUS - This time, I don't want so many men hanging around my dressing room. _

The answer to the riddle was so simple once I separated the phrases.

"_This time"_ means "now."

"_I don't want so many men" _means"come by yourself."

"_Around my dressing room"_ is the place. She'll be arriving "around the cottage."

I hoist my body up out of the hole in the cottage floor and shut the trap door behind me, not stopping to replace the rug. The anticipation of seeing her has my nerves on edge. Not to mention the urgency I feel to get Horatio out of here as soon as possible. I go straight outside and circle around the cottage, scanning the clearing for Terese. She isn't there, so I head for the trees. I call her name, but there's no answer.

Knowing she fainted last time, I wonder if she might be lying under a tree somewhere unconscious. I comb through the forest systematically, thoroughly inspecting any dense areas, but finding nothing. Should I go back and get a horse and ride out farther? What if she comes while I'm gone? I tramp back to the clearing around the cottage and stand looking into thin air. I close my eyes. It doesn't feel like she's here yet. But would I know if she was?

Maybe I'm reading way too much into the line she wrote. It might have meant nothing more than that she's coming, place and time unknown. Still, the Lab understands our urgency. And if I'm half as smart as they are, I can guess they'll be trying to send someone here today, from whatever point in their own time.

Either way, I have to wait.

I trudge over the grounds again, turning my thoughts to the question that arose when Horatio and I spoke this morning. The responsibility that has fallen on my shoulders at the very least is sobering, filled with problematic scenarios, consequential decisions, and tough judgment calls. I'm already struggling with the question of who I should choose as my second. There's no easy, obvious answer. There are problems with all three candidates.

Matt and I go way back. We've served together off and on over many years, and he's the closest thing I've ever had to a brother. He's an extremely good Seal, quick thinking, always has his bases covered and stays two steps ahead of the enemy. But he is a healer at heart. The further his career progresses, the more he leans toward the medical side of things. He became sick of destruction, even in the name of freedom, and his heart lies with the wounded, in the hands-on preservation of life. And there's the added complication of his personal situation. I'm not sure he wants to move in the direction of a long term stay around Laura and Erik. I think if he could move on, he would. And I don't think he could be medic and commander at the same time. Each one in itself is a tremendously heavy load. At a time like this, it's all Matt can do to take care of the injured. I know he didn't sleep at all last night, and he won't until Horatio is gone and Erik is out of the woods.

Then there's Joe. He's an excellent team player, with heroic potential, but I can't see him running this operation if something happened to me next week. He's just not serious minded enough.

And Russ. He's got a no-nonsense attitude, and a fine military mind. He goes above and beyond the call of duty. But I fear his highest commitment is to orders, not necessarily to his conscience. And it worries me to think of him trying to walk the fine line with Erik. Russ was the actual person pointing the gun at Erik two weeks ago when Laura arrived.

Finishing another round in the woods, and finally convincing myself that Terese isn't here yet, I head back toward the cottage. I'm just at the edge of the trees when a ripple of brightness appears in the clearing.

I stand frozen, watching the shimmering light coalesce. It hangs in the air like a mystic cloud of gold. Then there is a sudden, blinding flash of light. I wait breathless for her to appear. But moments pass, the glow fades, and the air is empty again. My heart begins to pound, and I swallow hard. I almost can't even process what I think may have just happened. Is she hanging somewhere in cyberspace, unable to enter? I run to the place where the light hung, shouting her name, as if that might somehow help her make it through.

No, the light came, she must have been here! For some reason she couldn't materialize. She just evaporated into thin air, a digital stream scattered in cyberspace. Oh God, no.

An eternity passes as I stand helpless, waiting with frayed hope. The ache in my head spreads through my body, and my head begins to throb. Damn! What do I do? Rushing back to tell Marek won't help since we have no communication with STARLab. And if I leave, I won't be here if she does make it through somehow. I tramp my exhausted body to the cottage and shove the door open. Slamming it behind me, I fall back against its solid support and close my eyes. There's nothing to do now but wait.

I shove myself into the room and force myself to breathe. Walking to the fireplace, I grab the mantle and lean my forehead against it, looking down at the empty hearth. Weary but restless, I take several logs from the wood bin and stack them inside the fireplace. Then striking a match, I set the stack afire. As the flames go up, my heart sinks into my stomach. Maybe I'm going to be sick.

Walking back outside, I search the grounds once more, in vain. I stagger to the fateful place in the clearing where Terese should be standing in my arms and close my eyes, feeling the emptiness in the air.

When rain begins to fall from the sky, I take out my sword and drive it into the ground. I drop to my knees, clinging to the sword handle. What will happen now? Erik is at the mercy of blood arriving in time. Horatio may lose his hand. And Terese may have just been lost in oblivion. My heart breaks at the thought.

A weight heavier than I have ever felt bears down, as if to crush the very life out of me. Our project is in jeopardy. The enemy may be within as well as without. And I question whether I have the strength to bear the load that has fallen on my shoulders. I clench the sword with a deadly grip, watching drops of water slide down the blade and disappear into ground.

Suddenly, a flash of light glints off the burnished steel, and the mist is illuminated around me. The air seems dense and alive. When I raise my head, my breath stops completely. Terese is standing just a few yards away, like a disheveled angel…bathed in light, her golden curls tousled around her face. A second flash happens almost simultaneously and a large container is deposited next to her.

I push myself to my feet and rush toward her, hardly feeling the thud of my boots against the ground. When only inches separate us I reach out to touch her, fearing she is just that…an angel.

"You're here," she whispers. "You understood." I feel her hands on my arms.

I nod, breathless.

Her eyes gleam with tears. "Am I in time?"

"Yes..." I say, gazing spellbound at her face. She's just as glowing and beautiful as I remembered…golden hair, starry eyes and all. But she looks so tired.

As the light around us begins to fade, she sinks into my arms. "Thank God you're alive…" she whispers against my chest. I hold her slight body against me desperately. How on earth could she be thinking of me after what almost happened to her?

"Thank God, you're here," I breathe, kissing her hair. It smells clean. Like flowers.

She reaches up and touches the stubble on my face. As I lean toward her, her lips meet my mouth in a long, yearning kiss that finally convinces me she is here in the flesh.

Fearing she might faint, I gather her trembling body in my arms and carry her. Her hand reaches around my neck, then slides to my chest in exhaustion.

I carry her through the rain to the cottage. Inside, the fire has taken the chill off the room. I lay her down on the bed and look down at her, still worried, "Are you alright? Should I go get Matt?"

"I'm fine, I just need a minute to revive," she says weakly. "Last time I fainted dead away. This time I wanted to be conscious."

Smiling, I squeeze her hand, "I have to get the container. I'll be right back."

Making quick work of it, I race out in the rain and get the container with the blood for Erik's transfusion. Back inside the cottage, I kick off my boots and lie down beside Terese.

I wrap my arms around her. She's breathing, but her heartbeat is strong. I whisper into her soft hair, "You scared me. The first time you tried to come in, there was this flash of light and everything dissipated. I thought you were gone."

"That was just the DSP," she murmurs against my chest.

"The what?"

She mumbles something, trying to explain.

"Tell me later," I whisper. Cradling her against me, I drink in her warmth, willing her my strength, and thanking God that even if 'time waits for no man,' at least there are moments when it seems to.

_Erik's POV:_

_The torch lights my way down the corridor. I recognize it as the one that leads down to the boat which will take me to my lair. Squealing in fright, a rat scurries away from my boot as I pass through the damp, malodorous passageway. Oddly, the trip seems to be taking much longer than normal. Almost unending. The tunnel seems to take more turns than I remember, coiling around and around like a serpent as I descend downward. _

_Then two people move out of the shadows. I stop and reach into my cloak, grabbing my Punjab lasso, wary. They walk toward me, but I cannot make out their faces. I stop and hold the torch out in front of me, trying to make out who they are, but still cannot. I use my most demanding voice, "Who are you?"_

_They do not reply, but instead stop outside the haze of light, remaining in the shadows, as I have always done. A chill runs down my spine, "What are you doing here?"_

_There is a long silence as they gaze at me. Strangely, their clothing is white, almost luminescent, even though the torch light does not reach them. Finally, one speaks up, "You need not be afraid of us. Ever. This is as far as you go. Now you must turn around and go back up."_

_Suddenly they begin to fade away. I cry out, "Wait! Who are you?"_

_A calming voice replies, "When you meet us, you will know." Then they are gone. Somehow I trust implicitly what they have told me. I turn around and start walking back up. The path is steep and exhausting, but I know I must go this way. After what seems hours of walking, constantly climbing, I see the end of the tunnel. But, it has not led to the lake. Instead there is light, bright light of day. Laura is sitting under a tree, her knees pulled up and her chin resting on them, waiting for me. When I emerge from the tunnel, she smiles and reaches out her hand, beckoning me. I step forward and take it._

Her hand, gentle, stroking my forehead. I know it is hers. I can always tell her touch. Moaning in pleasure, I open my eyes. Her beautiful, dark eyes are but inches from mine, gazing down at me. Although her lips turn up in a smile, there are tears in the corner of her eyes. I look up at the bag of fluid hanging on the bedpost above my head. It appears different. It is deep, life-giving red. So it arrived.

Laura clears her throat and a tear slides down her face. "Erik, you have come back to me."

Lifting my hand, I brush my thumb along her cheek, "And, I'll never go away again."


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N from Phanfan: First, we writers would like to wish each of you a peaceful, fun Memorial Day with your families. I also want to say that this long, and eventful chapter was written by KFC and Phanna, who worked very long and hard to make sure you would have this chapter both timely—on our usual bi-weekly posting schedule—AND as our gift to you for Memorial Day. And, I thank them in particular because their writing this allowed me to spend my time exclusively on writing the book, and I have been nose to computer screen, very, very busily writing away!**

**AND...we have a new companion thread called "Intermezzo: The Epic Case Short Stories." This will contain one-chapter short stories by fans of the Epic Case. We have been receiving these for some time and decided it would be fun to share them with you! So, please drop in and check out these delightful fan-inspired stories!**

**Secondly, I would like to mention that on Memorial Day we remember those who have passed, especially those who have died serving their country. But, I would also like to point out that in both this fanfiction version of The Epic Case AND in the book, the issue of post-traumatic distress syndrome (PTDS) is prominently featured. That is no accident. **

**When I saw the exquisite movie version of this story, I felt that the story had been rewritten by ALW to portray Erik as having been traumatized by the events of his life—by the treatment he had received because of his facial scars—not because he was innately insane. Erik's violent reactions occurred only when his mask was removed, which is a typical triggering situation with PTSD. And…PTSD occurs when people are traumatized. When I first saw the movie, Erik's actions (and Gerry Butler's profoundly moving portrayal) spoke volumes to me. As an attorney who represented abused women, children…and yes, even men…it was evident to me that Erik was suffering from that condition, not any innate darkness of his soul. **

**So, on this Memorial Day, please also remember those men and women who return from the wars overseas alive, but physically wounded, or mentally and emotionally wounded. Our current veterans are now suffering the highest rate of PTSD than ever before, especially since they are sent repeatedly back into service. Please honor them…and do what you can to support proper funding for THEIR treatment, whether medical or psychological…and for the repair of their lives.**

**Last, but not least…Thank you to each of you who post your wonderful, thoughtful reviews AND for those who send personal PMs! Each one is read and truly valued!**

* * *

The lives at the chateau are in flux…There are old friends leaving and new ones coming. Everyone is getting ready for endings AND beginnings!

**Chapter 79 COMING AND GOING by KFC and Phanna**

_January 1, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Laura's POV:_

A soft tap on the door pulls me out of a light sleep. Erik stirs next to me, opening his eyes. My hand strokes his cheek, and a small smile flickers across his lips. I kiss his shoulder gently, then reluctantly pull myself away from his warmth and slide out of our bed. His eyes follow me, as I throw on my robe. "Come in."

Jeremy steps into the room. I'm shocked at how haggard and exhausted he looks. Walking over to the bed, he studies Erik briefly, then puts his hand on Erik's shoulder, "How are you doing?"

"I will live." Erik tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace.

Jeremy looks up at the hanging IV bags, one filled with the life-giving blood Terese brought with her earlier today. "Yes, I believe you will." Then looking over at me, "How are you feeling, Laura?"

"Matt gave me something for the pain. I'm ok. Just thankful everyone will be alright."

His lips purse in agreement. "I thought you'd want to know. Terese reprogrammed the StarLink and made arrangements to transport Horatio and Grace back home. We're leaving right away."

"When I came back from my room a little while ago, I said goodbye to Grace." Tears sting the back of my eyes. "I hate to see her leave, but there's no choice."

There's another knock on the door, then Matt lets himself in. He stops next to Jeremy, "We need to get Horatio out of here ASAP."

Jeremy explains to me, "Russ and I are taking Horatio and Grace in the carriage to an area near the cottage where they'll transport out. Marek's standing guard duty." Jeremy turns to Matt, and a subtle look passes between the two of them. "You need to be here with Erik and Laura while we're gone since our 'company' is still here."

"Right," Matt leans over the wash basin to scrub his hands and forearms with a stringent soap. He gestures toward a pitcher of water. "Pour that for me?"

Jeremy lifts the pitcher and pours water from Matt's elbows to his hands. "We should only be gone for a few hours."

Matt nods, drying his hands on a towel.

"Jeremy?" I ask as he turns to leave.

"Yes, Laura?"

"Tell Terese, and the Lab, thank you…from me…and Erik."

Jeremy smiles kindly, "I will." Then he leaves Matt and me alone with Erik who has already drifted back to sleep.

"He's doing fine," Matt looks up encouragingly after taking Erik's pulse. "Has he been awake much?"

"Only for a few minutes at a time," I say softly.

"Good." Matt gives me a sympathetic look. "The blood seems to be taking well."

"It came just in time didn't it?"

He nods, placing his hand on Erik's forehead to feel the temperature of his skin. Noticing my furrowed brow, he adds gently, "Don't worry, Laura. If the plasma hadn't arrived I would tried a direct transfusion."

I look up, confused.

"I would have given him my own blood," he explains.

"Yours? Are you and Erik the same blood type?"

"No, but I'm O negative…a universal donor."

I look at him, amazed. "You're a living blood bank."

"That's one reason I was asked to be on this team." Matt takes out a stethoscope and listens to Erik's heart. "Universal donors come in handy where there's no cold storage, or in remote areas that can't be reached quickly."

As he checks Erik's wounds, I notice Matt still hasn't taken care of the gash on his own head. He's physically exhausted, but it seems there's no end to his willingness to give whatever is needed. "You're a very selfless man," I say quietly, watching him re-bandage a cut on Erik's arm.

"No, we're just part of a great group of people," he says. "Just think about it. Any one of us would give our life for the other. That's why we all survived last night. We always have each other's backs."

"I guess we're the only family each of us has now."

He looks up tenderly. "We're true family, Laura. Brothers and sisters bound by shed blood. And I'd still die for you any day."

At a loss for words, all I can manage is an appreciative smile. I watch him adjust Erik's IV settings, then make some notes in his medical log.

"Matt, have you even had a chance yet to tend to your head wound? And are you sure you don't have any other injuries?"

"Well I've got a headache and my back hurts, but other than that…."

"I don't know how in the world Jeremy, Russ and you came out of that battle without major injuries." I walk to the wash stand and soak a clean rag with water. Then I make Matt sit down, so I can clean his wound. The gash is long, but thankfully not too deep. I cringe, knowing the peroxide must be burning like fire, but Matt doesn't even wince. After I've cleaned it to my satisfaction, I wrap fresh bandages around his head.

When I'm finished, he stands up and looks in the mirror, his tired eyes smiling. "Looks like I'm about to scrub in for surgery."

I try to smile, but I'm still upset that he's wounded because of me. When he turns back around, I say, "Thanks for following me last night, Matt. Thanks for being there."

My eyes hold his for a moment, searching them for the pain I've seen there before. But even though he's obviously tired, there's more warmth and compassion in his eyes than pain. It seems he's found a certain measure of peace and acceptance. He's strong enough to accept my choice with grace. But it still hurts me to see him alone.

"No one ever had a more faithful friend than you, Matt. And there's no one a woman could trust her heart to more easily. If it wasn't for Erik….you would have mine."

"I've always known your heart belonged to Erik," he looks me in the eye sincerely. "I think I knew before you did. The only reason I hoped for anything else was because I thought he'd be coming back here after the trial, and you'd be left alone there, in the future. That's the only time I even let myself think of the possibilities between you and me. Then when you were in the hospital, and I didn't think you'd live, that's when I decided to come back. It's just been a difficult situation to adjust to, Laura. You're not an easy woman to get over."

I return his honesty with a compassionate gaze. "You know you mean the world to me, Matt. And someday there's going to be a lucky woman fortunate enough to find herself loved by you."

He smiles. "Well you're a tough act to follow…"

"She's going to be amazing then," I smile back at him.

With a glint of humor in his eyes, Matt begins cleaning up his medical things. "Seriously, Laura, where am I going to find someone so brilliant and courageous, and strong?"

"Well...Terese is brilliant…and apparently, she's _here_."

"Terese is blonde," he says off handedly.

I raise my eyebrows, shocked. Can hair color really be such a critical factor?

"And…she's taken," he adds.

"What do you mean 'taken'? I didn't see a ring on her finger."

"No. But the whole time she was here, it was clear she was 'taken'."

"Well I didn't notice."

Matt's sly look clearly implies I was probably too preoccupied to notice. "I guess I just have an eye for these things," he sighs in playful exasperation. "Besides, as I said, she's blonde. And I don't do blonde."

"Well what about one of the maids then? Isn't there a dark haired one…who's pretty bold and speaks her mind. Isn't she having a little trouble submitting to your kitchen rules?"

Matt gives me a longsuffering smile and a wink.

"Oh, and there's Jean, my maid. She might be a little soft spoken, but still waters run deep you know."

His face registers distinct amusement. "Well Laura, you've accomplished a lot in the last two weeks. I bet in another two you could have me married off, huh?"

"Two weeks! Has it really only been two weeks since I arrived?" I look down at Erik, thinking of all we've been through. "Why does it seem like it's been over a year?"

Matt shrugs. "I think more happens in our lives than with most people." He moves to the wash basin and starts washing his hands again.

I pour the water for him. "You know, my life was fairly uneventful before I got involved with Erik's case. I'm pretty faithful at keeping a journal, but if I filled up one skinny little notebook in a year I was doing well. Ever since I met with Marek that day at the Pour House Coffee Shop, so much has happened that if I even tried to write it all down…"

"… it would be the longest and most eventful novel ever written," Matt finishes for me.

"And definitely strange enough to pass for fiction."

Matt laughs as he dries his hands. "Well maybe you _should _write it down. It would probably be a good read."

"Oh no. Never in a million years would I want to revisit this last chapter."

"Well, all of us survived. And you're with the man you love. So it didn't turn out so bad."

"You're right, Matt. Thanks for helping me get through it. And for being strong when I wasn't."

He cups my face in his hand and looks down at me with a smile. "You be strong for Erik now."

I nod as his hand settles on my shoulder, and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'll leave you two alone. He'll be awake soon."

I watch him walk to the door and call out, "Matt."

He turns and looks back.

I wish there were an adequate way to express my gratefulness to him. Not just for saving my life, guarding me, offering his blood, and saving Erik. But for treating me with respect. For his friendship, his honesty, and for finding me worthy of his heart.

"Thank you… for everything," is all I can manage through the tightness in my throat.

And, as if what I was able to say was enough, he gives me his dreamy half smile and closes the door.

_Jeremy's POV:_

Streaks of tears run down Grace's face as she turns and looks back at the château. She raises her hand and waves. Laura stands in a window on the second floor, waving back. Using the back of her hand to wipe the fresh tears, Grace allows Russ to help her step up into the carriage. Horatio is already secured comfortably on one of the benches for their 'trip' to the hospital in Paris.

Their trunks are tied to the back of the carriage, along with two additional horses, just in case. When Horatio and Grace are ready, I jump up next to Russ in the driver's seat. He grabs the reins, guiding the carriage toward the main road.

Once we're out of sight, Russ doubles back, heading for the cottage. When we come to a small opening in the trees which line the road, Russ maneuvers the horses into a narrow lane barely wide enough for the carriage. Before the château was built, this was the entry road leading to the cottage.

Even though the narrow lane is overgrown with vegetation, it's in good shape. Months before we arrived, the Program sent another Team to secure a suitable piece of property for our purposes. The underground tunnel between the cottage and main house is one of the reasons this estate was purchased. The hidden passageway provides a way to travel in and out when the time travel transport is being used. The team that purchased the estate made necessary repairs to accommodate all our needs, such as making sure this road appears abandoned and impassable when in fact, the opposite is true.

The winter rains and storms have left a few potholes. Russ does his best to avoid them, knowing any jolts will be painful for Horatio. But we have no choice and must play this ruse out to the end. We can't have the servants wondering where Horatio and Grace have disappeared, so we had to make a show of taking Horatio to the hospital in Paris.

When the carriage comes to a halt, we aren't far from the transport point. Terese has set everything up. All we need to do is get Horatio and Grace in position at the right time. Terese will do the rest.

Helping Grace to the ground, she turns to Russ and me to say her goodbyes. She hugs each of us, but can't say anything through her tears. She doesn't have to. We're all feeling the weight of Horatio and Grace's departure.

Grace leads the way as Russ and I carry Horatio to the transport area. "As soon as I get back, I'll do everything in my power to get you reinforcements," Horatio assures us. Even in his pain, he keeps focused on the people under his care, "How many men do you think you could use?"

"Well, we need at least four men, and also a few women to help cover Laura. But I really just need help _now_."

"I'll do my best," he nods. "Look for a message within the next few hours." His lips are pinched and white, and I pray he'll be able to stand for the few seconds it takes to transport. Grace holds him gently as we place him upright on the ground, but we stand next to him, supporting him and waiting for the familiar hum to let us know the transport is imminent.

"Horatio, I…" my throat closes around my words.

"I know, Jeremy." He glances at me and nods, understanding written across his face. He simply says, "Russ. Jeremy. It's been a pleasure serving with you both and…" The light begins to wrap around them so Russ and I step back.

When they've gone, I look over at Russ who is staring into the air.

"Damn it, Nichs. I still had so much to learn from him."

I give him a sympathetic nod. "I know. Me too."

Finally, Russ breaks his stare and turns to me. "So you're first in command now. I can't even imagine taking on that kind of load. Everything's so volatile right now."

I smile and shrug. "Maybe things will settle down."

"I doubt it. Something tells me that won't happen around Erik." Russ crosses his arms, pondering. "I wish I knew how Horatio always managed to make such good decisions in spite of it all. Even the most difficult ones. He never seemed to have a formula. Not one I could deduce anyway. "

"Isn't it something you end up feeling in your gut?"

"Well, maybe it is," Russ shakes his head, "But I guess I'm too logical. I get scared when I try to trust my gut. What if it's wrong?"

"Well how do you know your logic's always right?"

Russ gives a half-smile, "Yeah, that's the problem. When there are a lot of variables, things get really tricky. It's a mystery to me how Horatio could hound his way through all that. And why he was so big on structure, when in the end, he never seemed to rely on it."

We turn and walk back to the cottage. "Well, these are questions definitely worth struggling over," I encourage him.

"I like things black and white. Cut and dried. But that just doesn't seem to be real life. I want a really good method for dealing with all the uncertainty," Russ shrugs, "But I'm thinking that probably doesn't exist."

"Probably not," I agree, tongue in cheek. "Maybe it's something you have to get the 'hang' of."

When Russ and I enter the cottage, I head for the trapdoor. "I'm going back to wait for a message from Horatio about the reinforcements. You stay here in case they show up unexpectedly, ok?"

Russ nods as I drop into the tunnel.

_Terese's POV:_

Tying my unruly hair back again, I look around for a torch. Finding one, I light the firebrand by holding it close to the flame of a lamp, then quietly slip through the door into the secret tunnel.

It's cold and dank. I didn't mind so much when I came through earlier today with Jeremy. Now all I can think about is walking through spider's webs and getting them caught in my hair.

Anxious to get this over with, I speed up, then turn a corner and almost run smack into Jeremy. He comes to a dead stop out of a run and flings his arm outward to avoid burning me with his torch. "Oh I'm sorry!" I gasp in surprise.

"Good God, Terese! You've got to quit appearing so…randomly!" He slowly lowers his arm and regains his usual, collected demeanor.

I had no idea you were coming around that corner," I say, still shocked.

He gazes at me with amused suspicion. Then slipping his arm around me, he pushes me gently against the wall and brings his face close to mine in mock interrogation. "Where were you going in such a hurry, ma'am?"

I shiver with delight at his closeness. "I think I'll just stare at your eyes for a while before I answer that."

His amusement spreads into a smirk, and he looks away for moment before returning my wit. "Oh, so you're in no hurry after all. Then you have time to sample my creative methods of information extraction."

"Are your methods cruel?

"No, but I assure you, they are persuasive," he lowers his mouth firmly over mine and proceeds to kiss me with an ardor that makes me go weak. Finally he pulls back enough to let me breathe. "Alright, are you ready to talk now?"

I laugh, "No, not yet…I can't…"

His lips stop my mouth between phrases.

"Well alright…I was…on my way…"

"Yes?"

"To deliver a…message…"

He pulls back. "A message?"

"Yes," I coax him into another kiss before divulging. "It's to you from Horatio. Here, I wrote it down." I take a slip of paper from my pocket and hand it to him. I miss his touch already when he lets go of me to take the note. He scrutinizes it in the torchlight.

_Sagittarius – I've got One for you. Both thumbs up. Seven up. _

I watch his wheels turn, wondering how long it will take him to solve this riddle. I get the 'two thumbs up,' but I'm not sure what to make of 'seven up' and the capital One.

"Hallelujah! Damn it!" Jeremy breathes.

"_What?"_ My head does a little spin, hearing those two unlikely words together.

He wraps his arm around me again and pulls me to him. "Hallelujah, help is on the way," he kisses me deeply. "But damn it, dear…I have to go."

_Jeremy's POV:_

With one last kiss, I reluctantly let go of Terese and retrace my steps through the tunnel. Arriving at the trapdoor beneath the cottage, I climb the ladder. As I step up into the kitchen, someone comes up behind me and slaps me on the back.

"Still lettin' me sneak up on you, huh?"

Spinning around, I get the shock of my life. _"ACE!"_ My mouth must be hanging open because he bellows with laughter.

"How…what…where? Damn…You're…uh…dead!"

"Well, in the words of Mark Twain, 'reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

"But…who…when…?" Erik will be glad to know someone else causes me to use one word at a time. Trying not to act like an idiot, I make myself slow down and think before I speak.

Clearing my throat, I manage to get a whole sentence out, "It's great to see you're alive!" Grinning, I slap him on the back, "and here!"

"Good to see you, too, Jeremy." His voice is sincere.

I stare at the man in front of me. Finally, I ask, "So, how did you get here?"

Ace chuckles. "Horatio wasted no time when he got back. He was on the phone the minute he arrived yanking all the strings he could to get you reinforcements ASAP. In fact, one of the nurses had to grab the phone out of his hand as he was being wheeled in to surgery."

"Yep, sounds like Horatio."

He glances away as he continues, "Horatio knew I hadn't been killed and was just completing uhh…an assignment when he transported back here with your Team. He convinced the Program to send me and my Team back as your support.

"How's Horatio doing?"

"He's fine. Came through the surgery with flying colors. He's going to have a long recovery and lots of rehab. Phen stayed by his side the entire time." Ace smiles. "Nice little woman he has there."

Good grief. It seems forever since we've called her Phen. He's lucky 'Phen' didn't hear the 'little woman' comment. Ace claps me on the shoulder, "Come on, Nichols. Say hi to everyone. You know most of them already."

We walk over to Russ and four men standing in the living area. Ace is right. Russ and I know all the men. We trained with them and served on a few missions together. There are two women on the other side of the room, talking and examining their gowns in the long cheval mirror. One of the women turns toward us, and Ace motions her over. "Jeremy, this is Julia Morris. Julia, this is Jeremy Nichols."

As I welcome her, I feel someone walk up next to me. Turning, I get another shock. "Sue!"

With a wide smile on her face she says, "Hi, Jeremy."

_Terese's POV:_

The screen is blurring. Maybe I've been awake so long my eyes decided to go on strike. Rubbing my temples, I try to clear my fuzzy thoughts, but I can't even make sense of the number sequences or letter codes anymore. Time to call it a day.

A very long day. Many very long days.

I shut down the computer, "Nova" as I call her, and turn the lamps down. They'll burn out on their own. In the dim glow that remains, I head for the secret stairway, leaving the massive door ajar to allow a faint bit of light into the stairwell. My fingers trace the cold, hewn stones as I wearily climb the steps. There is such age in these walls. Each stone is a silent sentry.

As I climb, I wonder just what these stones have seen and what they have yet to see. How many more hundreds of years will they remain silent and still? I'm one of many who have traveled up and down through this spiral, each in his own time, and for his own reasons. Time flows through, but does not alter this space. It seems timeless here. As if whatever happened a hundred years ago still hangs in the air, and all exists simultaneously.

I reach the door to Jeremy's room and step back into the present. The room is nicely furnished. It's just like Jeremy, very male. The bed is deep mahogany, and the headboard is devoid of the frilly curlicues which so often go along with the Victorian era. It's simply covered with a deep blue bedspread, neatly made. The wall to the right of the bed has a large window overlooking the back of the château. From this height on the third floor, a distant forest with varying shades of green and brown can be seen. A leather chair, slightly darkened with the patina of age is turned to take advantage of the view. Against the far wall is a tall armoire. There are no closets in this house. So, all of Jeremy's clothes must be inside. On the last wall is the fireplace with an upholstered settee set back a few feet. The deep burgundy settee sports a few pillows in different blues, some appearing to be needlepoint.

Jeremy's room is just as old as the stairwell. Why doesn't it feel the same? I sit down on his bed and contemplate why that might be. Finally I come to the conclusion that the timelessness is overshadowed by the imposition of _things_ in this room. The room itself has not changed, but the things within it have no doubt changed many times. Unlike the stairwell which remains as it was the day it was completed; where no furnishings or inhabitants distract the eye and the mind from the timeless reality.

What I do feel, being in this room, is the distinct sense that someone lives here. Thinks here. Sleeps here…dreams here. And is usually alone here.

I feel like somewhat of an intruder. All is quiet, and I can almost feel the walls watching me. I get up off the bed…suddenly self-conscious for having taken the liberty of sitting there.

But with curiosity, I continue to peruse Jeremy's room. In front of the window, near the leather chair is a round table about two feet across with an oil lamp sitting in the center of the highly polished surface. Next to sits a small tin box and a thick book of maps.

Wandering over to the empty fireplace, I become aware that I am cold. Sitting for hours downstairs has sort of chilled me to the bone, and a fire would be very nice. I take a few logs from a nearby bin and stack them on the hearth. After adding some kindling, I find a match in a box on the mantle and light the fire. Before long, enough heat is radiating from the fire that I can sit back on the floor and still enjoy its warmth. The smell of wood burning and the heat on my face, takes me back to the night under the stars with Jeremy, when we sat watching the fire and each other's eyes.

I spy a bottle of wine on a table in the corner, along with a lone wine glass. The label is inscribed in French and very ornate. The wine is dark red, filling only half the bottle. It looks so nice, and I've worked hard for so long. Jeremy won't mind if I have a glass. Will he? No, I think he likes me well enough to share some. He won't mind.

I retrieve the bottle and pour myself some. I really don't need much. Half a glass will do. I replace the cork in the bottle, and set it aside, then take a sip. Ahhh. It is lovely. As warmth from the fire caresses my tired face, the drink spreads its radiant heat inside me.

I reach back to the settee, take the pillows and move them onto the floor. Making myself comfortable, I watch the fire and sip the wine, remembering how he and I lay under the stars, finding our way through the maze of the sky, and into each other's hearts. I remember the first caress, and how I cried when he was so tender with my feelings. And how, after all that week of wishing and wondering, I ended up right where I'd been longing to be. In his heart, as well as his arms.

And then he kissed me.

I close my eyes. I have relived that kiss so many times, and all that happened the night before I left. Now, today, I have more to add to my collection of favorite moments.

I feel very relaxed now. Very warm, and sleepy. I set the wine glass down, and rest my head on a pillow, trying to slip back into the memories.

* * *

I'm awakened by the sound of a door latch. Instantly I know where I am, and that I've been asleep. I don't move, but open my eyes imperceptibly and see that Jeremy has just returned to his room.

His shirt hangs loose, and he is barefoot. His hair is wet, as if he's been out in the rain. He looks around the room, and I feel his eyes on me. Walking to the fire, he stirs the embers and adds a few logs.

After a little while he sits down on the floor and rolls onto his back beside me. I open my eyes as he turns his head on the pillow near my face.

Smiling, he takes my hair tenderly between his fingers. "Hey Goldilocks," he whispers.

I squirm sleepily, then stretch and sigh with contentment. I do feel a little Goldilocksy. "I guess I did make myself at home," I admit with a guilty smile.

His eyes twinkle. "Does it pass your inspection?"

"Well the room was too cold. So I made a fire. And the chairs were too…far away from the fire, so I laid down on the rug."

"I see you tried the bed. How was that?"

"I…wasn't there very long. I felt a little strange, like the walls were watching me or something."

"And how is the wine?" His eyes dance as he looks from me to the half filled glass.

"It's too…lovely for words," I smile. Then feeling guilty, "I guess I shouldn't have just helped myself. You're not going to growl at me are you?"

He laughs, and rolls me up in a bear hug. I squeal in surprise and he growls mischievously in my ear. After a few playful kisses, we lean back with our heads on the pillow.

"Where have you been, out walking in the rain?" I touch his forehead and run my fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from the side of his face.

"No, I just took a shower."

"A shower? You have showers in this antiquated house?"

"As of tonight, we do. Horatio and Grace sent some contraband back with the Team. One of those "go anywhere" showers. Basically a 5 gallon bag with a shower head on it that you can fill with water and hang under a tree, or wherever."

"So you were out taking a shower in the deep dark woods?"

"No," he grins. "It's down the hall, hanging over a tub."

"Mmm…you smell good," I kiss his neck, breathing the clean scent of his skin. "But you look so tired."

"It's been one hell of a week."

"Yes, I've heard. And you haven't slept much, have you?"

He shakes his head. "Not since before you left."

"That was three weeks ago for me."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I haven't slept much either."

He kisses my hand, "You still look wonderful."

I smile. "Tell me…is your head hurting?"

"I got knocked out pretty good last night."

"Come here." I take his face in my hands, gently caressing his head as he lays it on my breast. Holding him in a tender embrace, I run my fingers through his damp hair, thankful just to be _here, with him_, as he finally falls asleep.

* * *

I wake in a haze…feeling myself being lifted off the floor. Jeremy's strong arms hold me against him as he carries me across the room. I open my eyes enough to look up into his tired, unshaven face.

"The floor is just too hard," he says in a deep, low, sleepy voice.

He lays me down on the bed and covers me up. Then he pulls his shirt off over his head and rolls into bed beside me, wrapping me in his arms.

"Jer …" I whisper groggily.

"Mmm?" his voice is more like a tired growl buried in the pillow.

"Your bed is just right."

* * *

Edited by Phanfan.


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N: Well…'tis end of school year! Congratulations to each of you who has just graduated! And, for everyone else, may you have a pleasant vacation and enjoy some R and R this summer. And, we writers thank each of you who so thoughtfully ****takes your time--even during this season of the year when there are so many other things demanding of your attention—and leave us your comment and review of The Epic Case! And, for those of you who even post multiple reviews to catch up on each of the chapters you missed, or new readers who post comments as you read the story…well, a special pink cupcake!! We read every review and both value and consider your input! **

* * *

So…although many things have happened at Chateau Mercier, and so many things are coming to an end, many, many more are just beginning. Erik is coming awake from his injuries…and, well, he's feeling a bit Phantomish! Interesting times just ahead!

* * *

**Chapter 80, New Beginnings, KFC, Phanna & Phanfan**

_January 2, 1872_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Terese's POV:_

The light is blue and silver as I sail the starry ocean, driven by the wind. Sky beings teem around me. The great bear, the giant bull, the lion.

Where is the archer? I search for the centaur with the bow and arrow in his hands.

Suddenly he sweeps past me from behind, arrow poised to let fly. In a flash he sends the firebrand streaking through the night, straight into the heart of the mighty twisting dragon.

I reach into the sparkling ether as he flies beside me. Catching my arm, he pulls me onto his back and we soar…higher and higher…until far below us, my sky boat with its shining sail becomes a small white dot on the swirling ocean, drifting in the wind.

Then the silver blue light turns to a river of white gold, spilling over a strong arm lying across my body. Jeremy lies sleeping beside me, his arm still draped around my waist and his face half buried in the pillow.

He's so deeply relaxed, signs of his breathing are few and far between. I feel overly dressed next to his naked chest and slip my long sleeved knit top over my head, welcoming the cool air in the room contrasted with the heat of lying so close to a man. With my fingers I trace the contours of his arm and moon-washed shoulder. When the night air cools my body, my eyes fall heavy, and I sink against him, absorbing his warmth through my bare skin. Soon the light is blue and sliver again. The night wind blows around us as my centaur turns and looks over his bare shoulder, daring me to kiss him while we fly.

I wrap my arms around him and lose myself in the closeness and the wonder of having him for my own. We fly for an eternity, deep into the midnight blue and on into the starless black until everything drifts away…even the wind. There is no one but us…nothing but peace. We have escaped time itself.

Forever passes. Then gradually, pinpoints of light appear and shades of grey emerge from the darkness. The dim outline of a horizon fades into view and the grey mists take shape and solidify into mountains. A welcoming breeze stirs the hazy tinted sky to shed its veil and blush with the hues of morning. Soon the air is rushing around us, bursting with brilliant color. We glide on purple winds, through clouds of red and over a sea of gold. Then we fly into the sun, and I wake to find the rays of morning streaming through the bedroom window and across our bed.

I push myself up on an elbow and lay my head on my hand as my eyes adjust to the brightness. Jeremy's sleeping body is bathed in daylight. I wonder what time it is. How long did we sleep?

There's considerable thumping and bumping in the hall. Sleepily I lay my hand at the base of Jeremy's neck and stroke it until I can twine my fingers in his hair, loving the feel of it between my fingers and his skin under my hand. I kiss his half exposed face and he stirs, pulling me close and pressing his face against my cheek. As I gently massage his head, he kisses my neck and nuzzles my bare skin down to the silk neckline of my camisole.

Suddenly there's a loud thunk on the door. "Wake up, chief!" Marek booms from the other side.

Jeremy groans groggily against me. Fearing Marek might barge right in, I shrink beneath the covers and try to disappear into the mattress, pulling the blankets over my head.

"You awake in there?" Marek pounds.

"Yeah….thanks!" Jeremy calls out. He digs through the covers for me and adds with a playful whisper in my ear, "Damn it."

Marek shouts again. "As soon as you can manage to put more than two words together Ace needs to talk to you. After tha', you and I need to powwow about something tha's cooking downstairs."

"Alright," Jeremy grunts and shoves himself out of bed, leaving me huddled under the blankets. I watch with an admiring stare as he looks around for his shirt. He finds it on the back of a chair and pulls it over his head. As he puts his arms in the sleeves and his body disappears under the linen, I stick my lip out in a pout. He pouts back, then walks around the bed to kiss me. "Sleep more, if you want. I'll bring food up for you later. What do you like?"

"I like men who wake up sweet and sexy and offer to bring me breakfast."

He smiles. "And what do you actually eat in the morning?"

"Porridge, of course."

"Oh, that's right. I don't know if we have any though. It might be just a British thing, but I'll check. If not, will a croissant do?"

"That's too sweet…."

"Well then what about…."

"No, I mean it's sweet of you, Jeremy. I'd love a croissant."

"And coffee?"

"Yes, please."

He runs his hands through his hair. "How'd you sleep."

I stretch lazily and say with a tired yawn, "I had sweet dreams."

"Are you sure they were all dreams?" he winks.

"Well I don't know. Were they?"

"I woke up a few times and kissed you, but you were too out of it to notice."

"Oh that's too bad. You and I've got our timing all wrong haven't we?"

A smirk plays at his mouth.

"Did you have any dreams?" I ask.

"Not that I remember."

"None at all?" I'm disappointed.

He sits down on the bed and leans over me. "Every time I thought I was dreaming….I realized I was awake and you were right here with me."

My lips spread slowly into a smile as I take his hand and caress his fingers. "Will you stay and drink coffee with me later?"

He sits back up and tousles my hair, playing with a few stray curls. "I will if I can, but I don't know how this morning's going to go. I have to see what Ace wants, then attend to the bee in Marek's bonnet. There's also a meeting with the new Team, and then I have to spy on some houseguests."

I kiss his wrist. "Ok, I'll lay around like a lady of leisure and wait for you and the croissants."

With a silent laugh, he runs his finger along the side of my face, "Alright. See you later beautiful."

He gets up to leave and my eyes follow him across the room. Opening the door only wide enough to get through, he slides out into the hall shutting it quietly behind him.

Instantly I hear a female voice. "Hi, Jer…good morning!

"Good morning, Sue."

"I hear we have a meeting in Joe's room at eight?"

"That's right."

I sit up in bed. _Sue? _

Something about the way _Sue_ said "Jer" makes me curious just who _Sue_ is.

_Joe's POV:_

_Damn!_ I blew it with Antoinette. When she left yesterday afternoon, she was really upset with me. Thinking about what I should _not _have done makes me crazy. I want to find and talk to her, but I can't even get out of bed without help.

After she left, I'd waited, hoping she'd return on her own. She's become special to me. She's not a twenty-first century woman so I need to slow down. She has a different set of values. Hell, it's a miracle she's even willing to accept our friendship.

Since waking a few minutes ago, I've been wondering if I'll be able to make things right between us. Suddenly my door opens. Sliding my hand between the mattress and the wall, I touch my gun. Whoever's entered remains quiet. The room is dark so I can't tell who it is. Then, I hear the rustle of skirts, and know it's a woman. Antoinette? I stay still, waiting to see what she'll do.

As she steps closer, she whispers, "Joe, are you awake?" Her voice is low, but I can tell it isn't Antoinette's. It is familiar however.

"Joe?"

All of a sudden, I know who it is. _Susie!_ But it can't be! The last time I'd heard from her was the night before the team left for France. She'd finally returned my call, and we'd talked for over an hour, catching up. I was vague about where I was off to next, but she understood.

When we said our goodbyes, I didn't count on seeing her until I returned after my five year stint here in 1871…uh, 1872. But here she is, standing in my room.

"Susie! How on earth are you here?" I laugh. "I mean I know how you're here, but why are you?"

"I came back with the team to help." She leans over me, and I grab her, hugging and pulling her closer for a kiss.

She returns it enthusiastically, squirming enough to shake the bed, making my leg throb. "Damn, Susie, go a little easy on me. I know you're excited, but…"

"It's just so good to see you, Joe."

"I know. Me too." She's still leaning over me, holding my hands in her smaller ones. I smile up at her, trying to see her face in the dark. "Could you open up the curtains and let in some light? And stoke the fire while you're at it. It's freezing in here."

Her deep throaty laugh reminds me of how much I've really missed her. "Well, let's see if I can manage that." She reluctantly pulls away and opens the curtain, then heads for the fireplace.

"The matches are on the mantle. Just stir the hot coals at the bottom and throw a couple of logs on." I point to the small stack of logs in the wood box. "It's still hot enough that the fire will…"

"Ok, Mr. Bossy. I think I get the picture. I camped enough as a kid to remember how to do this."

After the fire catches, she throws a few more logs on. Soon the room is warmer from the dancing fire. She drags the chair over to the side of the bed and sits.

I finally get a good look at her. "You look great."

"Wish I could say the same. Good grief, Joe. You look awful. Horatio said you'd been hurt, but I didn't expect all the cuts on your face and neck."

Chuckling, I explain, "Yeah. Toward the end of the battle, someone tossed me over the side of an embankment, leaving me for dead." My hand goes up to the side of my cheek to feel the raw skin there. "My face sorta took the brunt of my slide downhill."

She stares at my face, shaking her head in sympathy. "I stopped in last night, but you were sound asleep, and I didn't want to wake you."

"Jeremy came in last night too for just a few minutes on his way to bed. He let me know Horatio was going to be fine. Did you get a chance to see him before you transported out?"

"Yes, the whole team got to visit before we left. He's a survivor, Joe. He's going to make it through. He's already giving the nurses hell. Phen was ready to strangle him herself." She laughs, revealing the dimples in her cheeks. God, it's good to see her. But, will the others resent the fact she'll be here with me? Will it cause problems? None of us anticipated this kind of complication. Horatio must have done some skillful maneuvering to get this particular team sent back.

Then it dawns on me. "Hey Susie, Jeremy mumbled something about a shower one of the guys brought with them."

Susie nods her head, sending her light brown hair bobbing around her face. "Derek made sure we had a couple of them. Horatio told us to…" she grins conspiratorially, "…slip a couple in our trunks, but to make sure no one sees them but us. He said you guys were desperate for showers."

"I have plans to update the château and add new bathrooms, with all the amenities, but can't do it until spring. So how 'bout doing me a huge favor and help me to wherever that shower is."

With me giving her directions, she gathers a clean set of clothes. Putting my arm over her shoulders, she helps me down the hall to the 'tub' room, as we so affectionately call it. Just as she reaches out to open the door, it opens on its own and Jeremy steps out. He smiles when he sees me on my feet and gives a passing glance to Suzie.

While I sit on a chair, she fills the hanging shower bag from several buckets of water near the tub. "It's going to be cold, you know."

"Fine with me. At least it's a shower." With my hand on the wall to support myself, I move behind the screen which hides the tub. Undressing, I painfully lift my leg and step into it. My skin is all goose bumps and a pale shade of blue by the time I'm done. But it's glorious just to take a shower.

I dry off, getting dressed as fast as possible without hurting my sore leg. "Burrr… Help me back to my room. I'm freezing!" She throws me an 'I told you so look,' but puts her shoulder under my arm and supports me back to my room.

I've just sat down on the edge of the bed, when there's a tap on the door. I yell, "Come in."

Antoinette's standing in the door with a breakfast tray. But more importantly, I notice it's set for two. Good! She's already forgiven me, and now that she's here, we can talk. I smile in welcome, but she just stares at us, her face going pale. Confused, I watch as she briskly walks over to the small table and sets the tray down with a distinct clatter.

"Good morning, Monsieur. Here is your breakfast. I hope you enjoy it." She turns and starts for the door. Ok, obviously she's still angry, but the tray is set for _two, _and she didn't know Susie would be here… I don't get it.

But I can't let her leave again. "Wait, Antoinette." She stops, but doesn't turn. "Where are you going? Aren't you going to eat with me?"

"You have company Monsieur. I would not want to…bother you." Her voice is icy.

Then it hits me. She sees Susie standing with her hand on my shoulder...and next to my bed. Antoinette's jealous!

Managing not to smile with joy at her reaction, I introduce them.

"Antoinette, I want you to meet Susie...my sister."

It takes a few seconds for my words to sink in. Then I see a telltale blush across her cheeks.

"Susie, this is Madame Giry."

Antoinette clears her throat. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle." She turns and admonishes me, "Joseph, you did not tell me your sister was going to visit."

"I didn't know." I use my most charming smile on her. "Now will you have breakfast with me?"

Susie glances back and forth between Antoinette and me, then says, "I hope you'll both excuse me."

"Oh, come on Susie. Stay and eat with us. There's enough." I'm torn, wanting Susie to stay so we can visit, but also needing to talk to Antoinette. Once her daughter arrives, I'm not sure how much time we'll get together.

"Oui, Mademoiselle, please stay." Antoinette begins to lay the food out.

"No, please don't go to any trouble. I promised Linc that I'd meet him downstairs." She leans over and plants another kiss on my cheek. "I'll see you later." She turns to Antoinette, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madame Giry."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle."

Susie smiles at me as she walks out the door in a flourish of skirts. I can see a twinkle in her eyes, and know for a fact, she'll be back to grill me later about Antoinette.

Antoinette sets the kettle closer to the fire to heat the water for our tea. I figure now's a good time to start explaining. "Antoinette, I want to apologize for yesterday. I was totally out of…"

"Hey buddy! It's good to see you again, alive and kickin'. I dropped by to cheer you up and catch you up on everything happening at home." Ace's large form fills the doorway, and his voice booms through the room. Antoinette swirls around as he steps inside.

"Ace! God, it's good to see you! Nothin' like coming back from the dead, I always say." We both laugh as he pumps my hand in greeting. When Antoinette makes a noise, Ace pivots, his hand going to his belt, but relaxes when he sees her.

"Ace, this is Madame Giry. She's a close friend of Erik's and is staying here at the château with us."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. My name's Hank Thomas, but everyone just calls me Ace." He extends his hand for a handshake. I stifle a grin when Antoinette looks down at his hand. Tentatively, she reaches out to take it. Her hand disappears in his large one as he lifts it up and down in an enthusiastic handshake.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Thomas." Then she turns to me. "Joseph, I must go. I still have many preparations to make before Meg arrives this afternoon."

I know it's useless to ask her to stay. Ace will want to chaw for awhile so I simply say, "Thanks for the tray, Antoinette. I hope to see you later." My eyes follow her as she leaves the room.

Ace waits until she's gone before he comments, "Pretty little lady, Joe. You got something going with her?"

"Blunt as always, Ace." I laugh. But, it's none of his business what Antoinette and I have together. Hell, I don't even know yet, so I answer, "No, we're just friends."

"Friends, huh?" He stares at me for a few seconds, then grins, "So, how ya been Joe?"

_Marek's POV:_

I don't think Jeremy was ready to get up yet. But I couldn't let him sleep any longer as much as I know he needs it. I didn't knock on Terese's door. She's thoroughly exhausted too, and since the critical work is done, we can spare her for a few hours this morning. Jeremy, on the other hand, is well aware a first officer receives no mercy.

Carrying two cups of coffee, I have to slow my pace a little on the stairway. I hate these ridiculous little porcelain cups. They hold enough coffee for a bird. I'm tempted to add these two to the six I've already downed, but I'm guessing even though Jeremy isn't a coffee person he'll need a good dose this morning.

As I continue up the stairs, I suddenly wonder if Terese even spent the night in the room she was given next to Jeremy's. Maybe she slept with him instead! Whoa…in that case, he'll definitely need this coffee. And she'll need _sleep _and then coffee. Should I bang on her door to find out and risk waking her?

I don't have to decide. As I reach the third floor landing, Jeremy comes around the corner running a hand through his wet hair, looking like it's a huge accomplishment for him to be standing upright.

"So did you dunk your head in a bucket o' cold water?" I shove the coffee under his nose, and he takes it gratefully.

"Cold shower" is his two word answer.

I eye him with suspicion, trying to determine whether the 'cold shower' remark has something to do with Terese.

His expression doesn't offer the least hint. "What's up, Marek?"

"Well you've managed to put three words in a row. You're partially coherent. Did you finally get some sleep last night?"

"Yes."

That doesn't tell me much. I should've phrased the question better. "Good, you needed it. Next question, did you have that chat with Ace?"

"Yes."

"Good. I've been downstairs tryin' to ingest an adequate amount of coffee, which took awhile with these microscopic cups. Anyway, earlier this morning I ran into the three amigos comin' out o' the carriage driver's room. I'm thinking there's a connection between those fops and the driver. Do you think the four of 'em might be in cahoots?"

"I've suspected they could be. It's one of the more disturbing possibilities."

"Well they're in the dining room now, so this might be a good time t' ask 'em some questions."

"Is anyone else in there?"

"Wasn't when I left."

"Ok let's drop in on them and see what we can find out."

We go downstairs to the dining room and help ourselves to plates of food from the buffet. The amigos are bantering gaily at the table, and welcome us to sit with them. Jeremy and I exchange glances and then carry our plates over, joining them at the table.

"I don't believe I've met you yet," Jeremy introduces himself to the most immobile of the three whose arm is heavily bandaged and in a sling.

He greets us with a debonair smile, and oddly, the long, hawkish nose that dominates his thin face somehow enhances his suave French airs. "I am St. Just. Eet's a pleasure to meet you. And you know these two already? Monsieurs DePere and Moreaux." He waves the hand of his good arm toward his companions."

"Yes, I've seen them around," Jeremy nods politely to the croissant eating, demitassing fops.

DePere, takes a handkerchief from his lace-trimmed sleeve and pats his sparse but well groomed moustache. "Zhee provisions are delightful! We are enjoying zhee meals immensely." I notice a bandage peeking from behind Moreaux's ear as he bobs his slick, pony-tailed head in agreement.

Jeremy extends the proper graces, then addresses St. Just. "You were seriously injured on our behalf. It's good to see you on your feet."

"Oh eet was nothing," St. Just says with a toss of his head. "But zhee doctor was down this morning. And he seemz to think we must stay for several more days."

Ach, just as I thought. They either want to stay and schmooze off us or they're trying to carry out some sinister, hidden plot right under our roof. I would have been happy to see them leave, but Jeremy is right in wanting to get to the bottom of this before letting them out of our reach.

Jeremy's tone remains friendly, "You are more than welcome to stay. I'm sure the doctor knows best."

"We are most grateful for your generous hospitality! But we are anxious to be on our way. I feel I have been well taken care of and will be healing just fine. Might you speak to zhee doctor and persuade him to change his mind?"

What? They want to leave? I glance quickly at Jeremy, wondering how he'll handle this since he ordered Matt to make them stay.

"I might speak to the doctor, if you first satisfy my curiosity on a few issues," Jeremy replies.

There's a round of raised eyebrows among the matadors. St. Just smiles, "And what eez it you find so curious?"

"I'd like to know how the three of you happened to come upon our battle."

"Oh zhat is simple. From zhee balcony at the ball, we saw zhee beautiful Mademoiselle get into your carriage and then leave." St. Just dabs his sheepish mouth with his napkin then lays it aside with a flutter. "I think zhat possibly I made a big problem between zhee lovers with my dance request. When Mademoiselle drove away alone, I suspected that zhee lovers were still at odds. When my friends and I went back inside the mansion, we observed Monsieur Mercier desperately searching for zhee Mademoiselle. Knowing your carriage was gone, and presuming you might need to hire another, I decided to volunteer my own for zhee very good cause. But I feared dealing with zhee three of us would enrage the Monsieur, so I had my driver stand ready instead."

"Then the carriage we hired was yours? And the young Brit down the hall is your own driver?"

"Zhat eez right."

That confirms our suspicion they are connected, but their simple explanation could be just a cover story. I sense Jeremy's brow is about to furrow, though it doesn't physically show.

"Ok. That explains your connection, but why did the three of you ride out after him instead of waiting for him to return with your carriage?"

"Monsieur, as soon as your party had gone, we saw another band of men leave. Shaggy and disreputable they seemed," St. Just wags a manicured finger in disapproval. "They took off at top speed across the open field, headed toward a bend in zhee winding road you would be traveling on. We did not like zhee looks of it. There were many, many of them, and not so many of you. We feared zhee Mademoiselle would end up in the middle of something very bad. We decided to ride out and do what we could to help. But with our carriage gone, we were in zhee position of having to hire horses for ourselves."

The amigos titter at the irony of their story, then St. Just continues, "By then we saw the Prussian Colonel and his men preparing to leave as well. They were trying to decide whether to take zhee road or follow zhee rogues across the field. Eet was then we knew this would be no small battle. They decided to take zhee road, not knowing if you had already passed zhee intersection point or not. But we took zhee shortcut and arrived first."

Jeremy leans forward. "You realize though, the Colonel fought on our side. When you saw them getting ready to leave, did you think you would be fighting with or against your Prussian enemies?

"Well zhat we did not know. But when they arrived at zhee battle and began to fight on your side, we were not surprised. After all, neither you nor they are French."

"So you chose to fight alongside your enemies, the Prussians, and against your own countrymen on behalf of us Americans, foreigners on your soil. That strikes me as rather odd."

"Well, it may not seem so very odd if you realize zhat we do not care so much about politics as we do zhee ladies!"

"Your first loyalty isn't to your country?"

"Well Monsieur…I may be a Frenchman, but, I am not _all _French! I have a grandfather who was thoroughly British, yet he succumbed to the charms of a beautiful French woman and even married her!"

"So, not being _all_ French, you're partial to foreigners and don't necessarily take sides against the Prussians?"

"Mais oui! We are on the side of zhee beautiful woman, always! And zhat ees zhat."

"And what if there are beautiful women on both sides?"

"Ah…zhen clearly we are on both sides!" St. Just exclaims smugly, much to Jeremy's consternation.

I don't know about Jeremy, but I'm about ready to kick these three flamingos off the premises.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity, Monsieur, or are there other things you do not understand?"

"I will speak to the doctor, but do you intend to leave without your driver? If he's not well enough to come to the table, he's certainly not well enough to drive you."

Ach, so Jeremy thinks the amigos are feeling conspicuous now they've scouted out the territory and will leave the dimwitted little driver to do whatever dirty work is left.

"Oh he eez well enough!" The three laugh. "He simply eez not a morning person. Sleep, sleep, sleep…all morning he will, if he can. But he eez fine! He can still drive for us. One arm eez enough for him, he eez so strong and a very good driver."

Ok, scratch that theory. They're all four in a yank to get out of here, which doesn't bode well either.

Jeremy challenges them. "Perhaps he's able to drive with one arm, but when I asked the doctor how you were doing, he said your driver was groggy and unable to speak coherently."

"Oh no, no! He is zhat way all zhee time." St. Just says with a merry titter, echoed by his friends. His hand flutters to his head, and he taps his fingers lightly against his skull. "He eez…shall we say…somewhat empty up here."

Jeremy crosses his arms, scrutinizing St. Just. "I saw him fighting during the battle. He was as quick with a sword as any of you. Are you calling him an idiot?"

"Yes, very, very good with swords, he eez! And with cards too! He beats us all zhee time! But still he eez an idiot." St. Just snaps his fingers in the air as if searching for an elusive word. "What is zhee word…ah, yes…'savant'. He is an _idiot savant_. Very good at swords and cards and driving. Very bad at everything else. Very, very bad at thinking and speaking. I always have to do zhee thinking and zhee talking for him."

"Why would you, a Frenchman, employ a British driver, who is dimwitted in the bargain? Is this a charity case, or do you keep him for entertainment purposes?"

"Oh, both, Monsieur! But he is not _all _British! Remember my British grandfather who fell for zhee French woman? Zhee two of them had many children and this driver eez my British cousin. He is from a wealthy, prestigious family. But he was very bad at too many things, and became an embarrassment to zhee family. I met him some years ago on a visit to my uncle's and offered to adopt him as my driver. They readily sent him along. He was excited to come to with me. 'Traveling,' he calls it."

_I'll bet they sent him with you! _It's all I can do to keep my mouth shut and let Jeremy wrap this up. When I feel I can't keep my mouth shut anymore I fill it with food to prevent my thoughts from spewing out.

Jeremy isn't eating anything, and I can see this conversation is about to come to an end. He gets up from his chair. "I'll go speak to the doctor now. He may be down later to check on your…cousin. If he is truly well enough to travel, I'm sure the doctor won't insist on keeping you here any longer. But in either case, I'd like to meet this driver of yours. Do you think you could persuade him to get out of bed for a game of cards later this morning?"

"Quite possibly so!" exclaims St. Just amid exuberant nods from the other two.

"Good, then. I'll meet you in the Great Hall just before noon." Jeremy nods his leave and walks back to the buffet table, putting two croissants on a plate. Then he pours a cup of coffee and strides out of the dining room with me on his heels. If my mouth wasn't so full of the last of my food, I'd come right out and tell him I know that's for Terese.

By the time I've swallowed everything, we're on the stairway to the third floor and my thoughts on the amigo issue spill out. "Cards huh? What's that gonna prove?"

"It buys me time and lets me assess this so-called driver." A deep furrow lies across Jeremy's forehead as we tramp up the stairs. "They claim to be on 'no one's side but the ladies.' But nothing they said rules out the possibility that they're still the enemy. And, even if they're playing both sides for their own ends, it makes them nothing but enemies with friendly faces."

"In all three cases we want nothin' to do with them," I spit.

"Agreed. But the fact they were so happy to stay, and now suddenly anxious to leave, combined with this bull that it's all about 'the ladies'…makes me suspect they got what they came for and are racing off to deliver the goods."

"Well, we're either going to have t' let them go or corner them somehow. But there are risks both ways. Which do you think is the lesser o' the two evils?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet. It's not even eight in the morning, and I have 'til noon. I'll have a better feel for things once I meet this 'idiot savant' cousin."

"At the very least you'll have a chance t' get beat at cards."

"I may lose at cards, but I won't lose the _game_."

I get his drift. We'll play the hand we're dealt. I change the subject.

"So you're into croissants now?" I rib him.

"Yes, I'm suddenly into croissants," he says flatly.

"You just don't seem like the croissant type," I prod with a grin.

He ignores my probing as we continue down the hall. Terese's and his bedroom doors are side by side. I'm trying to guess which one he'll knock on, when suddenly there's a blood curdling shriek from the other end of the hall.

"What the bloody hell?" I turn on my heels.

Jeremy clunks the plate and cup down on a sideboard and races down the hall, overtaking me. "You all right in there?" he bangs on the door.

I catch up to him as the door opens abruptly and Julia, one of the new team members pokes her head out. "Everything's fine, boys. The shower's just a little too cold for Terese."

Jeremy jolts, and I jump in surprise.

"Derek hauled a bunch of water up here but he must've got it straight from the well. Tell him from now on he needs to bring it up the night before so it's at least room temperature by morning!"

I stare in amazement. "You've really got a shower in there?"

"Yes and there's a naked woman standing under it at the moment, if you two don't mind!" She bugs her brown eyes at us impatiently.

Jeremy and I are struck with paralysis.

Julia turns back inside and asks with a sweet tinge of sarcasm, "Terese, its Officer Nichols and Dr. Marek. Are either one of them authorized to be in here just now?"

I steal a furtive glance at Jeremy. For the first time this morning he seems completely at a loss.

Julia's face reappears. "She says she'll be out in a minute. She just wanted to take a shower before the meeting." Then Julia sticks her arm into the hall and bats us away. "I'm official guard of this door, and you two are officially gawking. Now bug off."

_Erik's POV: _

My eyes open slowly. I blink, trying to clear away the fog, to focus on the hazy figure next to me. A warm hand brushes across my forehead, pushing my hair out of my eyes. Then a face lowers and soft lips kiss my temple. Laura's face comes clearly into view, inches above me.

"It's so good to see your beautiful eyes, my love," she whispers as she again brushes her hand softly over my forehead.

I know what she means, what she's feeling. When she was lying so perilously close to death in the hospital, all I wanted was for her to open her eyes and look at me. I suddenly perceive what she has been going through. There is a dull ache in every muscle of my body as I to bring myself into the present.

She turns to the bedside table and takes a wash cloth from a bowl of water, wringing it out. As she presses it gently on my forehead and temples, I give her a smile of relief.

Finally I find my voice, "How long has it been?"

"This is Tuesday. You've been sleeping most of the time for over a day. Do you remember that Terese is here?"

"No, I do not remember anything since the battle."

"She brought blood for your transfusion, and Matt has stitched up your wound. You are going to be fine now."

"Yes, I knew that much."

"How is that?"

"Because you are here." Then I smirk, "if I were dead, there would be little men with red pitchforks poking at me."

She purses her lips and frowns at me, "So, you don't think you would end up in heaven?"

"No! Remember? I am the Devil's Child."

"Well then, you'll just have to live a very, very long life to give yourself time for rehabilitation," she replies with her impish grin.

"You think that is possible?"

"I have every confidence you can do whatever you set you mind to." Then she kisses me on the lips. "And I'll be by your side every step of the way, keeping you on the straight and narrow."

"I accept your offer."

She laughs. It's so good to hear her laugh. Placing the washcloth down, she asks, "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, but my stomach tells me it would prefer something more substantial. Could you bring some roasted pork and seasoned potatoes from the kitchen?"

"You sound like you're feeling much better! But, Matt told me that I could only give you broth today."

"Broth? Merely broth? Is Matt trying to starve me? Is this his way of finally removing me as his rival for your affections?"

Laura narrows her eyes in mock horror. "Yes, you must certainly be on your guard for such sinister plans. But in the meantime, that's all you're allowed to eat."

"So! You are his accomplice!"

"Yes, my love, for now I am." She pats my hand as if chiding a rebellious child. "I'll go to the kitchen right now and bring some nice, hot broth and tea."

I snort my disapproval as she turns and quickly departs. While I am still in the midst of feeling very misused, Marek, of all people, enters my room.

"What ill wind blew you here?" I snap, feeling somewhat cantankerous.

"What a warm greeting for an old friend!" Marek responds with his cockeyed grin.

" 'Old friend' is not exactly how I would describe our relationship," I spit back. "Our last meetings were fiery at the very least and you were in no manner positive about being able to bring Laura back with me."

"Well, well, there, Erik! I was only trying t' be honest about the situation." I notice he stops near my bed, but not too near. "It was never an easy thing t' accomplish, you know—bringin' her back from a previous timeline and into the current timeline where she was dying. That was always risky business! Has it ever occurred to you tha' you made matters worse by going off half-cocked and blackmailing us on top of it!"

"But if I had not done that," I snarl, "you probably would not have gotten the job done!"

"Well we did! And she's here! Or do you still want t' argue about it? I don't see any handy axe for you t' use on my skull," he makes a chopping motion above his head. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and grins at me, "Or could we just bury it for once and for all?"

As we are still glaring at each other in a standoff, Laura returns with a tray and her unceasingly pleasant smile. I glance over at the contents of the tray. One teapot, two cups, a tureen of broth and several bowls. No real food in sight. Not even a biscuit. Matt is going to pay for this!

Laura turns to Marek and asks, "Would you like to join us?"

He takes one look at the tray and replies, "No, thanks, I'll pass. I had a large breakfast. The roast pork, biscuits and gravy were delicious. I'm stuffed."

I look daggers at Marek. And if I had one, I would use it.

He glances my way and gulps. "I just remembered, there's a meeting I need t' attend." Then, backing out of the room, he waves at me and says, "I'll drop by later, Erik, and see if you're doing any better!" Then he is gone.

Laura takes another pillow from the wardrobe and puts it under my head, gently propping me up into a sitting position. Then she ladles some of the broth into one of the bowls, and taking a spoon, sits on the bed next to me, saying sweetly, "Breakfast?"

As the spoonful of steaming, liquid poises in front of my mouth, I glower.


	81. Chapter 81

**A/N: Apologies for not posting last week at our usual two week interval. But, 'tis the season of busy-ness, of summer, of gardens, and of sunshine! That, and intense work on the book, just didn't allow us time to post last week. **

**But, to make up for that, we will post again NEXT week, instead of two weeks from now. That will be our July 4****th**** weekend treat! A special, very romantic chapter!! Don't miss it!**

**And, again, thank you, profusely, to each of you who posts your reviews!! A pink strawberry cupcake for you!! We writers put a lot of time and effort into this story to make it special, so please, if you read this, leave your comments! It is how we know what you are enjoying about the story, and most certainly, each thing you write inspires our muses!**

Now…Jeremy and Marek need to learn about those matadors and what their real agenda is. And, Erik and Laura continue learning more, much more, about each other!

**

* * *

****Chapter 81 REVELATIONS**, by KFC and Phanfan

_January 2, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

"Sam, Ty, I want you to position yourselves just outside the library. Derek, Linc, you cover the front door. I don't know if anything will happen, but I want all bases covered. It's time to find out what tricks the three matadors have up their sleeves."

Marek adds, "Stay alert, men." Then he tries to lighten the mood. "But do no' look like you are. You know, act casual." The men snort at his attempt at humor and leave, shaking their heads. Sue and Julia stay to see if they can do anything for Joe.

We're having our powwow in Joe's room, and he's itching to get out. When I explained the situation with our 'guests,' he was overjoyed at the idea of helping us take on this so-called 'idiot savant' in a game of cards. The women have been fussing over Joe and his aches and pains. He played it for all it's worth until Julia caught on and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Ach, Joe, will you no' learn to stop when you're ahead?" Marek chuckles.

Finally, Marek, Russ and I manage to get Joe downstairs and into the library where there's a large table we can use for the card game.

Not long after we've seated ourselves, Monsieur DePere flamboyantly enters the library. He's followed by the youngest of the Frenchmen, Monsieur Moreaux, whose manner is brimming with spark. Behind them is the tall and gangly St. Just, his short black hair combed to perfection. Walking beside him is Percy, the driver with the strange pedigree, who's slightly shorter, but more solidly built. In proper 19th century etiquette, we stand and welcome them.

When Percy only gives everyone a dense stare, St. Just directs, "Take a bow." Percy watches dully as St. Just demonstrates the proper way. Comprehending that he's supposed to follow suit, the driver executes an appropriate bow. Although he moves slowly, he isn't the least bit clumsy. Physical coordination must not be one of his challenges. I remember his ease of movement both while driving and wielding a sword, but it appears to be simply a reflexive intelligence.

I've only seen his face in the dark until now, and he seems even more slow and dull than I remembered. A wide jaw and well shaped chin frame his lax, droopy mouth. Tangled dirty blonde hair is tied back from his face, revealing witless, puppy dog eyes that shine as if from reflected light rather than life within. I almost feel sorry for him.

"Would you like to play cards, Percy? Perhaps a game of vingt-un?" St. Just asks, as if speaking to a child.

Joe already briefed us on the card games that are currently in fashion. 'Vingt-un' is the shortened version of the name, vingt-et-un. We call it 21 or Blackjack. St. Just takes a deck of cards from his pocket and holds it in front of the driver. I watch Percy's eyes as he takes the deck in his large hands. A tiny light seems to ignite deep within his eyes, then sharpens into a glint. Suddenly there's a contradiction of idiocy and genius. His saggy mouth tightens at the corners, pulling his lips into a loony grin as he nods his head up and down with excitement. St. Just offers him the cards, and he's about to take them when Joe pulls out his own deck and lays it on the table with a thunk. "How about using mine?" he challenges.

St. Just's eyebrows lift into a suave arch punctuating his cagey smile. With a little toss of one hand and a congenial 'mais oui' he turns to the driver. "They want to use their own," he says, taking the deck out of Percy's hand. Percy just shrugs agreeably and sits down opposite me at the table. He eyes the cards eagerly, waiting for the game to begin.

The three Frenchmen join us at the table and watch with keen interest as Joe shuffles the cards and places them in front of Percy to cut. There's silence except for the little thwacking sounds as two cards are dealt to each player. Everyone places their bets. The game moves quickly, and the only winner is Percy.

Joe barely gets the cards dealt to the players when Percy turns over a king and an ace. Automatic 21. With few exceptions, Percy wins each time. It's uncanny. But I don't think he's cheating. I think he's counting cards.

I'm losing more than I'm winning, but so is everyone else, which doesn't surprise me. Joe's the only card shark on the Team. However, it does seem this "idiot" has savant-like qualities. I watch him closely as he plays. Each unlikely spark of brilliance in his eyes is accompanied by involuntary facial twitches and random curling at the corners of his mouth. With each card that's dealt, I watch his quivering lower lip, hoping it won't begin to drool.

DePere suddenly lets out a curse, in German. All American eyes are instantly on the annoyed Frenchman, while the other Frenchies continue their aimless banter, and the British idiot scores yet another win. But DePere's cursing has nothing to do with the game. He's spilt a few drops of red wine on his bright blue jacket, and cracks an embarrassed half smile. With an over-exaggerated flourish, he dabs at the stain and cheers Percy's latest win.

"I'd like to play one on one with Percy," Joe says casually. He obviously believes the fops have been helping the driver win.

St. Just puts his handkerchief to his mouth in shock, "Ah…you do not believe he is winning single handedly? We will see how he does without us."

I watch like a hawk as Joe takes on Percy without the help of his friends. But it doesn't matter. Percy wins all but two hands. Joe keeps scrutinizing Percy and the three men closely, trying to figure out if they have a system. The Frenchmen sense his suspicion as they hover over the game, so they excuse themselves and leave the room. Joe and the "idiot" play game after game, but Percy beats the odds and wins over Joe's cards almost every time. At last Joe throws down the deck and calls into the hall. "Alright, you can come back in."

Smiling and nonchalant, the Frenchies wander back into the library, but remain standing. Now that I've heard DePere curse in German, I'm even more determined to get to the truth of who they are.

Motioning for Russ to close the library door, I stand and bluntly ask, "So you're Germans masquerading as Frenchmen?"

"Do not be so quick to draw conclusions, Monsieur," St. Just retorts.

"That wasn't a conclusion. It was an accusation. If you're German, that would explain your tolerance of fighting alongside the Prussians, as well as your interest in us Americans and your willingness to take up arms against the French."

"That would be one way of looking at it." St. Just cocks his head. "But it would not explain our fighting against Herr Gunter…who after all, hired the French thugs and sent them after you. Is it not logical that if we were German, we would have sided with him against you?"

"So you know Herr Gunter?" Eyeing them with skepticism, I put aside the problem of their nationalities for the moment.

St. Just glares back at me. "Perhaps."

"Just what _do_ you know about him?"

"Perhaps we do not feel it wise to reveal all our secrets when we are outnumbered by those who are unwilling to reveal theirs." He looks pointedly at the closed door and then back to me. "Why don't you let us go in peace?

"You don't want to go, or you wouldn't be provoking my curiosity by bringing up Herr Gunter. You're intentionally baiting me."

St. Just takes a small step forward. "And you are trying to corner us. Why should we be the first to reveal any secrets?"

"You are guests in our chateau, and we have a right to know who you are."

"You are guests in our country. We have a right to know who you are!" The other two Frenchmen take several steps away from St. Just, giving themselves fighting room. Joe and Percy remain seated. Noticing the Frenchie's defensive movements, Marek and Russ put their hands on their weapons. And wait. I can see Joe's hand move to his waist, no doubt getting ready to pull a knife if this escalates into a fight.

I cut to the chase, "By my last count, you appear to have loyalties to three countries, yet claim no political interest in your own. Very odd!"

"Just what is your _American_ scheme?" St. Just spits back.

"We have no _American_ scheme."

Looking at me with cynical disbelief, St. Just says, "Is that so, Monsieur? Then perhaps you have finished your game. We are leaving now."

I pull my sword. "You're not going anywhere yet."

Instantly seven blades are in the air, plus the knife Joe has drawn.

But instead of St. Just, suddenly the idiot driver stands in front of me, with sword in hand.

Brown eyes stare up at me from beneath bushy brows, regarding me with witless curiosity. I stare back, waiting for him to make the first move. But he continues to stare me down. No one moves.

Then I see it. Deep in his eyes signs of intelligence spark. The savant appears to be awakening. He continues to glare, but his eyes become more and more brilliant and alive. The puppy dog look fades as his eyes fill with savvy and sharpness. Then Percy's saggy mouth morphs into a normal shape, and I watch in astonishment as his entire persona transforms in front of my eyes. Although his hair and physical form remain the same, the idiot has disappeared. I stare in amazement at his dramatic transformation.

I look briefly over at his companions. It's as if the three fops have left the room and swordsmen have materialized in their places. Their facades have now fallen away.

Marek, Russ and Joe are ready to strike at my signal. I motion to them to hold back and lock eyes with Percy. "Let's just keep this between you and me."

Percy follows suit and stays his men.

Percy begins to circle me slowly. Our eyes lock, and I demand, "Explain who you are."

His attack is swift, but not reckless. I'm prepared and knock his blade aside. We exchange several thrusts and parries, each sizing up the other.

Finally Percy speaks, "Haven't you ever been on both sides before?" His voice is strong and commanding.

"Are you claiming you have no loyalty to France?" I lunge toward him, on point.

Percy deftly steps aside, grinning at me. "As you have pointed out, we represent at least three countries. I am mostly British, and St. Just is mostly French. Moreaux here, is of both French and German descent. DePere is entirely of French lineage, and yet he is descended from French aristocrats whose lives were spared during the revolution by my British grandfather. So we are politically, an odd lot, you might say. Not so ready to fight and die for the interests of any one country over another."

"That's an interesting take on things." I circle to his left.

"Is it?"

"Yes, for a skilled fighter and master of disguise like yourself." Our swords touch in a combination of strikes as we test each other's mettle.

Percy disengages and steps back. With a calm voice, he explains, "While that may seem disloyal to you, we see ourselves as preferring to be loyal to mankind. The vengeful retaliation and wars that have been raging for centuries between the countries of Europe will only lead to the destruction of all, if it continues."

Taken aback, I study him, but remain en garde and reply, "Continue." This is getting interesting.

"We believe if the present conflict is perpetuated, we will see no end to wars. The lull between conflicts will last only as long as it takes for the defeated nation to recover itself enough to retaliate. And so on…back and forth….for decades, even hundreds of years. Our fear is that the entire world will soon be at war. It is inevitable, if things continue to escalate at the rate they have been. That, Monsieurs, is why we take no side. As we see it, the world is not a square table with sides to be taken. It is a circle, and all of us are connected around it and will suffer the same consequences."

Shocked, I stare at the transformed idiot before me. For a nineteenth century man to accurately predict future world wars and see with 20/20 vision what modern geniuses have only been able to perceive in hindsight is sobering. I'm beginning to see them in a different light.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" I lower my sword, and Percy does the same.

"We do not wish to reveal _all_…" Percy smirks. "As I'm sure, you do not either."

"Just who are you?" I persist.

"Our identities," he replies, "are, by design, a mystery to all but a select few. We are generally considered to be ignorant fops. But that is convenient. We are never suspected of anything but pleasure seeking…unless we intentionally present ourselves as an enigma," he replies with a smug curl at the edge of his mouth.

"So you've gathered information about Herr Gunter and the Prussians?"

"We make it our business to know the business of other men."

"What do you know about Herr Gunter?"

"That 'Herr Gunter' was no German. He was an American imposter, bent on perpetuating the current conflicts between the French and Prussians. We overheard conversations he had with both sides. Evidently, he was trying to inflame their animosities toward each other at this very delicate time when the Prussians are still occupying the country north of Paris."

I catch the look on Marek's face. His eyebrows are raised in surprise, and he signals almost imperceptibly. I read his meaning. Looking back at Percy, I ask, "You seem to be very efficient at gathering information. What have you gathered about us?"

"That Herr Gunter was attempting to thwart the efforts of a group of Americans who entered the country as friends of a wealthy Frenchman and his American fiancé."

"And why would he want to do that?" I wonder just how much these men have found out about us.

"We had been watching Herr Gunter for a couple weeks. He made many inquiries about you and wormed an invitation to the bal masque after he heard Monsieur Mercier, and his _friends, _were invited. We started following him closely several days ago and learned that he had contacted a group of thugs. We were obviously suspicious and kept close watch on your group and Herr Gunter during the bal."

"Spying is one thing, risking your life to intercede in a battle is quite another. Why did you do that?"

"Well, perhaps as we have said before, because we could not let harm come to such beautiful women."

"But the truth is?" I press.

"We understood the sinister level of Herr Gunter's machinations. He considered your group to be dangerous to his plans, so he set an ambush to remove you. That means you were a significant threat to him and clearly opposed him. Perhaps you even represent some department of the United States government?"

"If we did, we would not say," I reply.

"I understand," he smiles knowingly, "but by simple deduction, it is clear that we have similar goals."

"Perhaps we do at that," I nod in concession. "So, what part do the Prussians play in this?"

'They are curious about you, Monsieur. Most likely hoping to gain your favor. From the information we have gathered, the Prussians also believe that you may represent your government."

"Why would they take our side against a German?"

"They knew 'Herr Günter' was not German. He had an impeccable accent and detailed knowledge of their political situation, but he was clumsy concerning the small things. German customs and etiquette. He fooled neither the Prussians nor us."

"Why did the Prussians choose to defend us against him?"

"Gunter tried to garner favor with both the French and the Prussians. So both sides distrusted him and merely played along with his game to uncover his real scheme."

"Do the Prussians trust you? Or are they unaware that you play both sides as well?"

Percy smiles cunningly. "They are unaware that we, as a league, even exist."

"Well they may suspect something about you now, after the battle," I point out sarcastically.

"True, but they have only seen the four of us."

"Just how many are there?"

"We are a league of nineteen at present, well disguised and known only to a select few. Our members come from numerous countries and all social classes, but hold one thing in common. Our belief in the principals of the French Revolution: _Liberté, égalité, fraternité_—liberty, equality and brotherhood! Do you not have something similar in your Declaration of Independence?'"

"Yes." But I don't want to be sidetracked. I need to know more about this league. "And just how does your league go about accomplishing _that?"_

"Exploits," he replies with a devious grin. "Covert missions of all kinds. Whatever may serve to prevent the catastrophes we foresee in the future."

"I see." I study him and consider his words. They ring true, in fact, downright prophetic. And, their actions have fit his words. At present, I have no reason to doubt what he says, but only time will tell. I extend my hand in conciliation. "In that case, we wish you well. We're grateful for your coming to our aid in the battle."

Percy shakes my hand firmly. "Should you have further need of our services, send one of your men to this address." He pulls a small envelope from his waistcoat and hands it to me. "On this paper is the signature I use. That will identify me more than my appearance, since I am often in disguise."

Taking the note, I put it in my pocket and nod in acknowledgement.

"May we take our leave now?" Percy asks facetiously.

I motion for my men to stand down and put their swords away. Russ opens the door and steps aside.

"Sir Percival Blakeney, the Third, at your service," he bows formally. Turning to his friends, he directs, "Remain here while I drive the coach from the stables. We must maintain our façade."

"Very well," St. Just replies.

We watch out the windows as Percy ambles across the stable yard toward the carriage. Once again he's assumed the "idiot" persona, and it's difficult to believe he's the same man I spoke with a moment ago. When he climbs clumsily into the driver's seat, I say to St. Just. "It's a brilliant disguise. He's a very convincing 'idiot,' and has certainly perfected his act."

"Oh, he never plays the same fool twice," St. Just assures me. "This was for the bal masque. Posing as a driver allowed him to assess what was going on outside the château while we were busy inside. A lot can be learned from coachmen around a warming fire."

The three resume their facades for the benefit of servants as we escort them out the main entrance, to the front driveway. With a foppish wave of his hand through the carriage window, St. Just concludes his performance for the day. Marek, Russ and I stand in the drive and watch them leave.

"You handled tha' well, Nichols." Marek's encouragement seems genuine, but I don't feel as confident as he sounds.

I shake my head. "I just hope I'm not falling for some ruse."

Marek starts to laugh. "Still second guessin' yourself are ya?"

"I guess so."

"Well take a look at the note. If his signature is what I suspect...you'll be alright."

Mystified, I glance at Marek as we turn back toward the château. "How would you know his signature?"

"Just open the damn note and look."

I unfold the paper and stare, stupefied.

"I'm thinkin' it's stamped with the seal of a little five petal, red flower," Marek muses. "Am I right?"

"Damn it!" I whirl in shock and watch as the carriage disappears around the far bend of the lane.

Looking at the note over my shoulder, Russ remarks in awe, "Talk about fiction coming to life."

With an admiring tone, Marek says, "Make tha' history, Russ. His grandfather's exploits really happened, it's just tha' the stories about him have no' yet been written."

I stand speechless, but Marek keeps laughing and says, "Horatio knew what he was doin' when he left you in charge." He slaps me on the shoulder. "No one's gettin' away with anything on your watch. Not even the Scarlet Pimpernel."

_Erik's POV:_

Dull throbbing in my leg awakens me. I open my eyes and find that Laura has fallen asleep in the chair nearby. Her dark lashes lay softly on her cheeks, and her long hair falls loosely across her face and down her graceful neck. Watching the pulse beat slowly at the base of her throat reminds me of how soft and warm her skin is. And how luscious it was to let my lips linger there. I just want to enfold her in my arms and never let her go. Feasting my eyes on her for many moments, I wish my body was able to fulfill my desires.

Then I espy it. On the table next to Laura is half of a croissant, slathered with fresh butter and strawberry jam. The head cook preserved the strawberries from the garden and made the most delicious jam I have ever tasted. Since it is midwinter, I know there are only a few jars remaining. My mouth waters for the taste of it.

But Laura may not allow me to eat it. She is under the temporary spell of Matt now, and there is nothing more pernicious than being under the orders of a doctor. She will do as he bids, thinking it is for my welfare. But that thin soup, that poor excuse for food, was not enough. I was not this hungry during the Siege when supplies of food to Paris were cut off by the Prussians. So, I must take no chances. I must procure this bit of food myself. Before she wakes up.

Extending my arm out, I grasp at the croissant, but it is just beyond my reach. My eyes desperately search for something that can pull it closer, into my hands. The only thing on the table at my bedside is a cup of tea on a saucer. I put the cup on the table as quietly as possible, so as not to wake her. Picking up the saucer, I stretch as far as I can toward my goal. The rim of the saucer just barely touches the edge of the croissant. But it is not enough, the croissant does not budge.

I know that I dare not move enough to jostle my leg. The pain medicine is not strong enough to prevent the stabbing agony that happens whenever I do. So, my eyes survey the table next to Laura and discover the fork. Gritting my teeth, I reach for it, stretching as far as I can without moving my leg. At first my fingertips only brush the tip of the fork. It's just out of reach. Then with the slightest adjustment of my position in the bed, success! The fork slips into my hand.

Holding the tip of the handle to give the longest possible extension, I stab the croissant with the tines and slowly drag it off the plate. My stomach suddenly growls loudly in anticipation. I freeze and study Laura's face, fearful that the noise might cause her to stir. But she does not. She continues to sleep serenely. I resume dragging the pastry toward me, across the table. When it reaches the edge, the most precarious part of the maneuver confronts me. If the tines do not hold the croissant, it will fall to the ground, out of my reach. I grit my teeth at the very thought. I must not fail.

Pushing the fork deeper into the soft bread, with infinite caution, I lift it off the table and bring it toward me, gently and slowly. Then it begins to slide off the fork. I stop, but my hand is poised above the dangerous chasm between the table and the bed. If it falls now, it will land on the floor, and I will not be able to retrieve it. I slightly adjust the angle of the fork, further skewering and securing the morsel.

Finally it is in my grasp, and I secure it with my other hand. Wasting no time, I devour the delectable food, triumphantly savoring the crumbly, butter-drenched bread and sweet strawberry jam. Nothing I have ever eaten has been quite so satisfying. I moan with pleasure as the last bite slides down my throat.

Then I look down and see it. The fork. Lying on top of the sheet. A momentary panic hits me. I must return it to its original place on the table next to Laura. Picking it up by the tines, I again stretch precariously, soundlessly, and put it back. Then I replace the saucer under its cup. Everything is in its rightful place. I let out a sigh of contentment and continue my pleasurable pastime of taking in Laura's peaceful slumber.

After awhile her eyes flutter open. She sees me watching her and smiles, "Hello, my love. You're awake!"

"Yes, for some time now."

She stretches, then stands and comes to me, leaning over and kissing my lips. She lingers there for sometime, kissing me deeply. When she pulls back, she has a quizzical look in her eyes.

"My you taste very nice. Almost like strawberries." Her brow furrows, as she studies my reaction of innocence. Then she looks over at the plate on the table next to her chair.

Turning back, she gazes at me knowingly. "Well, Erik, did you enjoy the croissant?"

I look at her sheepishly, but say nothing. I know enough to never admit guilt. That could get one in deep trouble.

Then her eyes scan from my bed to the table, gauging the distance. "That must've taken a bit of work. I know your arm isn't that long."

Finally I venture, "Magic?"

She grins. "No doubt! I didn't eat the other half of the croissant, because I was saving it for you. I knew Matt would strictly enforce the 'soup only' rule today, so I smuggled it in on the pretext that it was for me. I even had to take a bite when Matt came in the room to check on you. It was meant for you all the time. All you needed to do was ask me."

I pick up her hand and kiss it. "Thank you. It was heavenly. And you are an angel."

Then reaching up and brushing my fingers across her cheek, I add, "And, I certainly married the right women. You are as devious as I am."

Profuse thank yous to our editor, Phanna.


	82. Chapter 82

**A/N: This is the special Fourth of July weekend edition I promised!**

**We're glad you all enjoyed finding out the identities of our French matadors! Thank you to each of you who have posted your reviews! We writers truly value them, and would love to hear from ALL who read The Epic Case! So please leave your comments. It gives valued feedback to us and is **_**your token**_** of appreciation. **

The little time that Jeremy and Terese have together is precious, and they have so much to share.

Erik, on the other hand, is being given fine medical care, constant support and attention from everyone in the château, and the loving care of Laura. Being the solitary, self-sufficient and secretive phantom that he is, it's driving him bugnuts! Enjoy!

**

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****Chapter 82 SECRETS, by KFC, Phanfan & Phanna**

_Tuesday, January 2, 1871_

_Château Mercier_

_Teresa's POV:_

I'm climbing the stairs from the underground room when I hear someone coming down. I hope it's Jeremy instead of Marek. By the even footfall, I'd guess I'm in luck. Marek would be tromping. I slide up against the wall and wait. I'm just about to reach out and touch him when Jeremy turns and grabs me by the shoulder and slides his hand around the back of my neck.

"Kiss now, ask questions later," I whisper.

I sink against the wall, pulling him close enough to kiss his smirk. As he goes about the business of kissing me back, I slide my hands inside his coat and around his waist. He leans into me, sending a thrill up my spine. When I've completely lost my breath, he pulls back and wraps me in his arms like a rag doll.

"I like the sound of you out of breath," he says licking his lips.

"And now for the questions?"

"Uh…the obvious. Which way were you going?"

"Um, up. No, down," I sputter. "Shoot, now I've forgotten. Brain cells need oxygen you know."

My eyes adjust to the dimness enough to see the spark in his eyes. "Were you on your way _to_ or _from_ my room?"

"I think I was just sitting here on the stairs daydreaming in the dark. Hoping to run into you."

"So are you sure you're not still dreaming?" he eyes me.

"I don't know. Maybe I should pinch myself."

He reaches under my shirt and pinches me playfully, letting his hand rest around my waist.

"Any more….questions," I ask between his kisses.

"Mmmmm….can't think. Brain cells need oxygen."

"Hmmm….then I have one for you."

"Yeah?"

"Who's Sue?"

He stops kissing and gives me a dizzy stare. "Who's who?"

"Sue."

He squints, feigning confusion. "Sue who?"

"I don't know who. I just heard the way she called you 'Jer' when you left your room this morning. _And_ I saw her watching you all during the meeting. You called her Sue. Who is she?"

He shrugs nonchalantly and kisses me again. "Sue's just Sue,"

I lower my voice and pry gently. "Is Sue an old flame?"

His eyes narrow into sly slits. "More like a blown out candle."

"Well she seems to be smoking a little at the wick." I brush his hair back from his face with my fingers. "Are you sure she's not one of those trick candles that keep relighting?"

This elicits a laugh from him, but he doesn't answer.

I kiss him again and speak even softer. "I'm just wondering who Sue is…or was…or has been, to you."

"You really want to know? Then come on a little night excursion with me." His eyes dance as he leans to whisper in my ear. "I'll tell you all my secrets, and you tell me yours."

"But I'm still incognito. What if someone sees me?"

He pulls back, with raised eyebrows and an incredulous look. "I'm a Navy SEAL, Terese. I can smuggle you out of here."

"Ok. When do we go?" I smile, taking his hands.

"As soon as it's dark."

As soon as night falls, Jeremy smuggles me out of the château. Like two kids sneaking around in the dark, we move through the back passages of the château to an outside stairway. He takes my hand and leads me down the steep steps and through the shadows to where his horse is waiting. Then scooping me up, he puts me on Sagan's back and swings up behind me. I snuggle into the warmth of his arms and the heavy cloak to shield myself against the chill. But Jeremy seems relieved to be out in the cold, crisp winter night.

"You've been cooped up too much today haven't you?" I whisper as we ride away from the château.

"Pretty much." He nods. "You haven't been out since you got here. It's high time."

There are no stars tonight, but the moon glows through a light haze in the sky. "Where are we going?"

"Sleepy Hollow," his tone is serious. "It'll scare you so bad I'll have to keep my arms around you at all times, and when we get back you won't be able to let go of me for days."

"You think I'd have to be scared into letting that happen?"

"What's wrong, aren't you up to it?" He teases. "Don't worry, you'll be safe with me."

"I just thought it would be somewhere more romantic. But we can't see the stars very well tonight anyway."

"Oh who needs stars when you've got bats, and owls, and murky black woods? We'll ride to the thickest part of the forest and climb up into a tree. Every now and then you'll hear a screech. And when you hear the bat wings swish past, you'll know it's almost time for the moon to peek out and the headless horseman ride by." He kisses my ear and whispers. "It's very romantic… I promise."

With his arms around me, I'd go with him anywhere. Through Sleepy hollow…through hell.

Sure enough, as we enter the forest an uncanny blackness engulfs us. Jeremy jokes with me all the way through the dense fog, providing the eerie sound effects of owls, bats, and ghosts. I play scared and he hugs me close. I love hearing his voice and feeling his breath on my ear. He's right, it is very romantic.

I'm half expecting him to follow through with his talk about taking me up in a tree. Suddenly, all I can think of is the old schoolyard taunt: "_Terese and Jeremy, sittin' in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G…" _Remembering the words that come next, I feel sad. That's the last thing I should be thinking about right now. Marriage and babies. I feel a lurch in my heart. Jeremy would be perfect…

All at once, we break through the trees at the edge of a beautiful lake. I feel like we just stepped out of sleepy hollow, into heaven. The moon has cleared from behind the clouds and reflects across the surface, turning it into a ribbon of gold. I gaze spellbound as we ride slowly beside the water's edge. There are no words between us now. The night is too beautiful. We meander around the lake and up the hill on the far side. Then we stop at the crest and sit in silence on Sagan's back, just feeling close.

Finally we get down off our horse and work together to build a fire. As Jeremy cuts brush, and we throw it into a pile, I decide it's time to bring up the question he's been evading.

"So…you said you'd tell me who she is."

Jeremy catches my eye across the pile of branches. "Oh yeah. What's her name again?" He smiles, feigning forgetfulness.

"You remembered this morning." I laugh.

"Well this morning was a long time ago. Either a lot has happened today, or she's easy to forget."

He strikes the match and lights a fire. I'm still watching him, and waiting patiently for an answer to my question. When the flames have taken hold, he glances up at me, glint from the fire sparking in his eyes.

"Her name is Sue." I play along, just to enjoy bantering with him while he's in this mood.

"Ohhhh…yes! Sue. The girl with brown hair."

"You big buffoon. Most of the girls in the chateau have brown hair."

He's toying with me. And enjoying it. He's going to make me pry this out of him.

"So…um…I'm assuming you and Sue have some kind of history together. Let me guess. You were on the same team at one time…and, you saved her life. She's been in love with you ever since. She's beautiful, funny, witty and smart. So…something must have gone wrong. Or else you don't like beautiful, funny, witty, smart women?"

"Well it's not that she's beautiful, funny, witty, and smart. It's something else."

"Like what?"

"Her hair is brown," he says in all seriousness. "And I just don't do brown." He glances up to catch my incredulous look and adds, "Or straight. Especially not brown _and_ straight."

I give up. For the time being. Instead I watch Jeremy stoke the fire and arrange a "forest futon" on the ground like he did last time. If he thinks I'm going to sit with him on it while he's stalling, he's got another thing coming. He sits down and leans back on his elbow, eyeing me with a smile playing at his mouth.

"You really want to know?"

I nod.

"Then come here, and I'll tell you," he coaxes. "But you've got to come over here and lay close to me. Right in my arms. And I'll tell you who Sue is."

Charmed again, I walk over and lie down beside him.

He scoots closer to me. "Now get comfortable because it's a very, very…short story," he says, pulling a blanket over us, but keeping it open toward the fire.

I snuggle against him, and he begins with a proper 'once upon a time' tone of voice.

"Sue…was exactly what you called her. A flame. The first time I met Sue, my heart beat so fast I couldn't breathe. But the problem was, she had a boyfriend. A big, tall, good looking, smart, boyfriend who treated her like a queen. So she wasn't even looking my way. Well most girls never looked my way, anyway."

"Oh that can't be true."

"But it is. I'm too much of an ordinary guy, I guess. Never was one to turn heads. Anyway, Sue of course, was not looking my way. I tried to put her out of my mind, but I couldn't.

"Finally the magical day came when she actually noticed I existed. Then one day, she smiled when she saw me. I had this dizzy sensation, and a panicky feeling like I'd better watch where I was going or I'd trip or run into something."

"Did you manage to stay on your feet?" I'm not really enjoying this story very much. I hope there's a morbid twist in it somewhere.

"Fortunately, I managed to stay upright. And we ended up as an item fairly soon after that. She even dumped her boyfriend."

"Wow! Well, not that I'm surprised."

"No?"

"The question now is…why did she ever let you slip away? Obviously she's regretting it."

He just flicks his eyebrows, baiting me.

"Jer…please…tell me the rest. I really need to know."

"You want to know how it's going to work when you're gone, and I'm here with an old girlfriend who's still smoking at the wick."

"Well." I say bashfully. "Every time you look at her, don't you remember?"

He smiles and lowers his face close to mine. "Remember what? Making love to her?"

"Yes. And don't tell me it was terrible. I won't believe it."

"Ok…I'll be honest. It was far from terrible." He stops, gauging my reaction. "It never happened."

"Never happened? Why?"

He shrugs. "The timing was usually wrong, and whenever it was right, there was just something missing. It never felt right. I ended it with her."

"Why…exactly?"

"I wasn't sure at the time. I couldn't put my finger on it. There was nothing wrong with her."

"And she seems so exciting…" I say, a little mournfully.

"Yes, Sue was definitely a thrill. Whenever I was with her, time went by in the blink of an eye. And whenever we were apart, it moved so slow every day felt like a year. But it wasn't until I met you that I finally understood what the real problem had been."

He smoothes my hair with his hand and looks into my eyes. "Sue was never able to make time stop. It would speed up or slow down. But she never made it stand still."

His words float over me and settle gently.

"Sue was like skydiving and hanging by your feet from the parachute." He smiles with one side of his mouth, then touches his forehead to mine. "But you're the sky. If Sue was a speedboat, you're the ocean. She's a flame, and you're the stars. If she's a planet hurling through space, you're the ether. You're the universe. She was time. You're forever."

My voice tightens with emotion. "I thought guys were into thrills and skydiving, and speedboats."

"Who needs a speedboat when you can just lay in the ocean and ride the waves." He kisses me. "Why would I need an airplane and a parachute when I'm already freefalling?"

I have nothing to say. I just look up at him feeling new tears forming in my eyes.

"What about you?" He cradles my face. "You have to tell me a secret now."

_Jeremy's POV: _

"What do you want to know?" Terese breathes softly.

"I wish I knew all your secrets. But you could start with whether anyone else in the universe has turned your head recently."

She smiles and shakes her head.

"Then do you like it when I kiss you, or are you just a good actress? Have you ever been married? Was I dreaming or did you seem to like my bed? And will you sleep with me again tonight?"

"Yes and no, no I haven't, no you weren't and yes I did, and…well…maybe…"

"Wait…hang on a second. My brain isn't as quick as yours. Uh…I got the last one…maybe."

She laughs at my confusion. "What else do you want to know?"

"I don't even know where to start, Terese." My mind's buzzing with questions, but I try to list them slowly. "I want to know everything. Like what made you smile when you were a little girl. What makes you smile now? What makes you cry? What are you afraid of, and who's hurt you? Who's loved you? How old are you? How did you come to work at STARLab? Why didn't I meet you when we transported out? What do you think you'll be doing in five years? And why do you have stars in your eyes even when you cry?"

"I was just born with stars in my eyes. And if I hadn't been, I might not have much reason to cry."

"This feels like a secret. Keep telling me. Tell me what makes you cry so I don't do that to you."

"I cry when I'm happy…or sad…or scared…when I love someone…and when someone loves me."

"Which is it right now?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe all of the above?"

Something deep moves inside me as Terese looks into my eyes. I feel the cold at my back, the heat of the fire on my face, and her warm body against me. I lace my fingers through her hair. "And now for the secret I want to know most. How do you feel about us?"

Moonlight from above seems to reflect in her eyes. I feel almost nauseous, waiting to hear what she will say. It's a very delicate and precarious situation we find ourselves in. Suddenly I almost wish I hadn't had the nerve to ask. What if it breaks this blissful spell we've been under?

"How do I feel about us?" She repeats my question, keeping me on pins and needles. "I feel like I've known you for a long time. Maybe forever." Her eyes gleam. "And that somehow, in some crazy way, all the time I've spent here with you was meant to be."

She looks wistfully at the sky. The question I can't bring myself to ask is when she'll have to leave.

"I love you." I suddenly hear myself say. The words hang in the silence, irretrievable. I'm not sure what made me say it, but it's true.

Her eyes turn back to me, and I feel naked. We seem to be caressing each other with our eyes.

Here we are, back in the timeless place. That's it. The solution to our dilemma is just to stay here.

I lean to kiss her, and our lips seem to take us places we've never been before. Far away…worlds without time or sequence. Free of everything tangible. Full of what's real.

But even in our reverie, I feel time gnawing at my heels. _You can't escape forever_.

Finally I break away. It seems I need air, damn it.

I look questioningly into her face. "How do you reconcile time and eternity?" I breathe, "Since you understand these things."

She bites her lip. I hope I didn't hurt her.

"I don't understand at all," she whispers. "I wish I could ask my father. Or my mother."

Sensing a new set of emotions rising in her, I wrap her in my arms again. We both just breathe. Somehow I sense this has something to do with us. "You told me something happened to them. Will you tell me about it?"

Struggling with her emotions, Terese lays her head against me. After a long silence, she says with a strained sigh. "My father…just left one day. He never even told me he was leaving. We never said goodbye."

I hold her silently, trying to comfort her before asking, "Do you know where he went?"

"I think so."

"And have you tried to find him?"

"I try every day."

I lay her back down on my arm and look into her eyes. "Terese, Horatio can help you. I've worked with him for a long time, and if your father is alive, anywhere on the planet, Horatio can find him. When you go home, let him know what happened. Horatio will do absolutely everything he can."

"No." She shakes her head. "Horatio won't be able to find him. I think he went after my mother."

"Didn't you say your mother was dead?" I ask softly, hoping not to upset her delicate emotions.

"Yes. She died when I was born. My father was a time traveler. I think he tried to go back and get her."

I stare at her, stunned. I don't know why. It's entirely possible. Entirely logical. But I didn't realize her father was a time traveler. I thought her parents probably died in an accident, or of illness.

"Marek told me he disappeared during a time travel experiment," she says. "But it was many years ago, and at that time, they didn't understand the concept of a secondary timeline. I think my father may have thought he succeeded."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe he went back to before I was born." Her eyes are welling. "Jeremy, I think my parents may be living in an alternate timeline…or at least an alternate thread. With an alternate me."

The meaning of her words sinks in as I watch her eyes spill over. "Not knowing he left you behind in another timeline? Not realizing he abandoned you?"

She nods as tears of pain stream down her face. "I've never told anyone this, Jeremy."

My heart is sinking. I'm beginning to understand why Terese is a time travel scientist. Why she is so dedicated to her work, so passionate and driven. Like all of us, she has a personal vested interest, a heavy burden that she carries secretly.

I cradle her in my arms while she cries. And my heart is breaking. More than anything, I know right now that I love her. But she needs more than love. She needs family. Arms around her at night, and a face across the table in the morning. Someone to come home to after a long day, to get her out of the office and back to life. Not just another loved one out of reach in an alternate world.

A deep ache grips my heart and gut as I hold Terese close, trying to comfort her. I don't dare bind myself to her while she's here. I can't bear the thought of her living alone, holding onto everyone she loves by threads and wisps of hope.

_Wednesday, January 3, 1872_

_Erik's POV:_

"I want _real_ food!"

Matt glances sideways at me and smiles. "Real food? You got real food this morning." He lifts my wrist and places two fingers on my pulse.

"The thin porridge I was given for breakfast is fed to infants."

Matt continues to smile. He is entirely too jovial. I narrow my eyes and study him. Is he taking advantage of my incapacity? I glance over at Laura. Her hand covers her mouth, trying to conceal a smile. That does not fool me. I can see the mirth in her eyes. I give her a glare of displeasure, but it does not seem to affect her.

Matt lets my hand go and inspects the bag hanging over my bed. Only one filled with clear fluid remains. Matt said it keeps me hydrated while I recuperate. He looks at me with that blasted grin. Or is it a smirk? "Your fever's gone and actually, you're healing pretty fast. Maybe I can arrange a nice lunch. But I warn you. If you can't keep it down, you're going right back on what you've been eating."

"You call that eating?" I grunt, "I need some palatable, solid food. How do you expect me to regain my strength on watered-down gruel?"

Matt laughs and shakes his head. "Yep, I can tell you're getting better. My patients always start complaining at this stage."

Laura walks over to the bed as Matt puts a few items back in his medical bag. "Well, I'm off to check on Joe. I'll drop in on our feisty patient again later." He actually has the audacity to wink at Laura.

"Do not forget to have some real food sent to me!" I demand to his hastily receding figure. I hear his chuckle but at least he tosses back that he will do his best.

After Matt leaves, Laura again sits in the chair close to my bed. "Would you like me to continue reading to you?"

I nod, then my stomach rumbles. We can both hear it. Laura gives me a sympathetic look. "If you don't get some _real_ food, I'll go down to the kitchens and sneak something up."

Smiling my gratitude, I shut my eyes and listen as she starts reading where she left off. Her voice is sweet and calming, and I can feel myself relax.

She completes a couple chapters before Russ knocks and enters with a lunch tray for us. "Matt says you might like to try some decent food for a change. I wanted to drop in and see how you're doing, so I volunteered to bring it up."

Laura takes the tray and sets it on the table next to her chair. When I glance over, I silently thank the food gods for finally listening. The barley soup appears to contain vegetables and rice. I also spy several slices of bread, warm from the oven with a layer of butter melting into them. My mouth waters when the small pot of strawberry jam also comes into view. Laura places a large linen napkin on my chest and hands me the bowl.

Russ brings me up-to-date while I savor the soup. "Erik," his voice is hesitant, "have you heard? Horatio's not coming back."

I put the spoon down in the bowl and look at him, startled, "No, I had not."

"Horatio's doing OK, but he's got a lot of rehab to go through, and he'll have permanent limitations in the use of his hand."

"That is most unfortunate. I am sorry to hear it."

Russ continues, "Horatio's still going to be working with The Program, but back there, in the future. They're kicking him upstairs into an administrative position. And, who knows, maybe he'll visit some time."

"That would be most welcome," I say, somewhat dazed at this news. Our relationship had its stresses and strains, but ultimately, he was a true friend. I will miss him. Then, I ask, "Who will be taking Horatio's place?"

"Jeremy will be in charge now."

"Excellent decision. Jeremy is a fine choice."

We fall silent as I continue eating the barley soup again. It is most edifying, and I am pleased to find it contains some small morsels of chicken.

Soon the bowl is empty, and Laura takes it away. I look at the bread, and immediately she places a piece in my hand. She has slathered it with a large helping of the berry jam. I smile my thanks and take a large bite of the delicious repast.

After a lull in our conversation while I eat, Russ continues thoughtfully, "Yep, Jeremy will be a good leader. But Horatio made certain we got additional help. After what happened the other night, we can't afford to be shorthanded. We need additional personnel, so security's been increased considerably."

"How many men did he send?" I can feel the lingering warmth of the bread along with the sweet butter and glorious jam melting in my mouth.

"There are five men and two women."

"Women?"

"Yep. Horatio felt we needed two women as companions and bodyguards for Laura when she goes out in public. Just to be safe."

"But I will be with her whenever she goes out."

"There are places you can't go, Erik." He smiles, and I get his meaning.

"Indeed."

"By the way, Meg arrived yesterday afternoon. Antoinette said she'll bring her to say hi."

My mouth is full, so I shake my head up and down in approval.

"Matt wants me to hide the IV." He looks toward the hanging bag above me. "It'll be easy to do. Laura, do you happen to have a few sewing pins here?"

"No, but I know where some are. I'll be right back."

She returns within a few minutes, several pins tucked in her hand. "Here, Russ."

He takes them and deftly winds the bed curtains around the modern equipment, using the pins to secure them in place. Then he tucks my robe around my shoulders and pins the fabric so the tubing cannot be seen. "Just remember, that you're still attached. Don't raise your arm while they're here."

I frown at him. "I believe I can manage that." It seems everyone is treating me like a child just because I am bedridden. Laura smiles and hands me another slice of bread, encouraging me to eat what I want.

"Laura, when they've left, you can unpin the ones here." He points to the sleeve of my robe.

Russ stays a few more minutes, telling about the four men who were our guests after the battle. He regales us with the tale of the card game and the subsequent sword play. I am still questioning him about the Frenchmen when we hear a soft knock at the door and Antoinette's voice, just before they enter.

Laura stands and warmly greets them. Antoinette introduces everyone, and I cannot believe my eyes. Meg has changed since I last saw her. She has become a beautiful young woman and is no longer the girl I remember. Her hair is coifed in curls and ringlets, and her dress is most fashionable. But it is her manner and the way she holds herself which is remarkable. Now she seems self-assured, and when she walks, exhibits her mother's grace of movement.

Meg gives me a curtsy. "Monsieur, I hope your health is improving." Her cheeks take on a warm blush. She was always a sweet child, and I thought of her as a young sister, someone to protect.

"Thank you, Meg. My health is improving daily. I hear your journey was long. Will you be staying with us for awhile?"

"Oui. I have a month before the ballet company continues its tour. I am very happy to spend it with Maman, and I thank you for your hospitality, allowing me into your home."

"It is our pleasure. And I know your Maman will be ecstatic for you to be here."

I glance at Antoinette who is glowing with happiness. Yes, it is good to see her joy at Meg's visit. They are taking their leave when Marek walks in.

Antoinette introduces Meg to him. "Tis nice t' meet you, Mademoiselle." Meg blinks at the Scottish burr so evident in his voice, but says nothing and politely converses with him until Antoinette excuses them.

Marek strides across the room and shoots out his first volley, "I see you terrorized 'em sufficiently t' get some food." His eyes go from the empty bowl on the table to the bread crumbs on the napkin under my chin. He reaches over and picks up the edge of the napkin, then wipes some stray jam from my chin. "There, is that better?"

"Sacre bleu! Will you all stop treating me like an invalid?" I jerk the napkin from Marek's hand, sending crumbs flying in every direction.

"Feelin' better are we?" Marek says with that irritating grin of his.

I snarl back and give him a look that clearly conveys he is only alive because I do not have my Punjab lasso handy.

Marek coolly returns my gaze and says, "Ach, so you are!"

Then he waves his hand toward the door to my sitting room. "Terese is here, y'know, but she's incognito. When she came, we dinna have time t' dress her in proper 19th century style and bring her t' the château in the carriage. She was brought in straight-away, through the underground passage. So, she's doin' her work on the equipment and skulking around, using the hidden stairwell. She'd like t' stop by later today and chat wi' you. She was really concerned abou' how you're doing. Can I tell her it's OK t' drop by?"

"Of course!" I reply. "I would be gratified for her to visit. I wish to give her my appreciation for bringing the blood."

Laura adds, "But, perhaps, you could mention to Terese it would be best if she visited later in the afternoon. After Erik has had his nap."

I glower at Laura.

Marek coughs, looks from one of us to the other, and wisely says, "I need t' go now. I've got a meeting with Jeremy. We're training the new men in 19th century French culture. So, I'll stop by again this evenin' t' visit and check out what mischief you've been able to stir up in the meantime."

I glower at Marek.

He leaves expeditiously. Laura leans over me and brushes away the bread crumbs and hands me a goblet of wine. Then she kisses me gently on the lips, and settles back down on the chair, pulling it close to the bed so we can hold hands while she continues to read _The Three Musketeers_ to me. I read the original version in French, but she is reading the English version since her French is not yet fluent.

She is just at the part where d'Artagnan and Milady have passionate, intimate relations. It's one of my favorite parts. As she reads, I become more and more confused and stop her. "Are you reading everything on the page?"

Laura looks at me, surprised. "Of course, I'm reading exactly what the book says. Why do you ask?"

"Well, some very important passages appear to be missing."

"Really?" She looks down at the book, perturbed. "What's missing? I'm not skipping anything."

Then the horrible realization occurs to me. The book was translated into English in _Victorian England_. The prudes! They've deleted all the good parts of the text. And, I so looked forward to hearing them in the sweet voice of my beautiful wife.

I look at her in frustration and reply, "Never mind, my love. I will read the French version to you myself. Later, when I am feeling better. And, if there are any words you do not understand, I will make their meaning very clear." Then with a devilish grin, I add, "I promise."+

* * *

_+Les Trois Mousquetaires, _or Three Musketeers was translated by 1846 into English. Those translations have been the best known versions ever since. However, they were done during the Victorian era and the scenes referring to sexuality were deleted, making them very stilted. Apparently the most recent translation of the book in 2006, by Richard Pevear, restores those scenes! So, if you haven't read the story for sometime…you may want to revisit it!


	83. Chapter 83

**A/N: Apologies for not posting last week at our regular two week interval…Partly that was due to summer busy-ness and partly due to writing a particularly long and important chapter. This is seventeen pages, almost the length of two chapters! **

**And, thank you and a pink cupcake to each of you who posts your comments and reviews! They are all read and appreciated by the writers!**

**Hundreds read The Epic Case, and if you have NEVER posted your comment, please, post now! At least one time to let us know your thoughts. It is the only pay we writers receive for putting a lot of time and care into this story. **

**And, also, now is the time to come forward and post to let us know if you want us to continue the story in Book Three! We are almost at an end of Book Two! Despite the hundreds who read this story, if few post, it makes us wonder if we should take on the huge commitment of Book Three, which is already outlined.**

Now, for Erik and Jeremy, some very important realizations and decisions are made. This is a turning point in each of their lives!

**

* * *

****Chapter 83 ****Moonlight and Dawning, by KFC+ and Phanfan**

_**Wednesday, January 3, 1872**_

_Marek's POV:_

+As we're coming back from the training room, I give Jeremy a whack on the shoulder. "Well tha' was thorough. Enough drills t' wear out a Spartan. Ace will be lucky to get anything out o' the guys tonight when he takes them out for their nighttime training."

"Aren't you going out with them, Marek?"

"No, I'll be on the tower since there's only three o' us."

"There's four of us, even without Joe."

"Oh. Well, I didn't think you were going t' be on duty tonight."

Jeremy flashes me a baffled look.

I grin back. "Especially since Russ got you out o' bed so early this morning. Thought you might want t' hit the hay early. You know, get a good _solid night's sleep_."

Jeremy keeps his poker face.

I decide to come at this from the other direction. "Okay. So maybe ya got _too_ _much_ sleep last night."

He still ignores me as I prod and pry all the way down the hall. I'm about to concede to another loss when we reach his door, and he finally responds with distinct annoyance, "Alright, Marek. Since you're making it your damn business, Terese slept in my room last night. _And_ the night before that. _In my bed_. _With me. _Curiosity satisfied?"

"Whoa. Just wantin' to let you know I approve an' all." I give Jeremy a congratulatory smile. "So how's it going?"

"None of your damn business." He slams the door in my face.

_Terese's POV:_

Good grief, it's late. It's already dark out, and I can't think anymore. Pushing myself back from the computer, I slump in my chair, wishing I could just escape, out of this chateau, out of this timeline…away from my heart.

I lay my head on my arms and close my eyes, feeling my emotions pushing their way to the surface. Why didn't Marek just send Merlin instead of me? I wish I'd never come.

There's tromping on the stairs, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong, love?"

I don't even lift my head. It's Marek, and I can cry if I want to.

Somehow the touch of his hand makes the tears start, and I begin to shake. He rubs my quivering shoulders, trying to comfort me, but the dam breaks, and I start to sob. He takes me in his strong arms, clutching me in a bear hug.

I cling to him like a ballast.

"What's wrong?" his asks soothingly. "Isn't he lovin' you like he should?"

I can't answer. Marek keeps talking to me, but I don't hear his words. All I can see behind my closed eyes is Jeremy's face. I love that face, but it's fading out of my view. Like it did when I transported back.

"I'm losing him, Marek. He's not even mine, and I'm losing him."

Marek wraps his arms tighter and presses me up against his scruffy face. "What do you mean? Did he love you and leave you already?"

"No. It hasn't got that far."

"He hasn't made love t' you?" Marek sounds surprised.

"I think it would have happened last night. But the subject of my parents came up. I wasn't expecting to talk to him about them, but he has a way of drawing deep things out of me without even trying. We were talking about his past, and then I told him more of mine. I thought it would be okay, but a whole lot of things that have been locked in my heart for years came flooding out. I was a complete wreck."

"Wha' did he do?"

"He tried to comfort me. Brought me home, put me to bed and held me all night long."

"So…wha' happened this morning?"

"He had to leave early. Ace sent Russ up for him. Jeremy came down here for a while this afternoon to train on the system, and when he left, he said he had to be on duty tonight. I have a feeling that he's pulling away from me, Marek. "

"Wha' makes you think that?"

"It's just vibes."

"But you don't know for sure."

"I sense it. Strongly." I look up, feeling heartbroken. "Marek, I love him."

"Doesn't he love ya back?"

"He's said he loves me. But I think last night he realized how hard it's going to be on me since we can't be together. He must think it'll hurt me less in the long run if we don't get any closer."

"What's more painful t' you? Do you think holdin' back now will spare you pain later?"

"I don't know, Marek. All I know is he's the only man I'm ever going to love."

"Did you tell him that?"

"No. How do you convince someone you've only known for a few weeks, that you're never going to stop loving him? And I'm not sure I want him to know. If we can't be together, I don't want him waiting for me. Not if someone here can make him happy."

"So you're saying you two love each other too much t' love each other?" I rub my beard, trying hard to follow this. "That's ridiculous! Terese, don't jump t' conclusions tha' it's impossible."

"I just can't see it, Marek! There's no way. And you don't understand. All you had to do was decide to stay with Claire! The only person it affected was you! Think of everything that's resting on Jeremy's shoulders. And on mine! "

"I'm sorry, darlin'. Forgive me. I know this is hell for you." I reach out and wipe a tear from her cheek.

All the pressure and the impossibility, and the sleep deprivation of the past few weeks are just too much. I dissolve in his arms again. He rocks me gently as I lean on him and let everything go. Little by little, I empty myself on his shoulder.

"Just cry your eyes out, then. Why don't you go take a nice hot bath. Maybe you can relax and drown some o' the pain."

"I don't want a soak," I say when I'm able to speak. "I want to go outside. Will you monitor this download while I get some air?"

"Sure! But here's a better idea, why don't you just go up to the tower."

I wipe my eyes. "The tower? How do I get up there?"

"I'll show you." He takes my hand, and we climb the hidden stairwell to Jeremy's room. Then he smuggles me through several back passageways, just like Jeremy did last night, out onto the same dim stairwell. "Up there," he points, "go find him."

The stairs seem a little precarious, but I make my way up, relieved to be outside. Reaching the top, I breathe the night air in deeply. Marek was right. I needed to get everything out. I thought it was out of my system last night, but that must have been just an overflow of emotion I've pent up over the years. Tonight, it's about someone else.

Walking to the parapet, I peer out over the edge. It's a long way down. I scan the grounds, wondering where Jeremy and the Team went. Straining my eyes, I search for movement along the edges of the woods. Russ said Ace wanted to do night training in the outlying areas.

The rising moon hangs full and low, but her light falls on empty ground. If I could just follow her path. Her light. I know I'd end up where I'm supposed to be.

My eyes wander around the sky. There is no archer. He doesn't rise until morning, and then for only for moments before he fades. But the stars are still twinkling. I try to lose myself in their depths and regain the feeling of being just a pinpoint of light in the galaxy. But I can't. My soul is too heavy to fly tonight, but all of a sudden I don't feel alone.

A presence moves beside me. It's Jeremy. He rests his arms on the parapet and leans over the edge. I feel a gentle breeze on my face as our eyes meet in the dim light.

"You're up late," he says.

"I needed air."

He gives me a long, silent look that says nothing and everything at the same time.

I break the silence. "What are you doing up here? I thought you were out with the Team."

He shakes his head and looks out over the grounds. "Just standing watch so all of them could go."

"Were you here when I came up the stairs?"

His face catches the moonlight as he smiles and nods toward the back side of the tower. "Right over there."

"Why didn't I see you?"

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right direction."

I lean back on the wall and feel his eyes on me again.

He moves next to me and bumps his shoulder up against mine. Finally he gets half a smile out of me. "It was lonely up here."

"It's worse downstairs."

"Is it really?"

"Yes."

He sighs. "It must have been if you came up here without a coat."

He starts unbuttoning his long double breasted jacket. Shrugging it off, he puts it around my shoulders. I was hoping he'd leave it on and just pull me inside with him. Almost as if he's reading my mind, he leaves the front open and pulls me up against his big warm body. "There." He wraps his arms around me. "Since I can't be on both sides of you at once."

I close my eyes and feel the deep comfort of being held next to him where I can hear his heart and feel him breathe. We're back in our timeless place. The wind flows by, blowing my hair. His hand reaches up and caresses it out of my face. Still, underneath it all is a looming sadness. Our small talk and tender embrace aren't enough to drown the foreboding that began last night and grew throughout the day.

"Love," he whispers to me, "I guess I need to ask the question I've been dreading. When do you have to go home?"

"Soon," is all I can say.

"How soon?"

"Too soon."

He holds me silently for a long time. "When you get home, I want you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Make some changes in your life."

"What kind?"

"I want you to go out more." He smoothes my hair. "Meet people. Stop living at your office. You have an apartment, right?"

"Yeah, but it always feels so empty."

"Start filling it up."

"With what?"

"People. Memories. Friends."

"But it won't feel right without the people I love."

"Terese…I don't want you to be alone forever. You need people. You need to laugh. You need love."

"You said you loved me."

"I do. But you need someone who can be _with_ you. I want you to have relationships. Friends. Your own family."

"All I need is to know the one I love, loves me too. I don't need all the rest."

"You've never done anything else. So you don't even know what you need. I've been worried about you being caught up in other worlds at the expense of the life you need to live. But now I understand why. You're holding on to what could have been…literally, Terese. Because it hurts too much to let it go. But I love you too much to let you go on living that way."

"That's just the way my life is."

"But it doesn't have to be."

"Jeremy, how can I love someone else when I love you?"

"I admit I hate the thought of you with anyone else. But then I see you lonely, trapped in an office, with no one to go home to at night. Waiting for someone who might never even set foot inside your door. And then I imagine you happy, with people around your table. A man who adores you, with his arms holding you at night. Children running around, playing in your yard. Hugging you. Sitting on your lap. All that doesn't seem so bad."

A deep pain pushes up, tightening my throat. "No. It doesn't. It's just hurts so much to think it can't be you."

Jeremy's arms tighten around me, and his voice is strained. "Terese, I'm sorry I made this so hard. Please don't love me so much that it keeps you from moving on when you get home."

"It's too late for that."

"It's my fault. I knew from the beginning this would cause mostly pain. I'm sorry I let it get this far."

"No, Jeremy." I release myself from his arms and turn to leave the tower. At the top of the stairs, I look back at his grief-stricken face. "It didn't go too far. It was too late the moment I laid eyes you."

_Marek's POV:_

I decide to check in on Terese. When I knock on her door, she tells me to come in, but I can tell things didn't go so well up there. "Did ya get your fresh air?"

"Yes. Jeremy was on the tower. You knew he was up there, didn't you?"

I sidestep admitting that I set her up and get to the real point. "So, your visit didn't go very well."

"I was right. He's pulling away. Trying to extricate us from something that's got us caught up like quicksand. I told him it was too late. He kept apologizing for letting it get this far. He took responsibility for everything, even though I told him it wasn't his fault."

"He's gonna feel that way. He's a man. One o' the most responsible men I've ever met. He agonizes over every decision. So if his heart and his guts are at odds right now, I can see why he's actin' this way." Terese looks down at her hands, forlorn. "It's a man thing. It's killin' him to see you hurt, and he's tryin' to fix it. Remember…men are from Mars, women are from Venus."

"It's doesn't matter," she says as she brushes her hair from her forehead, "I'm just going to bed now."

"Alright then, I'll get back downstairs and finish closin' the STARLink. Don't worry about anything. Just get some rest."

I shut the door quietly and instead make my way out to the exterior stairway. Taking the steps two at a time and quickly reaching the top, I come up behind Jeremy who's peering down at the grounds to the south.

He greets me with a sullen nod. "What's up, Marek?"

"You tell me." I give him a hard stare.

His brow furrows, and he looks back out into the night. A few minutes of silence pass. All I can do is keep my mouth shut. Finally he folds his arms and begins. "Marek. What would you do if you loved a woman you couldn't be with? "

As hard as it was for me to keep my mouth shut these past few minutes, I suddenly don't have a good answer for him. "I understand the difficulties. But listening t' Terese cry is hard on me. Why in the bloody hell do you have t' push her away like this?"

Jeremy's expression is so pained, I regret my words. "I'm not pushing her away. I'm sleeping with her, working with her, talking to her. I had her in my arms the whole time she was up here. I'm holding _myself back_ so I don't get us both deeper into something that's already going to be difficult enough. I _care_ about Terese's feelings."

"Well then give her wha' she needs."

Jeremy glares at me fiercely. "I wish I could. But she needs family, and I can't give her that. I cannot be what she needs. Do you understand, Marek? Damn it, I love her. Since you'll be seeing a lot more of her than I will, I want you to make sure she stops living in that office and gets a life. You need to get her out of there and with some non-eggheads for a change. See to it that she has the chance she deserves to be happy."

"That's what I'm doin' here…up on this tower."

"I can't make her happy," Jeremy insists stubbornly.

"Could she make you happy…from far away?"

He stares back. "There's no one else for me. So it doesn't matter if I'm happy or not."

"Wha' if she feels the same about you?"

"Marek, why are you encouraging this? You know about her past. You know she needs a real life. Do you know how hard it will be for me to let her go? I know you crossed time for Claire. I watched Erik find a way. I thought I'd be going home in five years, and maybe she'd still be there." Then he turns away, as if trying to hide his emotions. "Then the attack after the masque ball happened. We almost lost our lives. Suddenly Horatio's gone, and I'm in charge of the Team, and everything's changed. The PTB is on our tail. Who knows the extent of what they've been able to do. The stakes are higher than two weeks ago. I just can't promise Terese I'll come back…ever."

"Well maybe she loves you enough t' wait."

"She's let enough of her life go by, waiting. If she's going to have any tangible relationship at all, she's got to let go of the ones that are floating around out in the ether. That includes letting go of me. I'm just having a damn hard time helping her do that."

"Well you're no' going to change Terese. I've been trying for years. She does whatever she decides to do. If she loves you, you'd better get used t' it. But holdin' back now isn't going t' make it any easier." I look Jeremy in the eye. "If this is all the time you two have, made it count. If she has t' let you go, the least you can do is give her the memories. Get yourself down there and make love t' her."

Jeremy stares at me, dumbfounded. His eyes zero in on mine, focusing until they pierce right through me. "Don't come banging on my door in the morning," he says, then leaves me alone on the tower.

_Terese's POV:_

There's a knock on my door. By the sound of it, and the way my heart's beating, I know it's Jeremy.

His voice sends an anxious thrill through me. "Come in."

The door opens, and Jeremy appears around it and stops. He stands there with his eyes fixated on me as if he can't come any farther but can't turn to leave.

I send him a silent invitation to relax and stay in my room.

As the door moves slowly and softly shut behind him, my heart begins to race. His eyes never leave me as he walks across the room and stops in front of a nearby chair. I feel all the questions between us, and our mutual longing for the answers. Despite his hesitancy, there's a resolution in his eyes that seems to have prompted him to come down off the tower.

Tension grows in the air between us until he leans down and takes my face in his hand, kissing me with an ardor that sends urgent energy through my body. I reach for his hand but grasp his forearm and slide my fingers around his wrist.

He breaks our kiss. "Terese…I need to talk to you." He rests his forehead against mine waiting for his breath to become slow and even again.

"Jer, I love you."

He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes filled with a pain that every cell of my body longs to soothe. Whispering in my ear, he says softly, "If this is all the time we have, I'm going to spend it loving you, so you will never forget. So you leave here with my imprint on your soul, and when another man comes into your life, there won't be any doubt that for a piece of time you were mine, and that I loved you."

Holding my head in both his hands, his fingers wind through my hair. "But listen, love. You and I can make memories. We can spend this time like it's all we'll ever have. Or we can make it something more. Something that keeps going. That can't be locked in a capsule or frozen in time."

His eyes peruse my body beneath my thin night gown. "It's your choice. I can't make your part of the decision. But I want to make love to you like it's the beginning, instead of the end."

He lets me go, then stands and walks to the window. I gaze at the back of his body framed against the night sky. Across the floor lies a river of moonlight. I drop my gown off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He turns from the window and freezes as he sees my nakedness. I linger just a little in the intimacy of the moment, then take a white throw from the settee and wrap it loosely around me. The silken wrap trails on the floor as I walk barefoot toward him on the path of moonlight. His eyes lift to mine, full of questions as I stop in front of him, holding the wrap at my breast. Searching his eyes, I find his soul completely bare.

"It's an easy choice," I say softly. "I just wish I had something to keep, to remember this by."

"Would you wear a ring if I gave you one?" He asks mysteriously.

I look up in surprise. "You have a ring? Here, right now?"

"Yes. Will you try it on?"

I nod, and he picks me up. He carries me across the room, and we fall gently on the bed. I run my hand along his chest and down over his hip searching for a pocket. "Ok, where is this ring?"

Amused, he lets me search for a while, then takes my face in his hand and turns it toward the window. "Right up there…"

I look up and see the golden circle of the moon hanging brilliant in the sky.

He breathes softly in my ear, "No one can steal it. And you can't ever lose it. Just make sure you always remember who gave it to you. "

I feel a wave of delight as I smile into his eyes. "I love it. It's perfect…even if I can't wear it."

"You can wear it," he says. I feel his hand over mine where I still hold the edges of my wrap. The silken fabric slips through my fingers and slides from my body as the moon washes over me. "See. It's beautiful on you."

Lying under his gaze, I feel beautiful. His loving eyes caress me, then his fingers find my breasts and a sensuous thrill runs through me. Lying in the shimmering light, bare to his touch, I have to remind myself to breathe. Every touch is something fresh, new, and intoxicating.

"I wish I had something to give you," I tell him.

"I have a moon goddess in my bed. That's more than enough."

"But I want to give you something you can keep."

I look up at him, trying to think of an idea. Then all at once I know just the thing. I take his hand from my breast and wrap a golden strand of my hair around his ring finger, holding it up to shine in the light.

"Now that…is beautiful," he says with smiling eyes. "Where do you get that gold?"

I laugh and roll close to him and run my fingers through his hair at the back of his neck. Feeling his warm hand on my curves, I start to peruse his body. My hands search him until he is naked, and the moon moves farther on her course as we explore each other's bodies, sharing all our secrets.

Then I lie beneath him, and we are joined. I move against him, with him…watching his eyes and face change. The passion grows as we find each other's depths and come to know each other intimately.

Flushed with joy, I watch every emotion I make register in his eyes. All our senses flood with joy in our closeness, and the things he whispers to me as we lie suspended in intimacy. He fills me…holds me….loves me. Laces his fingers in my hair and kisses me as he moves inside me.

I watch his desire build and feel my own. Getting crazed and wild with him as the passion burns. Feeling his living strength and love around me gives me the courage to give him full access to my heart and soul. And while the moon climbs to her height, we create a bond between us that can never be broken

Moonlight fades to blue. I lie in the ocean, on the waves. I'm no longer a girl with a sailboat, I'm a woman. I am the ocean, the waves, the expanse. Glittering stars reflect in my depths, and the wind blows over me, and I lie exposed to the gentle touch of the sky. A storm has just passed. The wind blew over me, rippling gently and building into waves. Driven, and powerful, it stirred me until I moved in powerful crashing waves, shaped by the wind and crested in the beauty of moonlight. My waves pounded on the sand and threw their crests into the air with joy, then rained down like a thousand little blessings. The great stirring ebbed and flowed, and finally calmed into the soft caress of wind on water.

Now the forceful wind has calmed into the gentle breath of life, blowing gently across my surface. I sink into stillness. Feeling the intense blue of starlight, then down into my being, into the watery darkness…deep…silent…like a womb. There I stir with a creative energy that resides in these watery depths. There is no way to measure the time that passes above me. Here all is quiet and peaceful and alive. I feel rejuvenation welling, and after what seems like eternity, I become lighter, the black becomes blue, and I seem to rise sprinkled with starlight as a I lie submerged in it. The stars gather, teaming around me, and I raise myself up to my surface to feel the caress of the sky. The silver light has returned…and the wind is breath…_his breath_ on my face. I feel a stirring in my depths as his skin slides over mine and our bodies intertwine. I feel his kiss on my face, then my lips. Caressing his body, I open to him and draw him into myself, where he seems content just to be still, wrapped in my arms. Wrapped in me.

_**Chateau Mercier**_

_**Thursday, January 4, 1872**_

_Jeremy's POV:_

I wake to the unusual sensation of someone rubbing my backside. I lie still, pretending to be asleep, hoping she won't stop. When Terese's hand travels up my back and circles my shoulders, I roll over to find her sleepy smiling face next to mine.

Her hair is like a treasure of gold spilled over the pillow, and her eyes shine like diamonds. I'm the luckiest pirate to ever sail the seas. She looks like a mermaid floating in the deep blue sheets, with her hair all strewn and breasts bare. But this mermaid has legs.

I can't help loving her…again. The moon and stars are gone, and morning sun shines through the window. It, too, bathes her in gold as we make love and bask in its brilliance during the afterplay.

I finally get my body out of bed, but not my heart. Terese is smiling and glowing and naked. I have the strongest urge just to crawl back in bed and fall asleep next to her, but I have a feeling someone's going to knock on my door at any minute.

So I get dressed, at least halfway and decide to head for the shower. Then remembering how I tend to meet Sue in the hallway, I look for a shirt, and feel Terese's eyes on me as I take one out of the standing wardrobe. I squint back at her in the sunlight before putting it on.

"You look almost as good _in_ clothes as you do out of them," she says stretching lazily.

I toss her a smirk and pull the shirt over my head. "I'd say the same for you…except…"

"Except what?"

"Now whenever I look at you I won't even see your clothes."

I walk back to the bed and kiss her silly smile.

"I hear guys are that way," she chides.

I just shrug, teasing her with my eyes.

Suddenly she sits up, the sheet falling from her body. "Are you implying the other guys around here might imagine me without my clothes?"

"Oh probably. But all they've got is their lame imaginations." I sit down on the bed and lean close to her ear. "Thank you," I whisper, "I love you more than is humanly possible."

Apparently these words have an effect on her. She slides her arms around me and nearly pulls me back into the bed. I fall on top of her, unable to resist. After another long kiss, she relaxes and looks contentedly into my eyes. But the sun is glaring in my face, trying to get my attention.

"Okay, I hate to go, but I really have to." I push myself up off the bed with a groan. "The sun is coming up, and unfortunately that means I have responsibilities."

She smiles and just lays there looking at me. I can't get over the gold in her hair. And the way her face glows in the sunlight. Finally she pushes up on one elbow and says, "Alright Jer. Get your sexy tush downstairs before someone has to come looking for you."

I flash her an intimate smirk and head for the door. Pulling it open, I find myself face to face with Marek. His hand is raised in the air, poised for a loud, jarring knock.+

_Erik's POV:_

"It's soup!"

With an innocent look, Laura glances down at the bowl on my bed tray. "Yes, just like you had yesterday. And there's two, hot croissants. With strawberry jam. I thought you liked those yesterday!"

"That's the point! It's just like I ate yesterday! When do I get some _real_ food? Like an omelet or a slice of roast pork? How can I regain my strength on soup and bread?"

"But, these are doctor's orders!"

"Doctor? You mean Matt!" I narrow my eyes and glare at the offending excuse for food. Matt is finally getting his revenge on me.

Laura puts her hand gently on my shoulder, "I'm sure you'll be able to have more, uh, _solid_ food soon. Maybe even tomorrow! I'll speak to him about it."

Laura takes a large scoop of strawberry jam from the small pot and spreads it thickly on the croissants. It does smell delicious. Strawberry jam was a rare luxury when I lived under the opera house. I take a bite and savor the rich, buttery texture of the croissant and the sweet tang of the jam. Perhaps this will be tolerable for one more day.

And, I trust Laura. If she says she will see to my getting some meat tomorrow, then I can be patient. Surely she will take care of that, so I eat my soup and croissants with no further complaint.

When I am finished, Laura clears away the plates and again settles down on the chair next to my bed. As she pulls out a book to read, it occurs to me she never complains, never mentions her own injuries. "How do you fare, Laura? Are your ribs still causing you pain?"

"No, not much. Matt gave me a modern bandage from his medical supplies, and that's supporting my ribs quite comfortably. And, you notice that I've only been wearing my dressing gown these last several days. I refuse to wear a corset until my ribs are healed!"

"No corset? What are you wearing beneath your dressing gown?"

"Only a chemise."

"Truly?" This is startling, but full of possibilities.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" She smiles impishly.

"Well, I was thinking that since you make me take a nap in the afternoon, perhaps you could lie here, next to me. You need your rest, too."

"Is it my rest that you are thinking about?"

"Of course."

Her eyebrows flatten in disbelief.

"Well, perhaps I was thinking of how nice it would be to have you close to me," I confess.

"I see." She shakes her head, taunting. "Your leg's seriously wounded. You can't move it, you know."

"True." I smirk and add enticingly, "But my hands are not injured, and they would enjoy the touch of my wife's soft skin. I think it would even have restorative effects!"

She grins at me. "Yes, I can imagine it would. Alright. I'll join you for your nap."

I sigh with contentment. Just as I am basking in the thought that being an invalid may have some small blessings, the door opens and Marek blusters in.

"Good afternoon!" He strides over and stands at the foot of my bed, appearing all too healthy. "Sorry I didn't have a chance t' come by and see ya earlier today, but I've been busy wi' the new Team." Turning to Laura he says, "Well, has he gotten into any trouble yet today? Caused any chaos?"

Laura gives Marek her calm, patient smile. "No. He's been on his best behavior."

Glaring at Marek, I harrumph and fold my arms over my chest.

Marek sees my reaction and says with his cockeyed, annoying smile, "Well, the day is still young. He has plenty of time t' cook somethin' up yet."

"If I were you, I wouldn't mention 'cooking,'" I snarl back.

He laughs, then says unexpectedly, "Are you up t' seeing the new Team, Erik? They're all here because o' you. Would you at least like to meet 'em? They'd like t' meet you!"

I glance over at Laura. She nods her head imperceptibly, indicating her encouragement.

"Yes, Marek, that would be fine," I reply.

He immediately turns and goes out into the hallway, returning in mere moments with an absolute herd of people.

A tall man with brown hair and blue eyes leads the group and comes to a stop close beside my bed. He reaches out his hand, and as I am shaking it, he introduces himself in French. "Hello, Monsieur Mercier. I'm Hank Thomas, but everyone calls me Ace."

I nod my head in acknowledgement, noting that his accent is nearly perfect. Marek introduces the other four men, Tyler Franklin, Derek Devon, Linc Clifton, and Sam Ogden. Then he turns to the two women standing at the foot of my bed and introduces them as Sue Jonas and Julia Morris.

Looking each one in the eye, I respond, "I am honored to meet you and thank you for your service." Then with a wry grin, "I hope the excitement is over for the time being and that you will have time to adjust to Château Mercier and our customs for the duration of the winter…without incident."

"Well, Monsieur Mercier," Ace again speaks for the group in perfect French, "be at ease that whatever happens, we'll be ready."

I exchange glances with Laura. There are tears at the corners of her eyes. I wonder if she is thinking about what we have just been through and fearing the possibility we may be the target of such an attack again.

"It is an honor for us to meet you, as well Monsieur Mercier," one of the women, Julia, now speaks up and again addresses me in French. "We all hope you will recover soon from your injuries," then she smiles and adds, "but for now, perhaps we need to leave you to your rest."

"Thank you for your consideration." I smile in agreement.

The men and women leave quietly, as if they are taking leave of a sleeping child in a nursery. Marek follows them, promising to return again this evening. Probably to plague me.

When the door closes, I gaze at Laura. "Perhaps it is time for that nap you insist I take," I say longingly. She takes the hint, removing her dressing gown and draping it over her chair. My eyes follow as she walks around to the other side of the bed. The chemise discloses each delicate curve of her body, but I am left breathless when she slips it off before sliding under the sheets. When she snuggles close, I reach out and trail my fingers down her neck. Cupping her breast in my palm, I whisper, "You are beautiful." I slide my hand down to her waist and rest it there, then look into her eyes and ask, "What caused you distress a few moments ago? Are you worried about another attack?"

Her breath quickens, and she takes a few moments to consider her answer. "Yes, that does worry me. I am still having nightmares about being in the carriage." Then her hand reaches up and removes my mask, putting it aside. Brushing her fingertips gently over my disfigured cheek, she says, "But I'm also sad for what Horatio is suffering. And suddenly I thought about the commitment and sacrifice these new people are making for us and for the goals we all share. All those thoughts came to me at once."

"My dear love," I kiss her forehead and gaze into her dark, deep eyes, "you always see through to the heart of a matter. And feel it so profoundly."

We hold each other closely, tenderly, and say nothing more. Just share the comfort of each other's embrace. But even after Laura falls into peaceful sleep, I am still awake with my thoughts. Thoughts she has triggered. And Horatio. And these seven new people who left their world and came to mine out of principle.

I promised Marek that if he succeeded in bringing Laura back to me, if her life were saved, I would cooperate with The Program. But now I feel something more. I feel devotion to my wife and a desire to make a good life for her. I feel gratitude for Horatio's sacrifice and the loyalty and bravery of all the men who protected Laura and me during the battle. And I feel for the first time I want to make a commitment to something outside my own needs and desires. I want to help The Program—and these people—create a better future.

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Profuse thank yous to our editor, Phanna!


	84. Chapter 84

**A/N: Thank you to each of you who takes your time to give us your wonderful comments!! They are read and truly appreciated. The next chapter will be the last of Book Two. But we need to hear from more of you about whether you want us to continue with Book Three!**

**And, I am working very hard on the book of The Case! This is a totally unique telling of Erik's story. Even different from The Epic Case…and much more centered on Erik and his personal story…the people and places and events that shaped him! I have deeply researched the history and culture of Erik's time, so his story and life are also a reflection of the exciting and turbulent events in France in the middle of the 19****th**** century! It also incorporates far more of the time travel issues and challenges ahead of The Program…And, of course, there is Laura and Matt and Jeremy….but all the other people and settings are new...and more exciting and mysterious! Phanfan**

Life may be settling in at Chateau Mercier, but things never, ever get dull around Erik!

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****Chapter 84 Manor Matters, KFC, Phanfan & Phanna**

_Thursday, Jan 18, 1872_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Jeremy POV:_

Blankets skim Terese's naked shoulders, warding off the cold without veiling the sensuous dance of firelight across her skin. I gaze up into her beautiful face, framed against the night sky. "Do you wish we were home in bed?"

She smiles, flashing her starry eyes. "No. I want this memory."

It seemed right to spend our last night here, coming full circle to the place where we first lay under the stars and spent the night falling in love too deeply to deny anymore. Only this time, her nakedness presses against me, and the heat between us puts the fire to shame.

Unable to tear my eyes from hers, I exhale deeply as she moves her silken body over me. Her hair glows like a curly halo and her eyes shine. I lie on my back, breathless as we find our oneness. Being both outside and inside her at once leaves me craving a resolution, to be one with her. I reach for her soul, pulling her against me until I feel the heat of her tender belly, and the comforting swell of her breasts around my heart. Almost in worship, I caress her womanly contours, awed by the goddess above me.

Our love is sweet and languid, ebbing and flowing through the night like tides. When we laugh no one hears us. And any tears are tears of joy. She wears moonlight, so I cut a lock of her hair to keep. When she gets cold I wrap my body around her. And we make love through the night, melding our souls together until it seems we are inseparable.

As morning approaches I begin to fear our parting, afraid the sadness will overtake her. But Terese's gleaming eyes are alive with joy. "How can I be sad when you love me?" She tries to assuage my fears. "When I have what many people only dream of. What everyone longs for. The love that's so often missing, forgotten, or lost. "

I swallow hard. "But won't you be lonely?"

"I might be 'alone', but I won't be lonely."

"I don't understand."

She leans closer and kisses me. "Being alone means I'll miss you. Loneliness is loving someone who doesn't love you in return."

I look deeply into her eyes. "Then when you feel alone, don't fight your feelings. Just let your soul reach for me. I'll be there. I don't know how all this works, but I feel bound to you in a way that I don't understand."

"I've always felt bound to you," she whispers, running her fingers through my hair. "And I'm also used to finding you in my sleep."

"I'm in your dreams?"

"You have been ever since I was a little girl."

"I want to hear your dreams. But first, tell me, scientifically speaking, what it means for two people to be joined in spirit?

Her starry eyes smile down on me. "It means there's no such thing as distance. And even death doesn't have to be the end."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I stand in the clearing until the last of the stars have faded into the sunrise. Wiping my eyes, I head back toward the chateau. Dry winter grass crunches under my feet and my footsteps fall alone.

Once I clear the trees between the cottage and chateau, I see someone coming my way. Squinting into the morning rays, I recognize Matt's easy, steady gait. He's out for his morning trek.

He greets me with a nod when our paths converge. "How you doing, Jer?"

"Alright. How's everything at the chateau?"

"Fine." But he can see I'm not doing so great. "Tough morning?"

"Yeah. Had to send her home."

He nods sympathetically, then asks after a while, "Think you'll see her again?"

I hesitate, but decide to confide in him, with a look he knows means I'm only telling him because he's a brother to me. "I married her."

His face registers shock, then a mixture of awe and concern as he tries to process what this means. "How'd you manage that?"

"I didn't manage it. I just married her."

He gives me a long look, then smiles in understanding. "So what does this mean for you as commander? You gonna pull a Horatio?"

I grin and shake my head. "No. I'm here for the duration."

"Five years is a long time," Matt says, knowing all too well.

"And it could be a lot longer."

He nods sympathetically, then takes the opportunity to rib me. "So, why wasn't I invited to your wedding?"

I knew that was coming. "It was a small…private wedding. No one officiated. Just the two of us."

He looks amused. "You mean you couldn't find anyone with jurisdiction over both worlds?"

"Just God."

"Well, you can't get any more official than that."

"Guess not." I chuckle. "Just thought you ought to know. Since…"

"Since the girls at the chateau still think you're fair game." Matt can't seem to resist ribbing me. "I've seen Sue eyeing you. She's definitely still hoping."

"Yeah, well, I might need your help with that."

"My help?" He tosses me a dubious look. "Exactly what sort of help are you hoping to enlist, Officer Nichols?"

"Relax. Nothing major. Just a hint or two now and then, that I'm a lost cause."

"I can do that." He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Having a few new females around is good for you, Matt. You've got options."

He laughs. "Options, yeah. Option A…Option B…"

"Alright, maybe 'options' isn't a great word. How about _possibilities?_"

He shrugs good-naturedly, but says nothing as we watch the colored horizon turn to blue.

"Well I'm not a doctor, Matt, but I hear time heals all wounds."

"It does," he agrees with a half-smile, turning to continue on his trek. "I just wish there were pain killers in the meantime."

I watch him walk away, remembering Terese's words. _Loneliness is loving someone who doesn't love you back. _And I realize I don't feel alone. Even though Terese is gone, she isn't. She's in the timeless place. And whenever I'm there, I'm with her.

Looking up into the sunny sky, I feel thankful, knowing I've received the greatest blessing possible. The heart of the one I love.

I walk to the chateau, basking in sunshine, feeling the joy of sharing a profound connection and being the recipient of such a magnificent gift.

_Friday, Jan 19, 1872_

_Danielle's POV: _

This morning as I once again dust and polish in the library, the pleasant scent of lemon oil lingers in the air from my efforts. As elegant as this room is, with bookshelves lining the walls and comfortable chairs placed near the warm glow from the fireplace, I still miss my small cottage. I miss the cozy room which is our kitchen, dining room and sitting room all in one. The large, stone fireplace holds the stew pot and even has a small oven for baking. Nearby stands the dining table and benches made by my beloved Eliott. He was a master carpenter and also carved the high-backed settees. I'd spent many enjoyable hours talking and sitting beside him while I embroidered pictures of herbs and flowers for the cushions. The settees face two windows which look out over my garden and the fields. The hand hewn beams crisscrossing the ceiling are perfect for hanging my herbs as they dry.

In my cottage there's only one shelf which holds the precious books given me by my dear Grandmère Amabel. She passed her skill of herbal remedies to her daughter and granddaughters, making sure my sisters and I were schooled as befitted proper young women. Not that we were wealthy, but she believed even woman should have the finest education possible. She'd been a governess to a noble family before falling in love late in life and becoming the wife of a well-to-do farmer. So she tutored her only daughter and three granddaughters, giving us an education that was unusual for women not born to privilege.

After my two older sisters wed, Grandmère Amabel hoped to arrange a marriage for me to a well-to-do cousin, twice removed. He ultimately married another, but Grandmère just patted me on the back and with a smile comforted me with "_c'est la vie_." When Eliott asked for my hand in marriage the following summer, she gave her blessing and attended our wedding. That was eight years ago, and she died shortly afterward, sadly before our son, Ethan, was born. What was even more tragic for me was that her final illness was an unknown malady, so even my knowledge of herbs couldn't help her.

As I dust the leather covers of many volumes of medical books here in the Mercier library, I wonder what they contain. What knowledge is in them which might have helped my Grandmère? What secrets do they contain that may help me with my own work as a healer? After all, that is my only means of supporting Ethan and myself since Eliott died a little over a year ago in the final battle of the war with Prussia.

It has been a struggle ever since. Without Eliott, the fields weren't plowed last year, although I still planted herbs in my garden and sold them in various preparations I make. The local farmers and their families come to me for treatment of a variety of their illnesses, but times are hard now in the aftermath of the war. By the end of the year all my stored food was gone, the last of the chickens was in the stew pot, and our one pig, had long since been slaughtered and eaten. We were facing starvation when my other Grandmère Jeanette, the cook here at the château implored them to hire me as a servant. Mademoiselle Counselor, who is soon to marry Monsieur Mercier, was told of my plight and hired me, even consenting for us to live in the servant's quarters. We have an old, sway-backed horse, but traveling each day from our cottage to the mansion would be very difficult, even dangerous, with bands of displaced soldiers still roving the countryside.

Ever since Ethan and I arrived here three days ago, this library has been my favorite room. The dust on the shelves and books testified to its long neglect as the other parts of the chateau were renovated. So, I have taken on the task of restoring this room to its former glory.

The morning after my discovery of the library, I approached Grandmère Jeanette and Madame Giry during their morning tea. Mentioning the impressive book collection, I wondered aloud if it would be possible to borrow one occasionally. Madame Giry informed me that Monsieur Carpenter would be the one to speak with, and kindly introduced me to him.

Monsieur Carpenter's sociable manner and friendly hazel eyes put me at ease the moment I met him. We talked about our favorite books, and he's invited me to make use of the library whenever I wish. He also explained that he schools the children at the château and asked if my son would like to attend. I eagerly agreed, knowing Ethan would be delighted.

Running my fingers along the bindings on the books, I glance at the titles, trying to decide which one to borrow first. An English title catches my eye. _The New Family Herbal and Botanic Physician. _I tuck my dusting cloth and bottle of lemon oil into the large pocket of my apron and pull the book from the shelf. It was published less than ten years ago and contains several hand-colored plates. I bend my head to read the subtext: "…_valuable medical receipts; and important directions regarding diet, clothing, bathing, air, exercise…" _

"Can you read?"

_Mon Dieu!_ I'm startled by a male voice behind me. Then his words register, and I pause, taking a deep breath. Why do men always presuppose women don't have an education? A response comes to mind: of course, I read! French, English _and_ German! My red-headed temper begins to get the best of me, so I swirl around to face him, intending to give him a sharp rejoinder.

A tall, handsome man stands in the center of the room, and his blue eyes stare at me in a most unseemly manner. He studies me, but his features reveal none of his thoughts, causing me to shift uneasily. I wonder if he's one of Monsieur Mercier's family. I've seen him several times, but I'm still trying to put names to the faces, and don't know yet who he is.

He clears his throat, waiting I suppose, for my answer. There was no one in the room when I pulled the book off the shelf. Even though I have permission to borrow from the library, I'm supposed to be cleaning, not reading. If anyone walked in, I was merely going to carry on with my dusting, but he entered so quietly, he caught me off guard. Although he says nothing further, he seems to stare at me accusingly. Is he upset because he caught me being idle? Or does he assume I'm trying to steal the book?

Finally, I manage to choke out, "Yes, Monsieur, I do read."

Unexpectedly he breaks into a smile and steps toward me. I back up, suddenly afraid. I've met his kind before, the swine! Not only does he presume to think I'm uneducated, but he now believes he can coerce or perhaps even threaten me into whatever he has in mind. Giving him my most disgusted look, I walk in a wide path around him and hastily leave the room.

Hot tears sting my eyes. Working at the château is a blessing for Ethan and me. What if he goes to Mademoiselle Copeland and has me dismissed just because I didn't give in to the whims of a man making advances.

Feeling miserable and trying to hold back my tears, I need a few moments alone to compose myself, but there's no opportunity. Monsieur Carpenter appears around the corner and calls to me, "Danielle, I was just looking for you. Ethan's been hurt." Seeing my panicked expression, he shakes his head and reassures me, "No, he's okay. Just a few scrapes and scratches. He's in the kitchen."

Thanking him, I hurry down the hallway. Behind me, Monsieur Carpenter's footsteps pause at the library door, and I hear him speaking to the man who I just fled from. "Matt, I need to discuss something Ace mentioned…." Then the door closes, and I can hear no more of their conversation. I wonder if it will include his bad impression of me.

When I enter the kitchen, Ethan is sitting on a stool next to the fireplace, trying bravely not to cry, but I can see his lower lip tremble, a sure sign he's hurt. Jean-Luc is kneeling in front of him, holding a cloth on one of Ethan's knees. The two boys have already become fast friends. Jean-Luc was so gregarious the first time they met, my usually shy son ran off to play with him within minutes. They've been inseparable ever since.

"What happened?" When Ethan sees me, his tears begin to spill down his cheeks. I lift him off the stool and sit down, placing him on my lap and cradling him in my arms. He curls against me, tears wetting the bodice of my gown.

Jean-Luc's small face is tensed with fright and concern. "Oh Madame Sommer, it's all my fault."

"Just tell me what happened." Jean-Luc is still pressing a large towel against Ethan's knee. Lifting the towel gently, I discover a nasty-looking wound caked with dirt and blood.

"Ethan and I were near the barn, talking to the animals and feeding them. The horses always come up to the fence to take the treats from our hands." Listening to Jean-Luc as he speaks, I study him, thinking about what Grandmère has told me about his background and how he was found in the barn.

Jean-Luc's around nine years old, but he's small for his age. Ethan's only seven, and they're the same height. Ethan and I fared a little better during this past year because of my herbal skills and help from my family. Jean-Luc apparently wasn't so lucky.

Finally fessing up, Jean-Luc says with an earnest voice, "I'd stepped up on the lower rail of the fence. I helped Ethan climb up on the top rail so he could feed the horses. We were holding the carrots out when the big black horse…" Jean-Luc lifts his free arm as high in the air as he can, continuing excitedly, "you know, Madame, the one called Noir. He belongs to Monsieur Erik. The big horse came over and shoved his way through the other horses to get to us. Suddenly, Noir bared his teeth, trying to bite the carrot. When Ethan saw Noir's large mouth open to bite the carrot, he pulled his hand back and lost his balance. It happened all at once, but I managed to catch Ethan before he hit the ground. He hurt his knee on the fence. Is his leg going to be alright? It isn't broken is it? He won't limp, will he? Can you…"

"It's all right, Jean-Luc. Ethan will be fine. Let's have a look." Ethan's tears have slowed so I stand and set him back on the stool, kneeling down in front of him. Jean-Luc kneels beside me. The cut on Ethan's knee is still bleeding. "Here, Jean-Luc, keep this tight against it while I get my medicinals. We'll have him fixed in no time." I also notice a few scratches on Jean-Luc which need to be tended. "I'll take care of your scrapes too."

Jean–Luc grins up at me. "Merci, Madame."

When I return with my bag of herbs, the two boys are peeking under the towel, making faces. As I walk toward them, a deep commanding voice brings me to a standstill.

"You need to wash your hands with soap and water before tending to the boy."

I swing around and find the man from the library standing there. Has he followed me? I glare at him. "I know what to do for my son. It's none of your affair, Monsieur." I'm ashamed of the hostility in my tone and feel my face redden. But then I remind myself of what he was most likely going to demand of me had I remained in the library. He's probably come into the kitchen to dismiss me anyway.

He scowls at me.

I return his scowl.

His voice has a decidedly icy tone when he responds, "I'm sure you were told the rules of hygiene when you accepted this position, Madame. It's important you use soap to wash your hands before touching any open wound."

The room is oddly quiet as we stand there, scowling at each other. Everyone is watching and listening, wondering what will happen next. What annoys me the most is that I _do_ wash my hands before and after treating anyone. Long ago, I discovered that simple technique kept me from succumbing to many of the ailments of my patients.

Finally, I answer, mustering as much indignation as possible, "I _do_ wash my hands, Monsieur."

We continue to stare at each other across the kitchen, but he makes no further comments. Finally, with a nod and a terse, "Good day, Madame," he turns and leaves. That's when I notice he's carrying a physician's bag at his side_. Sacre bleu!_ So this is the doctor of medicine Grandmère told me lived here. I groan inwardly. I had hopes of meeting him, but not this way.

Chastising myself for not watching my tongue and letting my temper once again get away from me, I walk over to the wash basin. Should I explain to Grandmère what's happened? If the man dismisses me, there's nothing she can do. And she'll just worry about it in the meantime. I glance at the two boys. Their heads are bent together, Jean-Luc's short brown hair and Ethan's deep auburn shade, as they whisper softly to one another.

I can't hide a smile. "What are you two talking about?" Two pairs of blue eyes peer up at me guiltily. With a mother's intuition, I know they're already making plans for their next adventure. In unison, they say, "nothing," then glance at each other, dissolving into laughter.

Using my remedies, I tend Ethan's cuts and scrapes by first using a rinse of **calendula+** an infusion made from marigold petals, to wash and clean the area. Next I follow up with my marigold ointment. It will heal the wounds faster and prevent infection. I wrap the worse cut on Ethan's knee with a bandage. Inspecting Jean-Luc's injuries, I decide to use the same treatment. As I pack away my herbs, the boys ask to go to Jean-Luc's room to read. With a warning to be careful, I watch them as they race out the door.

With tendrils of hair clinging about her face and cheeks flushed rosy from the warmth of the fire she's cooking over, Grandmère silently conveys she'll ask for an explanation later. Smiling faintly at her and not wanting to venture out of the kitchen just yet, I stay and help prepare tonight's meal. My other chores are done and the extra help at mealtime is always appreciated. As Grandmère and I talk, I give her instructions on the herbs and spices to flavor the meal. At my suggestion, she combines coarse salt, thyme and garlic to the _Les Rilletes de tours_, a savory spread which will go on the succulent pork roast before cooking.

Using a piece of cheesecloth, she dabs the flavorful mixture over the roast and smiles at me, "François wanted me to tell you his foot is doing much better now."

"That's good to hear. Tell him to let me know if he has any further problems with it."

Four days ago, I'd examined François' foot and found he was suffering from a nail fungus. Before I accepted this position, Grandmère told me many of the servants would probably come to me for their ailments. So I made sure there was a good supply of ointments, tinctures and dried herbs in my bag. It was easy enough to help François. I had simply treated his foot with oregano **oil+** one of the herbs I distill. But it takes skill to know how to dilute it before placing it on the skin. Even though it helps heal, it can also irritate

After Grandmère places the roast in the large brick oven, we start planning the side dishes to be served at dinner. As we clean and cut the ingredients, Grandmère chatters on about Monsieur Joe. Apparently he has many plans for the château. He intends to enlarge the garden this year with the addition of more vegetables. Even though the château has a small herb garden, I wonder if he would consider expanding it also. Grandmère says he'll also oversee the fruit orchards and the vineyard which have been sadly neglected in the past few years. He sounds rather skilled in agriculture, and Jean-Luc has regaled me of his skill with the animals, horses in particular. Grandmère even becomes excited as she talks of how he plans to establish beehives at one end of the field near the river. Once the larder and root cellars are filled, the overflow of vegetables, fruits and honey can be sold or used to trade for other items needed.

One of the kitchen maids joins us at the large wooden cutting table, and the conversation turns to what spices and herbs compliment the vegetables we're preparing. I notice one of the young men who assist in the kitchen keeps watching her as she talks. When she smiles back at him coquettishly, the dimples in her cheeks reveal her pleasure at his attention.

Half listening to the discussion, I mentally make a list of herbs to be cultivated this spring. Then my thoughts return to the disturbing encounter with the doctor, as well as my concern about losing my position at the château. He doesn't seem to be an agreeable man at all. I wonder if he'll have me dismissed. If he does, I don't know how Ethan and I will survive. But, if he approaches me again as he did today, I plan to give him a piece of my mind.

**CAUTION:** Even though there are many wonderful healing herbs available, _DO NOT_ attempt to use them without the proper education or information. Seemingly simple herbs can sometimes be dangerous if used incorrectly.

**+References** to individual herbs in this story ARE NOT meant to be instructional.

_Laura's POV:_

I spot Joe at the end of the corridor. When he sees me, he ducks into the hallway that goes out the back of the château to the stables. Picking up my voluminous skirts, I rush after him. As I turn the corner, I call out, "Joe! Wait just a minute."

He halts at the door, his hand on the knob. Slowly, with all the wariness of a trapped animal, he turns around and faces me. "Yes, Laura?" His voice is distinctly nervous. I suspect he knows what I'm going to ask him.

"Could you go and play cards with Erik?" He hesitates, rolling his eyes and considering his answer. I add, "Please?"

He still doesn't reply.

"If you play cards with him today, I promise not to ask you for the next two days."

"Deal!" He holds his hand out, and we shake on it. "What time are you scheduling me for?"

"Right after lunch. How about one o'clock to three?"

He nods in concession and goes out to the stables. I quickly descend the stairwell to the large room beneath the château where the Team exercises and trains each morning. All the newly-arrived Team members, including the women, are intensely fencing with sabers under the tutelage of Marek, the master of this rather barbaric way of handling disagreements. At least from my point of view. I feel that parrying with words and ideas is a more effective—and far less bloody—method for settling disputes. I sit down on a bench just inside the door and watch as Marek yells out pointers.

After a few minutes he orders everyone to halt. Marek tells one of the men to step forward and begins to explain how to properly execute an attack to the chest with the saber.

"You see, the arm is extended completely, and the lunge begins as soon as the extension has started. At the same time the blade makes contact wi' the chest, the right foot lands in the lunge, and you draw the blade back across the chest downward diagonally and t' the left." As Marek moves in demonstration of this move, I cringe. Sabers were used in the battle on New Years, and I saw the bodies of the men on the ground afterward. I realize all too well this is not a sport. Folding my arms across my abdomen, to hold down the nausea that seems to be threatening, I watch silently as the Team continues its workout. When they have all mastered the maneuver, Marek calls a rest. That's when he notices me sitting at the far end of the room.

"Laura! T' what do we owe the honor o' your company?"

All seven members of the Team freeze for a second, glance my way and scatter in every direction like rabbits heading for the safety of their burrows. Rushing over to the benches at the sides of the room, they seem to busy themselves with their towels, mopping the sweat off their faces, or to check the laces on their shoes or the conditions of their sabers. None look my way.

Marek's eyebrows dip low and his eyes sparkle with humor as he looks from one member of the Team to the next. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he walks across the room toward me. With a grunt of exhaustion, he lowers himself onto the bench next to me and chuckles, "Well, Laura. Wha' can I do for ya, then?"

Glancing at the people on the far end of the room, I grimace, "Am I that unpopular?"

"Ach, no, lass! Everyone loves you. You've got the face o' an angel, the patience o' a saint and the smarts to outwit Erik on occasion."

"On occasion!" My laugh bursts out before I can control it. "So, Marek, what is it then?"

"It's just we all can guess wha' mission you're on, that's all!"

"Mission?"

"Well we all know you're no' here t' learn the finer points o' fighting with a saber, are you? Your Quaker sensibilities shudder at the sight, right?"

I return his gaze and tactfully don't reply.

"So, then, you've got t' be here about Erik. You're trying t' corral us into taking our turn at playin' cards or chess or cribbage, are you no'?

I sigh, perceiving that this difficult duty may get even more challenging. "Yes, Marek. So, what's the problem? Why is playing a game for a couple hours with Erik so…uh…difficult?"

"I think ya hit the nail on the head! It's difficult!"

"How can it be difficult? They're just games!"

"Well, Laura, the trouble is, Erik takes everything seriously! So, he plays t' win." Marek stretches his long legs out straight in front of him and leans back against the wall. "And, have you noticed? He _always _wins! No matter wha' the game, he's mastered it. None o' us has been able t' go more than six moves in chess against him. Joe's offering a bet that no one will ever make it to seven moves, and nobody's taking the bet!"

"But Erik _is_ a genius, after all," I plea my husband's case. "How can he help that? And he's stuck there on the oak bench in front of the fireplace all day long in the Great Room. He's going totally stir crazy!"

"Well, he's taking us there wi' him, for certain!" Marek chuckles again. "Who did you corner into playing with him this morning?"

"Jeremy."

"Anybody lined up for the early afternoon shift?"

"Joe. Russ is teaching school all afternoon."

"So who's got the late afternoon shift?"

"No one. Yet. I was coming down here…"

"Yeah, so we could tell." Then patting my knee like an understanding older brother, Marek says reassuringly, "so I'll take the shift. When is it?"

"Three o'clock until five."

"Well, it's a tough job," Marek begins, and I chime in with him, "but somebody's got t do it!"

We both laugh until tears come to our eyes. Marek stands and excuses himself, getting back to the saber instruction, and I head up the stairs.

The chef and Jeannette want me to approve the menu for the weekend's meals. I take the stack of paper and settle in at the dining room table, looking over their proposals. Sunday evening's dinner requires special attention. Our three French friends, also known around the château as "the matadors," and their English comrade, Mr. St. Just, have been invited. The occasion is to thank them formally for their aid in the attack and invite them to our wedding the following week. Personally, I think Marek and Jeremy also want another opportunity to learn more about them. To see if they will ultimately become allies in The Program's work.

I'm just leaving the dining room when Antoinette and Meg waylay me. Antoinette's in charge of all the wedding preparations and has taken to the task with her Mistress of Dance command and fervor. She's even taken to carrying her walking stick around the house, so she can use it to point out where something needs to be cleaned, or repaired, or adorned for the occasion. Currently there's an emergency needing my immediate attention. She informs me the seamstress making my dress is bungling the bustle. I'm hustled upstairs to my suite to try on the dress and prove her point. My maid, Jean, is waiting patiently with the nervously frantic seamstress. The maid assists me out of my many layers of clothing and helps me put on the even more layers of my wedding dress.

As I stand in front of the mirror, Antoinette used her cane to point at the offending bustle. She announces it's too small, and what is worse, it sags. I turn sideways and stare into the mirror, and sure enough, she's right. The bustle droops! Instead of protruding out from my waist in a perky bundle of silk, it hangs rather sadly. With the aplomb of a professional dancer accustomed to all manner of costumes, Meg points out that the bustle frame worn under the dress isn't strong enough to carry the excessive amount of material that's deemed necessary to adorn my backside.

Amazing! I have no doubt there's more fabric in that bustle than in any one of my Armani suits. But, when in the 19th century... Standing patiently for at least another half hour, I let the three women argue in vehement French how to rectify the problem: namely, the way my derriere will look on my wedding day. My 21st century woman's sense of humor tells me that as far as Erik is concerned, he prefers me sans any of these accoutrements. But I keep that thought to myself.

When the salvos back and forth are over and an armistice reached, Jean helps me wade out of the wedding dress and don my day dress. As I'm going down the stairwell to the main floor, I hear the clock chime noon. It's time for me to take Erik's lunch to him. Hurrying to the dining room, I dish up two plates of food from the luncheon buffet and carry it on a tray to the huge fireplace at the far end of the Great Hall.

As I come around the end of the high-backed oak bench, Erik and Jeremy both greet me enthusiastically. Erik's no doubt happy to see me. Jeremy's no doubt happy that now he can escape, which he does hastily, explaining he has some duty or other to take care of…somewhere.

I set the tray on a small side table and move it next to Erik. It's at the perfect level for him eat his meal as if he were seated at the dining table. I pull up a chair and sit opposite him. We always have lunch and dinner together in this manner, and he always asks me what I've been busy with as the Lady of the Manor.

I refrain from telling him that it's getting difficult to find people to sit with him and play the games which are keeping his mind busy while his body is still healing. But, I feel a critical mass has been reached regarding that issue, and the matter must be addressed.

"Joe and Marek will be joining you for chess and cards this afternoon," I begin.

"Good!" Erik nods as he reaches for a piece of bread and picks up his knife to butter it. "They always provide me with more challenging competition."

"But not too, challenging, would you say?" I attack the matter obliquely.

"What do you mean?" The knife poised just above the bread, his hand stops as he studies me.

"Well, it seems that you're very good at chess and cards. Do you often lose?"

He begins to butter the bread, deep in thought. "Well, not often."

"Ever?"

He shakes his head, "No, not that I can recall."

"A man who always wins is a brilliant man," then I give him a loving smile, "but a man who allows others to win sometimes is a man who is confidant in himself."

His emerald eyes gaze piercingly into mine. "I see." He places the bread and knife down and lifts his glass. "A toast then?" I lift my glass to his as he says, "To being a newly confidant man."

I touch my glass to his and add, "I'll drink to that."

I decide he needs some levity now, so I tell him all about the drooping bustle. He replies with a smirk, "The bride only thinks of the wedding dress. The groom only thinks of the négligé."

With my best impish grin, I reply, "Well then, I'll just wear my négligé instead of the wedding dress for the ceremony."

Erik laughs aloud. "That would scandalize Antoinette! She is working very hard to make our formal wedding very proper in every manner." He takes a bite of the roast chicken, and turns thoughtful. After washing it down with a sip of wine, he continues, "I confess. I agree with her. I want our wedding to be proper and for everyone to see what a beautiful, unique woman has consented to marry me. The world needs to see what a blessed man I am."

He reaches out and takes my hand, kissing it tenderly. His warm, soft lips on my hand send sensations through my body and cause a rushing feeling of lightness below my stomach. Because the servants are again attending us in our suites, we have to be more careful, but I spend most of the night with Erik and return to my room just before daybreak. That is always the most difficult time for us, when I have to leave his arms. Gazing into his handsome face, the pure white of the mask on one side and his eyes full of love, I try to regain my composure.

For the rest of the meal we soak in the warmth of the fire and enjoy the quiet rapture of being alive and having our lives together ahead of us.


	85. Chapter 85

COPYRIGHTED

**A/N: Thank you so much for your heartfelt comments and support in response to my question about The Epic Case continuing into Book Three! We writers wish to thank each of you who posted your response to this question: Mels4, Pertie, Mominator, Arvialee, TheNightEnchantress, O2BHER, Timeflies, Terbear, Christinedaae229, Youalone, Jackielu and ToTheBarricades! Your enthusiastic support is very, very meaningful…and so, I am happy to announce…**

**The Epic Case will continue with Book Three! **

**And, I promise, it is action-packed…much less sword fighting—promise--but a lot of intrigue…and then there's all those questions about Erik and Laura going to claim Erik's title as Count. How will Raoul and Christine, uh…take that? Well, maybe there will be a _little_ sword play! **

**And, is there a future for Terese and Jeremy…or Sue? What's in store for Joe and Antoinette…or…? Meg is now at the chateau and with the three Frenchmen and St. Just coming for visits, that most definitely promises action and excitement. Of course, heaven only knows what Matt, Russ and Danielle will get into. Book Three covers the entire year of 1872, and, well, it's a very eventful, exciting year! **

**We'll continue to post regularly each two weeks, on Sundays! However, we need a little vacation and hiatus, so: **

**_the_ _first chapter of Book Three will post on this same thread four weeks from today:_**

_**Sunday, September 21, 2008.**_

**One last note, there is a new feature for authors on this website. It is called "Reader Traffic," and gives detailed statistics about the readers, including the countries where our readers live! We were ecstatic to learn that The Epic Case has fans in the following countries: **

**USA, UK, Sweden, Philippines, Canada, Hungary, S. Korea, Denmark, Italy, Singapore, Argentina, Netherlands, Pakistan, China, Spain, France, Norway and Brazil!! **

**During this next month, we would love to hear from each of you, by your posting a review and sharing with us where you live and why you are a fan of The Epic Case! If you are too bashful to post publicly, you can click on my name, Phanfan44, at the top of the story and go to my personal page which has my email address there. We'd love to hear from you!**

* * *

As Book Two ends, everyone at Château Mercier is busy with wedding preparations. Finally, it's Erik and Laura's wedding day, and Erik is filled with the nervousness and expectations of a groom…

**

* * *

****Chapter 85 WEDDING EXPECTATIONS by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Wednesday, January 24, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV: _

Erik and Laura's wedding is only four days away. It will be held here in the château, and there is still so much left to do. After sending several servants off on various tasks, I enter the Great Hall, searching for Eva and Georgette. The pleasant scent of lemon oil used to polish the wood surfaces tells me they have been doing their jobs. Window coverings have been taken down to clean, and all the rugs have been taken outside, despite the wintery weather, to be beaten until not a speck of dust remains. With instructions not to use them until the day of the wedding, new candles have been placed near the candelabras. Fresh posies of herbs have been arranged strategically in each room to release their fragrance into the air. In fact, the entire château has been turned upside down in my attempts to clean every millimeter of space. It must be immaculate for the wedding ceremony, the reception and formal dinner.

Erik is in his usual place on the massive oak settee in front of the stone fireplace which blazes with a fire that barely warms this huge room on frosty days like today. Marek sits opposite him, bent over the chessboard as Erik moves the black knight. Erik glances up with a smirk, challenging Marek to escape the trap he has set for the white queen. The furrow between Marek's brows deepens, and he leans back in the chair, intensely studying the board.

Laura was wise to arrange for the men to play chess and cards with Erik to ease his boredom. Although he is getting around the château quite well now using a cane, Erik still spends much of the day convalescing in front of the fireplace. He is moody at times, but I wonder if that is now caused by his nervousness over the upcoming nuptials. Erik and Laura both seem a little on edge the past few days, but I believe once the wedding is over, everything will be fine.

Spotting some of the men standing idle at the other side of the Great Hall, I point at them with my walking cane. "Ty, Linc, I need you to move the large oak table from the library in here. Place it there against the wall near the windows for now. It will do nicely for an arrangement with flowers and candles as a backdrop for the ceremony. Eva, Georgette, follow me. Derek come along with us. We need help taking the draperies down in the library."

I move everyone briskly to the library, and after Ty and Linc take out the table, Derek uses a ladder to reach the tops of the tall windows, removing the heavy panels and handing them down to us. As the two women start to leave the room with the drapes, I stop them. "Eva, make sure they are washed and pressed. Mina will help with the pressing. They need to be rehung by tomorrow." Again, they start for the door when I add, "Let me know when they are ready, and I will have one of the men assist you." Eva nods in acknowledgment.

Mentally, I go down my list of remaining tasks. With the last of the draperies done, the major cleaning projects are finished. The next few days will be used to complete the decorating by hanging the decorative swags and arranging the flowers that are to be arrayed throughout the manor.

Fishing in my pocket for the list of items to purchase on my trip to Paris today, I check to see if anything has been left off. These last few weeks have been so hectic with the men recovering from their injuries that there has been no opportunity to go into Paris other than a single trip by Jeremy and Russ. And that was an important trip with one goal in mind: to find a Magistrate who would travel to the château to fill out the papers for Erik and Laura to formally post banns. He had to be paid very handsomely for such a service, and even more for his return trip next Sunday afternoon to perform the ceremony.

I hurry back to the Great Hall and spot Ty and Linc standing near the doorway talking to Joseph. The sight of him makes my heart beat a little faster, and I sigh in frustration, missing his company and our conversations. A week ago, I placed him in charge of overseeing the cleaning and organizing of the stable to accommodate all the guests' carriages and horses. Other than that discussion in the presence of other men, we have not had any privacy to talk, even though we have tried on numerous occasions. Between spending time with Meg and preparing for the upcoming wedding, it seems there are constant interruptions whenever we meet.

Joseph does not see me approach, so I slow and take these moments to study him. He recovered swiftly and shows no signs of his injuries. Jean-Luc and Ethan, Danielle's son, are standing next to the three men, their heads swiveling in unison back and forth as they follow the conversation. The two boys enjoy tagging along with Joseph whenever he goes to the stable to look in on the animals, and Joseph seems to have infinite patience with them. It is obvious they have just returned from one of their trips outside because Jean-Luc and Ethan's bottom sides are filthy, no doubt from sitting on who knows what. As I get closer, my nose can guess what the "who knows what" may be.

Before they can do any damage, I gently admonish, "Jean-Luc, Ethan, go change your clothes immediately. And make sure you do not brush up against anything or sit anywhere. The staff has not worked hard these past weeks so you can make everything dirty." Pointing at their bottoms with my walking stick, both boys twist to glance at their backsides. They grin at each other and scurry off to change. I shake my head, recalling the antics these two mischievous boys have pulled over the past few weeks.

"Good morning, Antoinette." Joseph's blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he says my name.

"Good morning, Joseph."

"Do you have a few minutes?

I look around the Great Hall, thinking about all the work left to do. I had hoped to catch Marek before he finished his game with Erik, but he has already slipped away, and Jeremy is now talking with Erik. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

"Come, let's go to the library."

When we arrive, Joseph casually strides over to the window, glancing around at the freshly cleaned and polished room. "You've been busy as a bee." He turns around and gives me his charming smile. "I'm glad we finally got some privacy. I want to talk to you about…"

"Hey, have either of you seen Jean-Luc and Ethan?" Russ is leaning around the doorway. "It's time for their reading lesson."

Joseph points toward the servant's quarters. "They just took off to change clothes. You'll probably find them in Jean-Luc's room."

Disappointingly, Russ doesn't leave, but instead steps into the room and starts rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk. "They know to come here for their lessons. I'll just wait."

Joseph glances at me and opens his mouth to say something when Georgette comes to the doorway. "Madame Giry, Eva sent me to find you. Mademoiselle Counselor has requested you to come to her room."

"Merci, Georgette." I look at Joseph ask apologetically, "Maybe later?" He sighs and nods.

Laura bids me enter when I tap lightly on her door. She is writing at her desk, but as I walk across her suite, she puts down the pen and says warmly, "Thank you for coming, Antoinette. I know how busy you are, but I wanted to make sure you got my list before you leave for Paris." She hands me the list and goes into detail about the items to purchase, especially a black pearl stickpin for Erik's cravat which is also to be her wedding gift to him. The name and address of the jeweler where Erik bought her wedding ring is written at the bottom of the paper. I suppress a chuckle since Erik also talked to me earlier this morning when Laura was getting breakfast for them and requested I purchase a few things. When we have finished discussing Laura's list, she goes to the tall armoire where her wedding dress is hanging. A flicker of amusement passes over her face as she shows me the bustle is now properly done and says how pleased she is with the gown.

Madame Justine, the seamstress, was employed and ensconced at the château the first week of January upon Erik's insistence. With the tightened security, no one was to go to Paris, but Erik declared the plans for their wedding would not be postponed. So Jeremy went to the seamstress' shop and hired her to make Laura and Erik's clothing for the wedding. And she has done a lovely job.

Laura's gown is fashioned from the finest satin trimmed generously with exquisite Brussels lace, which is made from spun linen thread and known for its beauty and delicacy. Two of the maids were put to work embroidering a myriad of pearl beads onto the bodice of the gown as well as the long, draping lace veil. The ivory color of the gown so compliments Laura's dark hair and eyes. Madame Justine also fashioned a waistcoat and cravat for Erik using the same ivory satin. The black pearl stick pin will be the perfect compliment. Reassuring Laura that everything will be taken care of, I hurry down the stairs and search for Joseph, but cannot find him.

Instead, Sam approaches me in the hallway. "I'm off duty now, and Marek sent me to help out. What can I do?"

Thankfully, all the men have been very cooperative. We have added many servants in the past few weeks, but the preparations for the upcoming wedding are keeping everyone busy. The ceremony will be held in the Great Hall and afterwards, there will be a dinner. Several outside guests have been invited, including the three French noblemen who were dressed as matadors at the ball. Monsieur St. Just is also invited, as well as many of the neighboring landowners. Keeping the guest list in mind and all the preparation needed, I made sure Jeremy and Marek knew the additional help would be appreciated.

"You can bring more chairs from the attic and place them in the Great Hall. The ceremony will be there, and we will need the seating."

"Do you have any particular ones in mind?"

"Particular ones?" I ask, not understanding.

"Particular chairs. Should I bring all of them down or just some?"

Then recalling the rather wide variety of chairs in the attic, I realize there are some which would not be satisfactory. It would not do to use any chairs with threadbare cushions. "I will show you. Come along and let me point them out." I move swiftly, my walking stick leading the way.

As we near the stairway, Joseph and Derek come around a corner. "Do you have time to talk now, Antoinette?" Joseph asks hopefully.

"Non." I explain where Sam and I are headed. "Maybe later?"

"Okay." He flashes me his charming smile. "How 'bout us tagging along to help?"

I smile my thanks, and our entourage climbs the many flights up to the attic. It does not take long to show the men which chairs are appropriate, then I return downstairs. Two of the maids are just coming to find me, waiting for new directions.

"Josephina, please go through the linen closet. Make sure all the napkins are freshly laundered and pressed. Take heed and do not scorch any like you did the last time though. But first, count them and inform me how many there are. We must not fall short." She starts to walk away. "Oh, and make sure none of them show any signs of wear or stains. Even if the least bit, set them aside for other uses. And, Josephina, get the count to me within the hour, before I leave for Paris in case more need to be purchased." She bobs a curtsy and leaves.

As I turn to the other maid, Mademoiselle Julia arrives. "Can I do something?"

"Oui, I will take all the help I can get." We laugh. She is a very pleasant young lady and often stops to see if I need her assistance. "I was just sending Jean to inventory the Limoges china. It would be faster if you worked with her. Here is the current list of pieces. Please inspect them carefully and make sure none are broken. Let me know before I leave if any pieces must be replaced." This is the last item on my list to be checked.

"Of course." They both leave for the dining room where the china is stored in the glass-front wall cabinet. For a few blessed minutes, no one is around. I peer into the rooms I pass, still trying to locate Joseph.

When I find him outside the kitchen, I shyly ask, "Would you like to have that…"

"Joe! Glad I caught you. I need your help." Jeremy turns to me. "Please forgive me for interrupting Antoinette. Can you spare him for a minute?"

"Of course." I try to keep the frustration out of my voice at the interruption. As he walks away, Joseph glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. So much for being able to talk.

When I arrive at the kitchen, Jeanette is busy with food preparations for the wedding feast. She's supervising several of the kitchen staff, so I make myself a cup of tea and sit at a small table near the fireplace. It feels good to relax. When Erik and Laura put me in charge of the wedding festivities, I knew it would be a challenging job for me, but it is also a labor of love. The staff is well trained and has worked so hard. Thankfully, everything is on schedule for the wedding day.

The wedding day. I am so happy for Erik. Even though they secretly wed in the Quaker ceremony a month ago, this ceremony is in accord with French civil law and will publicly make Laura his wife. I think back at all the obstacles they have faced and consider it nothing less than a miracle they will finally begin their life together…and their happiness.

Jeanette soon finishes and pours herself a cup of tea, then joins me. Her smiling face and good nature always makes me feel better. She has been invaluable through all of the preparations and also perceptive about the staff we hired during the past few weeks, always knowing which tasks most suit them.

As she settles into the chair next to me, Jeannette says with a frown, "You look a little frazzled, Antoinette."

"It is only four days before the wedding, and I am determined to have everything in order," I reply with a sigh.

Jeanette pats my hand. "You're doing an excellent job. Most of the cleaning is finished. You have everything well under control."

"Oui. Thank you for all your help." I smile with sincere appreciation.

We sit and drink our tea in companionable silence. Finally I ask, "Will you need additional staff for the wedding day?"

"No, we have enough now. All the details have been worked out." Her cheeks dimple.

"Good. Have you made arrangements for all the food?"

She bobs her head up and down. "Certainly! Do not worry yourself over this. I promise the dinner and wedding cake will be perfection."

When our cups are empty, Jeanette gets up and pours more tea from the steeping pot, commenting, "Danielle has been especially helpful. Her skills with herbs and spices have added a unique touch to our cooking. The chef was most pleased at her suggestions for the wedding."

She reaches in her apron pocket and hands me the menus for the formal dinner and the reception. I nod in approval at the selections. It will be an exquisite feast. As I hand back the menu, I compliment Jeanette on her granddaughter's skills. "I have heard many good things about Danielle. Not just her culinary talents, but her healing abilities. I am glad she accepted the position here."

"Oui. It's been good for her and Ethan." She hesitates before adding, "But she did mention the other day that even though she knows Monsieur McBrighton is a physician, some of the people here are seeking her out for her herbal remedies. She says sometimes simple folk prefer the tried and true methods. Many of them do not trust the doctor's medicines." Jeanette shifts uneasily in her chair. "You don't think Monsieur McBrighton objects, do you?"

"I cannot say, Jeanette. He has voiced no objections to me." I wonder if this has anything to do with the tension I have observed between Matt and Danielle. I make note to watch them more closely.

We talk until our teacups are empty, then I take my leave. As I pass through the dining room, I see Jean and Julia have finished checking the Limoges, and it has been neatly replaced in the cabinet. They did not seek me out, so the china is in readiness. Suddenly my eyes light on a large vase on the top shelf which will be perfect for a flower arrangement on a side table. One of the items on my shopping list today is to go to the greenhouse and order the flowers and have them delivered tomorrow. Elegant flower arrangements will be placed throughout the château in accordance with Erik's instructions.

Looking around and spotting no one available to help, I pull a chair in front of the buffet and step up on it. The vase is just out of my reach, so I lean forward on my tiptoes. My fingers have barely touched the bottom of the vase when the chair tips forward, causing me to lose my balance and fall sideways. All of a sudden, strong arms catch me, breaking my fall.

Shaken, I gaze into blue eyes which stare back at me intently. "Lucky I was here to keep you from falling. Are you okay?"

"Oui, I am fine. Thank you." My heart pounds from the fright I just had. He continues to study me, his face mere inches from mine. Self-consciously I realize he is still holding me around the waist, and that my arms are around his neck. Most improper.

"Please let me go."

"Sure." He takes his hands from my waist and steps back.

Just then someone in the doorway clears his throat. When I turn toward the sound, I discover Joseph standing there, an odd expression on his face.

Feeling a warm blush spread up my cheeks, I explain, "Joseph, Monsieur Thomas caught me as I fell off the chair." Indicating the chair on its side, I continue, "It tipped while I was reaching for the vase."

"I see." Joseph's voice has a cold edge to it as he stares at Monsieur Thomas, but his voice softens when he asks me, "Are you hurt?"

"Non, I am fine."

He addresses Monsieur Thomas directly. "Well then, Ace, how about releasing her? She doesn't seem to be in any further danger." They stare at each other for a moment, then Monsieur Thomas lets me go and steps back. He smiles at me and turns to leave. Curiously, I see him grin when he passes Joseph.

Trying to deflect the awkwardness I feel, I ask, "Would you like to talk now?"

"Yes. But let me get the vase for you first." He is so tall, he easily reaches up and removes it from the shelf.

As he gently places it in my hands, my mouth goes dry, but I manage to say, "Thank you, Joseph."

"You're welcome." His smile is warm again as he glances down at me. "It's sure been hard to get you alone. But I wanted to…"

"Maman! Here you are." Meg enters with a rustle of skirts. "I've been looking all over the château for you." Meg notices Joseph and curtsies. "Good morning, Monsieur Joe."

"Good morning, Mademoiselle."

"Maman, it's time to leave. I have brought all the lists you made. I cannot wait to see Paris again. It has been so long. Will we still have time to stop at a perfume shop? I would like to buy something special as a gift for Laura for her wedding."

I look helplessly at Joseph. He takes a deep breath, and when Meg turns toward the door, he shrugs his shoulders and mouths the words, "Maybe later?"

Smiling wanly, I shake my head as Joseph walks beside me. We follow Meg, stopping for our capes then continue onto the courtyard. Ty, Sam and Joseph's sister, Sue, are standing next to the carriage. Louis is already in the driver's seat when Joseph glances around and asks Sam, "Where's the other guard? Should be four on this trip."

Ty helps Meg and Sue into the coach as they chat excitedly about shopping in Paris, then he climbs in behind them. One of the grooms holds two saddled horses. Sam mounts one, but apparently there is another guard who will be riding with us. I turn to step up into the carriage, and a hand grasps my elbow to aid me. Glancing around, I am surprised to see Monsieur Thomas again. I feel a hint of red beginning on my cheeks, recalling how he caught me when I fell. "Merci, Monsieur."

"Always at your service, Ma'am." His blue eyes look into mine and his hand seems to linger at my elbow a bit longer than necessary. When I am seated across from Sue, I glance out the window and notice Joseph, a dark scowl on his face. He steps over to Monsieur Thomas who is mounting the second horse. Joseph says a few terse words to him, then abruptly turns and leaves. Quickly glancing at Monsieur Thomas, I can see a hint of a smile as he watches Joseph from atop his horse. How strange.

When Monsieur Thomas catches me staring at him, he gives me a slight bow. Then he takes up his position on my side of the carriage as Louis guides the horses down the long drive to the main road. Intending to join in the conversation, I turn toward Meg and Sue, sitting across from me. But they have stopped talking and are watching me, curiosity evident in their eyes. With an innocent look, I change the subject and pull out my long list of errands, reading it to them.

I need to visit so many shops, Louis decides not to take the carriage to the livery stable. Instead, he drives us to the door of each shop and remains with the carriage. Sam also waits and guards the two horses while Ty and Monsieur Thomas accompany us. After I have carefully selected and ordered many dozens of flowers from the greenhouse, Louis drives next to the perfume shop.

I leave Meg and Sue happily checking out the new fragrances and go on another errand at a book store three doors down. Monsieur Thomas goes with me and stands patiently while I make my purchase. Erik requested this book on his list. I hand the clerk the money and pick up the brown paper parcel with a copy of _Les Trois Mousqutaires_ inside. Erik told me to make certain it was the French version, but for the life of me, I cannot understand why. Very strange indeed.

_Sunday, January 28, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Wedding Day_

_Erik's POV: _

The clock chimes five times. But, it does not wake me up. I have been awake for at least half an hour. In fact, I have gotten very little sleep. Laura did not join me in my bed this seemingly endless night for the first time since we were wed in the Quaker ceremony. It took over an hour of tossing and turning for me to get to sleep, then I would reach out for her, only to find nothing but quilt, or pillow or air. That would cause me to awaken and again toss and turn in an attempt to find sleep. Five o'clock. I groan and roll over, toward the center of the bed and place my hand on her pillow. Where her beloved face would be if she were only here. Where she belongs.

But, she insisted that on this last night before our formal, public wedding, we not be together. She also insisted that I not have breakfast or lunch with her. Indeed, I am forbidden to see her today until she enters the Great Hall. Imagine! I am not to lay eyes on her until she walks toward me, regaled in her wedding gown. She asked that I honor this, and foolishly, I agreed. Right now, after a night away from her, I wish I could take back my words.

The thought of passing another twelve hours until I can see her again is utterly unnerving. Surely these peculiar ideas about wedding day propriety were created by women. No man in his right mind would come up with such bizarre concepts. Not seeing the bride or her gown until the wedding ceremony is outlandish. When all that matters to me is being with her, I must by force of outrageous tradition, stay away! Absurd! I pound the pillow with my fist and roll back in the other direction so that I do not have to look at the emptiness of the bed beside me.

I close my eyes in a final attempt at sleep. But all I see is her face. Her large, dark, infinitely deep eyes. So full of love and compassion. And her impish smile. And her turned up nose. And the long, black hair that feels like silk and smells of lavender. And her beautiful, ivory skin. As I think of Laura, my body begins to respond of its own accord. I groan and throw off the quilt. Taking my robe from the chair, I pull it on and grab my cane. Walking to the bell chord, I pull on it twice, signaling the kitchen staff to bring my breakfast. That will also signal my butler to come and draw my bath. I might as well begin my day. I certainly cannot sleep.

I light the oil lamps in my bedroom and sink into a chair. My thoughts continue racing, always centered on Laura. Remembering the first time I ever saw her. In her office. I kept my back to her for a long time, trying to reject the person they were foisting on me. It was utterly unfathomable to me that my lawyer was a woman. In my culture it is unthinkable. Yet, when I finally turned and saw her face, it was full of compassion—even tears—for the pain I had suffered. Yet she is so strong. Strong enough to defend me brilliantly in court and courageously step in front of a bullet meant for me. Always a paradox. So gentle and loving and yet so strong and confident. And always wise. Visions of her continue to appear. Her hair blowing in the wind on the sailing ship as we watched the whales and the magnificent sunset. Her beautiful body when she first shared it with me in the flickering light of the campfire. The comforting touch of her hand on mine as I read the letter from my mother, and the pure joy in her eyes when she toasted me in celebration. The ecstasy of holding her in my arms when I carried her across the field the day she arrived—after I had given up all hope of seeing her again. Her elegant beauty when she first donned the dress of my culture and walked with a gracefulness beyond description. And the purity of her soul when she spoke the words that bound her to me as my wife in the exquisite simplicity of her Quaker faith.

A feeling of humility comes over me. How is it that this special woman has agreed to share her life with me? Rising slowly, I walk to the full-length mirror and stand before it, staring at my reflection. My uncovered face stares back at me. How many times have I beheld it with anger and disgust? Yet, today, as I think of Laura, of her gentle fingers caressing the twisted lumps of flesh, I no longer hate my face. Laura does not flinch when she looks at me. She sees beyond the superficial and has accepted, even come to love, the man. That is all I ever asked for. For the first time in my life I accept this gift she has given freely, from her heart and soul. If she can look on my face with acceptance, then I will do no less. And I, for my part, will always honor and cherish her. I will do everything in my power to love her, protect her and make her happy. And, today marks the beginning of our publicly acknowledging our commitment to each other. The formal beginning of our path as husband and wife.

A knock on the door announces the butler is bringing my breakfast. He enters and sets the tray down on a small table, smiling more than usual. I sit down and begin to eat as he busies himself, carrying and pouring the water for my bath. As he goes about his work, his uncharacteristic gushing about this being my wedding day is infectious. I begin to relax, even grin at his ramblings. Except for Laura not being with me, breakfast is quite tolerable. I note that strawberry jam is served with the steaming croissants. My favorite. I suspect it was served at Laura's behest.

Easing into the tub of soothingly hot water, I let out a deep sigh of satisfaction and remain until it begins to cool. Wrapping myself in the towel and using my cane, I walk over and stand before the fire my butler has stoked to a roaring frenzy. As I dry off, the next time I will be in front of this fireplace occurs to me. It will be tonight. With Laura. My heart begins racing at the thought and once again it seems as if this day, which has barely begun, will never end.

My butler insists that he give me my shave today, and I grudgingly concede. Then he brings me a morning suit. I will don my formal attire just before the wedding. My leg is not yet fully healed, so I allow him to help me into my clothing, a practice I never permitted before my injury.

We have just finished, and he is carrying away the bath water when Jeremy bursts into my room without knocking. Before I can reproach him for his rudeness, he blurts out, "Erik! Something's happened with Laura!"

"What?" I grab my cane and follow him out the door.

I hurry as fast as my game leg allows and quickly cross the hallway to Laura's door, but when I open it, Antoinette unexpectedly appears and stands in my way, saying firmly, "Non! You cannot come in!" Dressed in her gown and robe with her hair tied back in a long, single braid, she looks slightly disheveled.

"Why ever not?" I demand, glaring down at her diminutive, but very determined form.

"This is your wedding day!" She glares back and blocks the door. "You cannot see her until the wedding!"

"Has she been injured? I must see her!"

"Non! She would not want you to see her like she is!" Antoinette's voice rises to a high pitch.

"Good God, woman, what is wrong?"

"She is very sick. You cannot see her now!" Antoinette closes the door in my face, and I hear her latch the lock.

Turning around to Jeremy, I ask, apoplectic, "What do you know about this? What do you know about Laura's illness?"

"I was going down the stairwell, headed for the kitchen and some of Jeanette's great coffee and croissants…."

"Yes, yes, skip your tributes to Jeanette's cooking. What has that to do with Laura?"

Jeremy blinks at my curtness. "What I was trying to say was that I passed Jean, Laura's maid, on the stairwell. She was going up to Matt's room to get him because she said Laura is really sick."

Just then Matt comes running down the stairs and races past Jeremy and me. When he gets to Laura's door he knocks and calls out his name. The door immediately opens, and he is admitted. Then the door slams shut and the distinct clang of the latch snapping back in place resounds with finality. Shocked, I stare at the door, then at Jeremy.

"Calm, Erik. Just keep calm." Jeremy's wide eyes tell me he is as perplexed as I am over this turn of events.

My butler has been watching from the doorway of my suite. He now walks over and asks tentatively, "May I be of service, Monsieur? May I bring you a cup of coffee while you wait?"

"No, nothing!" I snap back. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, startled. "I apologize. I did not mean to speak harshly."

"Quite all right, Monsieur. I understand," he says, but furtively looks at Jeremy and adds, "may I be of service to you?"

Jeremy manages a polite smile. "Could you bring me some breakfast on a tray? With coffee, lots of coffee."

"Yes, Monsieur, right away." Then he turns and flees down the stairwell.

I glare at Laura's locked door. Matt is in there with her now, but I am not. Why is he always allowed in there with her, but not me? This is turning into an aggravating habit. As if reading my thoughts, Jeremy puts a hand on my shoulder and says, "Matt's a doctor, and he's just helping Laura. You want Laura to have the best care when she's sick, don't you?"

"Yes," I huff out, then shrug off his hand and begin to pace up and down. We say nothing further to each other. I have only paced the length of the hallway three times when Jean comes up the stairwell with a bucket of steaming water. She knocks on the door and calls out her name. Magically the door opens, she enters, and it shuts and locks behind her. Jeremy and I exchange mystified looks. I glower and continue pacing.

The butler brings breakfast on a standing tray and places it in front of the ancient oak chair which stands outside my door. Jeremy sits down and dives into the food, his appetite none the worse for the situation. I snort at him and pace.

After several minutes, the sound of horrible retching can be heard coming from Laura's room. I stop dead and look over at Jeremy. He has a mouthful of food, but suddenly stops chewing. We freeze, listening. It comes again, the terrible sound of violent heaving. Jeremy goes pale, and he swallows whatever was in his mouth with a loud gulp. After a short pause, more retching noises. Jeremy pushes his tray away and gets up. He walks over to me with a sympathetic, pained expression on his unmistakably pallid face. My countenance is no doubt as grim and bloodless.

Just then Joe comes bounding down the stairwell and halts a few feet away from Jeremy and me. He confirms my suspicion with his usual directness, "Gee, Erik, you look like hell!"

I stare at him and hiss out, "Laura is ill!"

"Good grief! I'm sorry. I didn't know. What's she got? Is it serious?" His questions stream out in one continuous breath.

"We don't know," Jeremy explains. "Matt's in there with her. He hasn't come out yet to tell us what the problem is."

Joe looks over at Laura's door and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think this will prevent the wedding? Maybe she'll be too ill."

Jeremy barks out, "Joe! Let's not talk about anything like that until we know what's going on. Maybe this is just some little stomach upset. She'll probably be just fine."

Another loud, retching sound can be heard through the wall. Jeremy, Joe and I exchange looks. Joe shakes his head dubiously. Walking over to the oak chair, he sits down and folds his arms across his chest. I have barely begun my pacing again when Marek comes up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

"I just heard abou' Laura! How's the lass?" He stops in front of Laura's door and stares at it just as retching is again heard. "Ach, I see. Not good." He turns to me and adds, "Sorry, Erik. You think she may not be up t' the weddin' today?"

Speechless, I just glare at Marek, so Jeremy explains, "Matt's with Laura. We don't know anything yet."

I pace for what seems like an eternity. When I check my pocket watch, unbelievably it's only been twenty minutes. Glancing at Laura's door, I wonder what Matt is doing. What's taking him so long? What is happening with Laura? How is she? There hasn't been any sound from the room for the last ten minutes, and my leg is beginning to throb from walking up and down the hallway. But Joe is occupying the only chair, and I couldn't sit down right now even if my leg were about to fall off.

The latch on the door snaps back and the door creaks open. Matt steps slowly out of the room, his head down as he mops the sweat off the back of his neck with a hand towel. He closes the door and walks toward me, but does not meet my eyes. My heart plummets to my stomach, and I break out in a cold sweat. Something horrible has happened to Laura. Why won't he look me in the eye? Surely he's not going to tell me she is dying. That just couldn't be happening. Then the thought flashes through my mind. Of course that could happen. To me. Every time happiness is just in my grasp, it is snatched away. I take a deep breath and clench my jaw, trying to block the tears that are forming behind my eyes. I must control myself.

Matt stops a short distance in front of me. Jeremy, Marek and Joe are all frozen, watching and listening.

"How is Laura, Matt? I want the truth." My voice is strained and harsher than I had intended. I hardly recognize it.

"Well, she's going be all right," he says, still not looking at me.

"So, it's all over?"

"No, this condition is going to continue for some time. And, it could even get worse."

"I thought you said she was fine!" I'm beginning to get angry. He's making no sense.

"Well, that's the way it is. For the next couple months, you'll most likely be dealing with this."

"Two months? _Mon Dieu_, what does she have?"

Matt takes a deep breath and finally faces me. "Well, you see, Erik, that's how morning sickness works. Congratulations, you're going to be a father."

END of BOOK TWO:

**_The_ _first chapter of Book Three will post on this same thread four weeks from today on,_**

_**Sunday, September 21, 2008.**_


	86. Chapter 86

CHAPTER 41

**A/N: As promised, The Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera continues with Book Three! Excuse us for having to begin by repeating the disclaimer:**

Disclaimer: We do not own any of the rights to the ALW play, books or movie, which are owned by people much, much wealthier than us because it was their idea first. This story is based on Gerard Butler's utterly smashing, brilliant, tragic and, of course, dignified, Erik, and his story as presented in ALW's 2004 movie, Phantom of the Opera, with some minor nods and references to the original Leroux.

But, this is no ordinary POTO story, by any means…We have also interwoven the other beloved Gerard Butler character, Andre Marek, from the movie Timeline and his time traveling abilities and technology without which, this story could not be told. Disclaimer: We don't own that character, or that story either in novel or movie form. Darn!

We do, however, own all the other characters, situations and very creative plotlines of this epic story.

**Thanks! Now that we have that out of the way, I want to thank each of you who posted your review of the chapter or comments about our story. Each one is appreciated and valued!! Since many of you also asked questions about both this ongoing fanfiction and the book, so I will post on next Sunday responses to each person who has posted a comment. As I have in the past, I'll reply either to your questions or pick out a favorite comment you have made! I would still love to hear from more of you about where you live and what has drawn you to our story! Very best, Phanfan**

**Well, I know you are all wanting to get to the story! ****So, without further adieu or delay…**

**The wedding…or, hopefully…the wedding!! **

* * *

**BOOK THREE of The Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera!**

**Chapter 86 TO HAVE AND TO HOLD by Phanfan, Phanna & KFC **

_Sunday, January 28, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Meg's POV: _

"Meg!" Maman calls out from the hallway. When I open my door, I am shocked to see her face stricken with pallor and the knuckles of her clutched hands, white. What in heaven could be the matter?

"Dear Maman, what is it? Are you ill?" My hand goes instantly to her forehead, but I feel no fever.

"Non, Meg, I am not ill. It is Laura. She is very ill, and the doctor has not been able to help her. "

"Mademoiselle Counselor? Sick? On her wedding day?"

"I am afraid it is so. And the wedding guests will begin arriving soon. Meg, I need you to receive them. You must keep them occupied until the ceremony. Erik is beside himself, and I pray to the saints Laura will able to go through with the wedding."

"Mon Dieu! Maman, what if she is not? Will I have to send the guests away if there is no wedding today?"

Aghast, Maman says, "I do not know. But you must proceed as if everything will take place as planned."

"But what will I say to the guests?" I manage to squeak out

"You must make something up, of course!"

"Do you mean lie?" My dear, sweet Maman is asking such a thing of me? "But, Maman, you've always…"

"Meg," she fairly hisses, "keep your voice down. And, yes. You must lie. Say there was trouble with the bustle…or make something up."

"Why can't we just say she is ill?"

Maman's face goes even whiter. "Meg. Our guests must not find out about Laura."

"But people become ill all the time. Doctor McBrighton says one can become ill due to a bit of spoiled meat or from unwashed hands."

"That is true, but it's possible our guests may draw _other_ conclusions."

"Like what, Maman?"

"My dear. They may suspect this illness…is a result of behavior some may consider not quite proper."

I notice her lips are drawn back tightly, as if trying to lock in some precious secret. Suddenly I'm flooded with memories about poor Mademoiselle Isabelle, retching and heaving over the chamber pot, day after day in the dormitories. She could barely keep enough liquid down to survive, but when the Mistress of Dance found out her secret, she was immediately and dishonorably expelled from the corps de ballet.

I gasp, and take maman's hand. "Is she…_that_ ill?"

"I assure you, Meg. Laura is a most honorable woman. But people have a tendency to imagine the scandalous, so you must take great care to steer their minds in other directions. Please, you must greet our guests and keep them…and their minds…occupied."

"I understand, Maman." Although I am deeply alarmed at this great responsibility that has now been thrust upon me, Maman's burden surely is greater, so I put my chin up and give her a confident look, adding, "I will take care of everything."

"And another thing. Tell the servants to open the kitchen windows. The smells in the house are overwhelming Laura's poor, weak stomach. The odors must not waft through the house. Now quickly. The guests will be arriving soon."

Having dressed earlier, I follow Maman down the stairwell. When we reach the second floor she goes back into Mademoiselle's bedroom. The hallway is crowded with some of the Americans. Monsieur Marek is pacing, but I do not see Monsieur Mercier or Dr. Matt among the men who are milling around.

I hurry to the kitchen where Jeanette and a bustling group of servants are cooking, stirring pots on the stove, or filling bowls, platters and trays. I can hear many others in the dining room setting out the crystal, silver and china on the long, formal dining table. "Please, open the windows." I announce.

The red-faced cook looks up in surprise. "In mid-winter?" Jeanette hoots in disbelief, then asks a servant to hand her a slab of butter for the sauce she is stirring. The maid momentarily stops her meticulous task of arranging tiny appetizers on a tray and passes the butter.

I place my hands on my hips. "Yes, you must open the windows! Maman says so."

The head cook eyes me with annoyance and asks, "Why?"

I dare not tell the truth. My mind spins, trying to think of an excuse. "Um, the smell will overpower the roses in the great room," I smile hopefully. "Monsieur paid dearly for those roses. And in January. He will not be pleased if their scent cannot be appreciated because they are drowned out by the smells of sauces and meat and oysters coming from the kitchen."

Jeanette's eyebrows nearly leap to her hairline as she realizes the order is from the master of the château. Suddenly she flies from her station beside the stove. "Open the windows!" she calls out. Several servants spring for the windows and throw them open. Gusts of winter air sweep through the kitchen, routing the delicious smells out the window and down the lane. Well, at least the arriving guests will be able to appreciate the aromas of the feast being prepared.

Returning to the Great Room, I open a couple windows there to help circulate fresh air. The tall, standing clock chimes ominously three times. I turn and stare at it. The wedding ceremony _was_ to take place at four o'clock and the guests will begin to arrive any minute. We need time. Much more time! As I study the clock and listen to the pendulum ticking away the seconds, I make a decision. I walk resolutely over to the relentless timepiece and open the front. Glancing around first to make certain no one else is present, I quickly turn back the hands. Five minutes, ten minutes. Fifteen, twenty. Dare I? Pausing to consider, I make up my mind and push it back thirty minutes, then close the panel.

Trying to quell my nerves, I walk over to the large mirror in the hallway just outside the foyer. I gaze admiringly at the new dress of blue moiré which was a gift from Monsieur Mercier and Mademoiselle Counselor. Pulling my jacket down into place, I straighten my white lace bow. Turning sideways, I check the bustle which cascades dramatically down in three layers. There is a bow in the middle of each layer and ruffles on the edge, so I check that the bows are all falling in a straight line. Then I arrange the curls around my face. They must drape just so to accentuate my eyes properly. With a pinch to bring a red flush to my cheeks, I am ready to receive the first guests.

Sure enough, far down the long drive comes a stylish carriage pulled by a team of matching horses. I peek out the window and see four men getting out of the carriage. As they stride toward the house, I smooth my skirt and take a deep breath. I have never been given such an important responsibility before and feel my knees wobble as I wait for them to enter. A liveried male servant opens the door and cordially invites them in, taking their cloaks.

A suave Frenchman attired in a formal black suit with a maroon waistcoat, bows graciously to me. "I am Vicomte St. Just," he says with a smooth, honeyed voice. Then he stands aside, and with a wide sweep of his hand, introduces me to the men behind him. "Vicomte DePere and Vicomte Moreaux." The two noblemen are also dressed fashionably and sport colorful waistcoats as well.

"Good afternoon," I say with a curtsy. "Welcome to Château Mercier."

"Thank you most kindly, Mademoiselle." They reply in a chorus and bow formally—and so deeply, all I can see are their slick, well-groomed heads.

Vicomte St. Just smiles politely and asks, "And please tells us…how is the lovely Mademoiselle Counselor this happy day?"

"Oh, very…well, thank you." I manage, as nervous pangs flash through me. The lies have begun

"And the groom? Is Monsieur Mercier faring well on this most auspicious day?"

"Yes! Oh, most certainly. He is in fine health." Fine health? Why did I refer to his health? I bite my lip.

"And yourself?"

"Very fine, thank you, Vicomte."

"Splendid! Splendid!"

"And last, but not least…" St. Just turns and waves his hand in a grand motion toward a man who has been standing patiently behind them, "…let me introduce you to my cousin Sir Percival Blakeney of England." As he flourishes his hand again, Vicomtes DePere and Moreaux move aside, and I find myself looking into the face of a man elegantly dressed in black except for a shockingly bright, scarlet waistcoat and cravat. Brimming with charm and sparkling with mystery, his eyes gaze back at me. He bows gracefully, and before I can blink, he has appropriated my hand and kissed it. His lips are warm, and he lingers a moment longer than necessary. I gasp, speechless.

"How is it possible, Mademoiselle, that I missed making your acquaintance during our previous visit? Were you away for the holidays? Or perhaps ill and confined to your boudoir?"

The word "ill" sends an unexpected shiver through me. A flicker of curiosity sparks in his eyes, noticing my reaction.

"I am the daughter of Madame Antoinette Giry. I believe you met her at the masque bal. She speaks very highly of your gallantry and bravery in the attack. I arrived for a visit shortly afterward. I'm a ballerina, and my dance company does not perform during the winter. It is my good fortune to be here for the wedding. Monsieur Mercier is an old, dear friend of my mother and me." I suddenly regain enough of my wits to recall that I must curtsy. I make up for my lapse of etiquette by holding my curtsy until he speaks again. I do not have to wait long.

"May I ask your name, Mademoiselle?" Looking up, I catch his dashing smile.

I return his smile, enjoying the fact that he has still not released my hand. "I am Marguerite Giry."

"Marguerite!" His face lights up in amazement. I don't understand why my name would have such an effect on him.

Just then another lavishly dressed couple enters the foyer. Vicomte Blakeney releases my hand, and I discover that I am slightly disappointed at losing the warmth of his touch. A thin, bespectacled nobleman and his rotund wife introduce themselves as owners of the adjoining estate. As they doff their cloaks and gloves, I welcome them to the château on behalf of Monsieur Mercier.

"Delighted to be here," gushes the well-coiffed Madame. Then the flood gates open. Everyone seems to arrive at once, and the foyer is suddenly crowded with guests. The Vicomtes are already engaged in animated conversations, but Vicomte Blakeney's lively, smiling eyes catch mine once again. For a moment I forget my dilemma. Then I recall that the bride is probably nauseous and retching. I must keep the guests occupied and completely oblivious to what is happening upstairs until the matter is resolved.

Vicomte Blakeney gives me a quizzical tip of his head and sympathetic smile. My sense of impending disaster must be registering on my face, despite my attempts to mask it. Inhaling sharply, I put on my brightest smile and announce, "On behalf of Monsieur Mercier and Mademoiselle Counselor, welcome." I lead the guest into the Great Room. "Please make yourselves comfortable while I send in refreshments."

Relieved that all are chattering gaily and don't seem to suspect anything, I leave the room in search of help. Where are all the Americans? Why haven't any of them come down yet to meet the guests? When I enter the kitchen and request that refreshments be sent to the Great Room, Jeanette raises a mighty objection. "But all of the food is for the reception after the ceremony. And for the formal dinner."

"We need them now," I insist. "Please take the hors d'oeurves to the Great Room at once. And send a male servant to serve wine for the guests."

Jeannette lets out a surprised gasp, "But the wedding was to happen shortly after everyone arrived. There were no plans to serve food before the ceremony!"

I rack my brain for something that will unruffle her feathers. "It's evident from the pallor of some of the guests that they have not eaten, perhaps in anticipation of your famous cooking. I know you planned to serve everything afterward. But, I'm worried our not providing something to eat now might invite disaster. Can you imagine Monsieur Mercier's horror if the solemn wedding ceremony was overshadowed by a chorus of growling stomachs? Or women fainting from hunger?"

"Sacre bleu!" Jeannette wipes her brow. "But what if we do not have enough hors d'oeurves?"

"The more they eat now, the less they will need later," I assure her. With that final bit of desperate reassurance, I leave the kitchen and return to the foyer where more guests are arriving, including the Magistrate who is to preside over the ceremony. I show them to the Great Room, relieved that the guests seem to be happily engaged with their conversations. I take another deep breath and begin my duties as hostess, stopping at the first group. As feared, the dreaded questions begin.

"Where is the good Monsieur?" A neighbor wants to know.

"Preparing for the ceremony." I smile weakly, hoping my vague answer will satisfy their curiosity.

One of the Vicomtes follows up with a question about the Americans. "They are fine fellows. We got on with them quite well during our stay and look forward to seeing them again, or have they returned to America?"

"Oh, no, the Americans are here."

"Perhaps they are not yet accustomed to the intricacies of French formal wear," Vicomte St. Just observes with a chuckle. "The cravats can be a challenge. I did notice that some of them seemed to tie them in a most peculiar manner."

"But no cravat could keep them from their guests this long," observes a nobleman, looking at me as if expecting an explanation for this lapse of accepted propriety.

I attempt my next lie hesitantly. "Monsieur Mercier had to take a last minute trip into Paris this morning. And his friends rode with him, of course." In response to their incredulous looks, I add. "There was quite a panic over it earlier today. You see, the wedding ring could not be found. We fear it was stolen. Monsieur Mercier insisted on going into Paris to get another one in time for the ceremony."

There is shock and indignation all around. Then St. Just declares, "Well in that case, my friends and I will track down this thief as soon as the festivities are over. We shall help Monsieur Mercier set this right, and he shall have the stolen ring back again."

"Oh I don't think that will be necessary!" A rush of panic makes my heart pound. It occurs to me belatedly that Monsieur Mercier and his friends will enter the Great Hall without knowing about my lie, or why everyone is so worried about the ring being stolen.

"Perhaps they need our help, and we should ride out now," Vicomte Blakeney offers. Then he turns questioningly to me. "How long ago did they leave?"

I clear my dry throat, "I believe they have returned already, Vicomte. "

"With or without the ring?"

I try to swallow. "With it, I believe. But it may be taking them some time to bathe and change back into their formal clothing. I'm sure the ceremony will begin when all is ready. Might I offer you some of Monsieur Mercier's fine wine in the meantime?"

Vicomte Blakeney scrutinizes me carefully. Although there is still an engaging smile on his lips, his eyes study me suspiciously. I glance anxiously over at the clock. The hands indicate it is almost four, which means it is actually a half hour later. My forehead breaks out in small beads of perspiration. What is happening upstairs? How much longer before they appear? Or announce that the wedding will not take place?

People seem to be restless and noticing that the time is dragging. A few have pulled out their pocket watches to check the time. I notice one man has even reset his watch to the time on the clock in the Great Room. Wringing my hands, I realize if the ceremony does not begin soon, this entire affair could disintegrate into a disaster like none I have seen since that crashing chandelier.

Another man pulls out his pocket watch for the third time, and Vicomte Blakeney notices. I see him take out his golden fob and pocket watch to check the time. He looks suspiciously over at the Great Room's clock, and his eyebrow dips, deep in thought. Then he glances at me with a knowing look. Unexpectedly, using a voice which can be heard by everyone in the room, he says, "I have heard it is an American custom for the closest friends of the groom to hold him hostage before the ceremony. Apparently one of those crude, but delightful rustic customs!"

Everyone has turned toward him, and a ripple of amusement runs through the room. "It is all in fun, of course, but you would not believe what they put a groom through before they deem him prepared for the wedding. There are games of poker, and they even play jokes on him. I have heard they may hide his shoes, or his cravat, then refuse to let him go until he meets all sorts of ridiculous requests. Sometimes a false will is drawn up, especially if the man is rich, in which he bequeaths, in jest, all of his belongings to his friends. They even place bets on when his first child will be born."

I jolt in surprise at the mention of the "first child." Vicomte Blakeney notices my reaction and stares acutely at me. After the laughter to his story dies down, he continues unabashedly, "And women are known to be quite a bundle of nerves as they wait for their wedding. I've heard it is not uncommon for the bride to develop an upset stomach before the ceremony takes place."

This stirs up more hilarity. But, it eases my nervousness about Laura appearing before the guests, looking slightly ill-disposed. That is, of course, if she appears at all. When the laughter and comments on American wedding rituals have subsided, Vicomte Blakeney suggests, "Well gentlemen, as we may have a while to wait until Monsieur Mercier's fate is decided, I propose some entertainment. "Can any of you recite poetry?"

"Who better but you, Percy?" One of his friends calls out.

"None of my poems are fit for a wedding, and besides, right now I fancy an hors d'oeuvre or two."

"You are a poet?" I ask, intrigued.

"I have an annoying habit, I suppose, of turning things to rhyme when the notion strikes me. But for the most part, I recite the work of other poets."

"Please recite something for us." I smile at him hopefully, anticipating that this will occupy many minds…and many minutes.

"How about the Scarlet Pimpernel?" Tosses out one of the Vicomtes.

He dismisses them with a half smirk, then walks over to the table the servants have feverishly set up and covered with trays of delicacies.

I encourage him, "Please do. I love the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

He turns back to me and lowers an eyebrow in question. "You have heard of him?"

"Oh yes! The stories and his legend. Since I was a little girl, I've absolutely been in love with them."

"With the stories or with the Pimpernel?"

I feel a slight blush on my cheeks. "Well they are one in the same, aren't they?"

"I suppose so," he winks.

"The Pimpernel was just so fascinating. No one knew who he was, or how to outwit him. Even at their best, his opponents were no match for him. He was too witty, too clever and too daring."

"Fascinating, to be sure!" Percy agrees.

"Then you are familiar with the stories?"

"Why of course. He is just as fabled in England as in France. Perhaps more so, being that he always got the better of the French," Percy adds, with a twinkling smirk.

"I loved to hear the stories at bedtime," I sigh. "They were better than any fairy tale."

"I know exactly how you feel." His lips curl up at the edges, enticingly. "My grandfather told me Pimpernel stories every night, and I listened, wishing it were possible to pull off all those daring rescues and fabulous escapes. To plunge deep into all the mystery, danger, and adventure. To outwit the opponent at every turn." Vicomte Blakeney takes on the look of a little boy, as he gazes into my eyes. "And at the end of every story, grandfather and I would recite this little poem…

_They seek him here. They seek him there._

_Those Frenchies seek him, everywhere._

_Is he in heaven? Or is he in…hell?_

_That damned, elusive…Pimpernel."_

_

* * *

__Antoinette's POV:_

"The bucket. Hurry!" Laura moans.

Erik grabs the pail and hands it to Laura. His face turns a distinct shade of green as he supports her while she retches. Totally sympathetic to Laura's condition, he looks as if he is going to be sick as well. How is he going to make it through this day? Or Laura's pregnancy, for that matter?

Erik has been in the room since early this morning. Jeremy, Monsieur Marek and some of the other men have kept a vigil, waiting anxiously in the hallway during this ordeal. The cat is most certainly out of the bag. All the people from the future are now aware of Laura's true condition and of the secret marriage. Jean has been a jewel, hauling in pails of clean, hot water and making sure everything is kept clean and tidy. She has been sworn to secrecy. Total confidentiality is an expected part of being a lady's maid, and she is well aware that her position depends on it.

Laura has continued to be sick since early this morning. When I glance at the clock on the mantle, I am shocked to realize it is 2:30. Mon Dieu! I must talk to Meg. Laura had asked me to greet the guests today. But I need to send Erik to get some rest and cannot leave Laura. Meg will have to receive the guests in my stead. Hurriedly, I make my way to Meg's room and explain the situation. She seems reluctant, but after discussing my dilemma, at least what I can reveal to her, she finally agrees.

When I return to Laura's room, I notice she has her eyes closed, and is on the edge of sleep. Well, that is a blessing. I motion Erik to join me at the door, and when he gets there, before he can make any objections, I take him by the elbow and guide him out, into the hallway. When the door opens, Jeremy nearly falls forward, into us. Clearly he has been keeping close watch on the situation, evidently with his ear to the door.

Before I start speaking, I study Erik. Worry is etched in his face. He is exhausted from watching helplessly as Laura continues to be ill. Keeping my voice gentle and calming, I nonetheless use a tone which indicates I will brook no argument. "Erik, you need to get something to eat and then get some rest. I will take care of Laura."

His eyes peer down at me, anguished. "I do not want to leave her."

"Erik, she is beginning to fall asleep. She needs that, and so do you. I will let you know if anything changes. You cannot do anything for her if you also become sick. Now go."

I turn him around and place my hand in the center of his back, giving him a gentle push toward his room. Glancing up at Jeremy, I give the firm order, "Take him to his room and get him something to eat."

A small moan escapes Erik at the mention of food, and Jeremy gives Erik an understanding half smile. "Okay, Erik, then how 'bout just resting?"

I watch until Jeremy closes the door behind them. Monsieur Marek stops his pacing and looks at me questioningly. I shake my head, letting him know nothing has changed. There may be no wedding today.

Laura has only been asleep for five minutes when she sits up suddenly and is sick again. I can see her hands tremble as she tucks strands of dark hair behind her ears. She is exhausted. She sinks into the pillows and curls on her side, crossing her arms over her stomach and moans, "Antoinette, I think I'm going to die."

Taking a cool cloth from the bowl of water, I wipe her face. She is still in her dressing gown even though her wedding is supposed to take place in little over an hour. "Non, it feels that way, but you will survive." I pick up a glass and hand it to her. "Try to sip more water. If your stomach becomes empty, you will have dry heaves, and that is very uncomfortable."

Reluctantly Laura takes a few sips. As I take the glass from her, there is a light tap on the door. It is Matt, looking quite haggard himself. He walks over to the bed and places his hand on Laura's forehead. "Are you feeling any better?"

Her face is so pale, and she does not respond, her jaws clamped tight, clearly fighting back another wave of nausea. The poor soul! She has been sick so many times. Even the mere mention of food starts it again. How will she ever be ready in time for the wedding ceremony? She must be able to make it through without being sick. It would be scandalous for her condition to be revealed since Erik and she are not married, at least publicly. Later on, it will be quite normal for the baby to arrive 'early.' Suddenly she sits upright, and I grab the bucket just in time.

"Well, I guess this means you're not okay."

Laura and I just stare at Matt. He has the sense to redden. Does he know nothing about ladies who are enceinte? Laura bursts into tears. "I can't stop throwing up, Matt. What am I going to do?" Tears run down her cheeks as she points over to the wedding dress hanging on the armoire. "I need to get dressed for my wedding."

"I know." Matt looks worried. "I didn't bring the right meds for this kind of nausea. The ones I have aren't safe to use during your," Matt looks uneasy as he finishes, "uh, right now. But I'm going to set up an IV if you get too dehydrated. And, I've already made a list of medications to be transported for you. But they won't arrive until this evening."

"No!"

"No?" Matt pulls his head back in surprise. "No to what? The IV?"

Laura stops crying and shakes her head. "No, I don't want any drugs. Nothing which can harm the baby. I won't take any chemicals or artificial anything."

"But you might need them. You've got to be reasonable, Laura. Morning sickness often continues until the fourth month of pregnancy and sometimes longer. Besides, in some cases morning sickness can last all day."

Laura sniffs. "I refuse to expose my baby to any drugs. The women in this time didn't have them."

"But you'll want to be as healthy as possible. You'll need prenatal vitamins, and if you can't keep food…." Laura and I glare at Matt, knowing what his mention of food may do. He finishes lamely, "down."

Suddenly Laura goes pale and grabs for the bucket. This time Matt holds it. When she can speak again, she says, "There has to be another way."

Clearing my throat, I venture into their conversation. "Danielle has much experience in these matters. Perhaps she could help."

Matt scowls, but Laura brightens up. "Yes, that's a great idea." She turns to Matt. "Antoinette says Danielle treats a lot of people with her herbal remedies. That sounds safe enough."

"I don't know, Laura. Some herbs can be dangerous, and if she doesn't know what she's…," Laura and I stare at Matt until he stops. He takes a moment, like he's making some sort of a decision. Finally he shakes his head and concedes. "Okay, maybe she can do something to help." Laura gives him a wide grin. "But I want to know what's she's using every step of the way!"

Why is he resisting using Danielle's herbal skills? Or is it Danielle? He needs to use her knowledge if it will help Laura. Asking him to stay with Laura, I go in search of Danielle. It does not take long to find her and discretely explain what is happening. She gathers her herbs while I prepare a tray with a pot of hot water and a few other items in accord with Danielle's instructions.

When we enter Laura's room, Matt is standing next to the bed, talking to her. Laura smiles in welcome, then abruptly retches. I rush to set the tray on a table nearby so I use the cloth again to wipe her face. Her cheeks are flushed, and the cool cloth seems to help.

As Daniele prepares a cup of tea, she glances warily toward Matt. He is watching everything she does, his arms folded over his chest disapprovingly. "It is quite common for ordinary odors to now turn your stomach." She brings the cup to Laura. "Try this Madame. It will help with the sickness." She holds it steady for Laura to take a sip.

Matt's gruff voice takes all of us off guard, and I hear the tea cup rattle on the saucer. "What does it contain?" Laura and I stare pointedly at Matt, surprised at his rudeness.

Danielle chooses to ignore his tone and looks sideways at him. Then she addresses him directly. "The tea's made from fennel seeds." Laura takes another sip of the tea, and Danielle nods in approval. "If the sickness doesn't stop, I can make a different tea from gingerroot which would be taken in small sips throughout the day instead of a cup at a time." Matt studies Danielle, but she gazes straight at him. I can see a hint of a smirk as she adds, "I assure you, Monsieur, these herbals do work. Women have been using them for centuries to help with morning sickness."

From the bed, Laura speaks up, "Actually my stomach feels like it's already settling down. I'm not so queasy now."

Danielle looks down at her. "You aren't quite so pale now. Wait a few more minutes and try to eat something. We've brought dry bread. Just take small bites, but you need to get some food in your belly or you will be sick again."

Laura drinks more of the tea, then says she is willing to try to eat. She begins to nibble on a piece of bread I place in her hand. Once again, Danielle gives Matt a quick glance before speaking. "There are several other things you can do to help with the feeling of being sick. If you're going to be around food, take one of your handkerchiefs and place a couple of drops of lemon oil on it. Just bring it to your nose if you feel ill."

Danielle advises Laura to keep drinking and eating small amounts throughout the day with an emphasis on eating something before she goes to bed. She warns her to stay away from any of the spicy or greasy foods. Laura groans slightly at the mention of food, but is not sick this time, much to all of our relief. Danielle will prepare some peppermint tea for Laura to keep on her bedside table. She is to sip it upon waking to prevent nausea.

Danielle continues, "There are other herbs I can use over the next few months which…"

Matt rudely interrupts, "Madame, may I speak with you? Privately?"

Laura, Danielle and I stare at Matt, startled. He is usually not so discourteous. I open my mouth to comment when Danielle says, "Oui."

"May we step out into the hall?"

"Oui." I can see Daniele's back stiffen. She follows Matt out into the hallway, and although he pulls the door shut, it remains slightly ajar. When they begin to talk, Laura and I can clearly hear their voices. We exchange glances. I do not offer to shut the door, and Laura does not ask me to.

Matt speaks first, his voice stern and authoritative, "Madame, I do not want you to use any of your herbs on Mademoiselle Counselor…er…Madame Mercier without my permission." Laura sits up and look like she's going to say something, but I put my finger to my lips, urging her to remain silent and see what unfolds. There is a long silence, then Matt says in a kinder voice, "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot."

"Oui."

I smile. Danielle is not going to offer any encouragement if he intends to make amends. Laura is listening intently, her head tilted to the side.

Matt speaks again. "Okay, I probably came off as a real jerk…"

"A jerk?"

"An uncouth person." He hesitates, his voice low and sincere when he goes on. "It's just that I care about these people. I'm a doctor, but most of them are also my friends. I don't want anything to happen to them." When I glance at Laura, tears are welling in her eyes, but she looks quickly down at her lap.

Daniele's voice is sympathetic when she replies, "I understand, Monsieur. I know what it's like to care about people."

"Yes, I believe you do." There's another small pause. "Let's try this again. May I introduce myself?"

The small tinkling laugh comes from Danielle. "Oui. I would be pleased to meet you, Monsieur McBrighton. I am Madame Danielle Sommer."

"The pleasure is all mine." There's a slight hesitation before Matt continues, "Now, about your herbal remedies I've heard everyone talking about. Would you be interested in exchanging some information," a small pause again, then he adds, "and perhaps teaching me?"

"Oui, Monsieur. I would be honored. And will you consent to answer some of my questions?"

"Certainly. Now tell me about the other herbal treatments you are considering."

Danielle goes into detail about some of the other ways to help ease Laura in the upcoming months. They make plans to meet at another time to carry on their discussion. Laura tugs on my sleeve, and when I glance at her, she is smiling, mischief in her eyes. I have to laugh. Then it dawns on me. I look over at the clock. 3:45! It has been almost half an hour, and Laura has not been sick.

Amazingly, the color is returning to her cheeks. She has even finished her tea and bread. When Matt and Danielle walk back into the room, Laura is sitting on the edge of the bed with a faint, but determined smile.

* * *

_Erik's POV:_

"_Congratulations, you're going to be a father."_

Dumbstruck, I look at Matt. Words will not form. My mind is exploding like fireworks, trying to make sense of what he just said.

Matt peers at me, smiling, "Did you hear me, Erik? You're going to be a father."

"Congratulations!" Jeremy slaps my back. I look at him, but the world is swirling around me, and I must stand very still, lest it be pulled out from under my feet.

Marek is suddenly standing before me, holding out his hand. "Congratulations, Erik! You never do things half way, do you? A wife and a child on the same day!"

As my hand is being pumped by Marek, I am jolted out of my shock. "Laura!" Turning to Matt I demand, "How is Laura?"

"She's very healthy, Erik." Matt's voice begins to bring order back into the chaos of my mind and emotions. "Like I said, she's just dealing with morning sickness."

My brain is beginning to function again and reconnect to my body. All I can think of now is getting to Laura. I head straight to for her door, causing Jeremy to jump out of my way. Dazed, I enter her room without knocking. Pretenses are no longer necessary. Laura's maid curtsies when I enter and quietly slips out the door. Antoinette is busily tending Laura, taking a cloth off her forehead and turning to wring it out in a basin of water nearby.

I walk, my knees slightly wobbling, to the other side of Laura's bed. Her eyes follow me as I approach. Although she is quite pale, as I look at her face it seems as though I have never seen anything so beautiful. I find myself at her bedside, although I still feel somewhat detached from my body. Picking up her hands and bringing them to my lips, I kiss each of them gently as I gaze into her eyes. She raises her hand to my uncovered cheek and caresses it. Neither of us can speak.

I sit on the edge of the bed and take the wash cloth from Antoinette. As I soothingly press it against her forehead and cheeks, her hand rests against my chest, over my heart. For now confirming that we are both here, alive and together, is all we need. Many minutes pass this way, sharing gentle touches. I feel a new connection passing between us, one that goes all the way to the soul.

Finally I am able to speak, "I love you."

She reaches her hand up again to my face and says with her gentle voice, "I love you, too. And so will our child."

I swallow hard and can feel the corners of my eyes moisten.

"Don't worry, Erik. The child will be fine and healthy. And be loved and cared for. Think of all the things you can teach our child. He will be blessed to have you as his father!" Her eyes shine with sincerity.

"What if it is a girl?"

"Then I suspect she will have a disadvantage."

"What?" I am startled by this. What could Laura mean?

"She will no doubt be completely spoiled by her father." Laura chuckles as impish sparks flare from her eyes. Then she turns serious. With her hand cupping my cheek, she says with finality, "And, there is no need for _any_ other concern." With her unique conviction, her words confront that unspoken shadow. In my moments of doubt, she has often spoken with this spirit of confidence, of clarity. I reflect back now and realize she has always been right. I feel the specter which has been lurking at the edges of my joy dissipate into the ethers, cast out by Laura's certainty. That is what I will hold in my heart until the child is placed in my arms, and then whatever else may come, that child will always be loved. In response, I lean down and kiss her sweet lips, sealing our understanding.

For many minutes I continue to gently swab her face with the wash cloth. She closes her eyes and seems to relax and take ease from my touch. Then it happens. The maid opens the door, and the smells from the kitchen waft in as she enters. Laura's eyes spring open in alarm, and Antoinette grabs a small bucket. Just in time. As Laura retches, my own stomach clutches. It is all I can do to hold down my breakfast. When she leans back on her pillow, I sponge away the droplets that have sprung up on her forehead, then wipe at the corners of her mouth. She smiles at me, but when she opens her eyes I see her discomfort and nausea register there.

Many hours pass by in this manner. Laura resting, me comforting her, Antoinette and Jean standing nearby to tend to her recurring episodes of sickness, and Matt tending her as best he can. But Laura does not get better. My heart hurts for her, and yet it seems nothing helps her condition. Finally, when Laura closes her eyes, Antoinette asks me to speak with her at the door. To my surprise, she sweeps me out of the room and shuffles me off in the custody of Jeremy. I do not fight her. I know when Antoinette is determined and dare not be disputed. And, perhaps she is right that Laura would sleep better if I were not there, hovering over her and worrying.

I stomp through my bedroom and into the sitting room. The servants have a fire blazing to warm the room on this chilly winter day. I take up my pacing, back and forth, in front of the fireplace. Jeremy settles down in the settee nearby and watches me in silence. My mind goes back to all those other moments in front of a fireplace with Laura. The first time was when she blackmailed me, and I allowed her into my rooms when I was in that black mood after Christine's testimony. She was drenched from sitting on the terrace in the rain. When she changed into my robe and sat on the other end of the couch, I was taken utterly off guard by her. But then, she often affected me that way. I smile to myself, recollecting that was when I first learned of her susceptibility to wine. She is adorable when she's tipsy. Then there was the night by the fire when we were on the island. The vision of her satiny skin in the flickering light was intoxicating. And, the many times we have sat by a fire, here at the chateau, holding and caressing each other. Then our honeymoon night in the cottage, there on the floor, by the fire, as she opened herself to me.

As these memories, these images keep coming to me, I hear the mantle clock strike three times, then the half hour. My pacing quickens, realizing that our guests must even now be gathering downstairs. Yet, still no news of Laura.

Fifteen minutes later comes a knocking on the door, and Marek lets himself in. "I have good news for you, Erik! Danielle has given Laura some of her herbs. It worked! Laura is getting ready for the wedding, and I suggest you do the same!"

I stop, dead still. Can it be? Jeremy leaps up from the settee and grabs my shoulder, shoving me along in front of him into my bedroom. My butler has been waiting there patiently all day, and he now jumps into action. He helps me out of my morning clothes and into my formal wedding suit.

When I have put on the ivory waistcoat, he meticulously arranges my cravat into an ornate tie, then hands me a small box. "Mademoiselle Counselor asked me to give this to you, sir."

I open it and gasp at the exquisite pearl stickpin. With my hands shaking slightly, I attach it to my cravat. Half in a daze, my butler continues to assist me, with Jeremy looking on, grinning and commenting about the process and my appearance. It is bad enough that a butler is helping me don my clothing. It is even worse that Jeremy insists on standing here and passing his ribald opinions.

I take a final look in the mirror. The black fine wool suit is perfectly fitted, and the ivory waistcoat and cravat are striking. I have decided to wear my flesh-colored mask, and feel quite satisfied with my reflection. I trust Laura will approve. We wait until we hear the knock on the door announcing she is also ready.

When I step out of my room, to my surprise I find that Marek, Matt and Joe, along with the men and women of the Team, are awaiting me in the hallway. They will accompany me down to the Great Hall. Suddenly I realize their support is appreciated. The infamous nervousness a groom feels before his wedding has finally overcome me, and I thank them for standing by me. My entourage follows me down the stairwell, and when I enter the Great Room, cheers and applause go up from the guests. I am taken aback by this reception and feel a flush rising up my neck.

Meg sweeps up to me and curtsies, confirming that everyone has arrived and all is in readiness to begin. Her face has a distinct look of relief. Jeremy escorts me to the front of the hall. A blazing fire is raging in the huge fireplace. The wedding will take place in front of that ancient, ceremonial stonework. The long, oak bench has been moved to the side of the room, and rows of chairs have been set up, with an aisle between them. The magistrate follows me and formally takes his place. Jeremy steps next to me, as my best man. The guests quickly take their seats, and I motion for Joe to hand me my violin. All is in readiness now. For what seems endless moments, I wait for Laura to appear.

Antoinette walks into view first, holding her spray of roses. As she walks with that straight, graceful dignity of a Mistress of Dance, I begin to play. It is a special piece I composed for our wedding. For Laura. Antoinette gives me a slight nod of her head to let me know that Laura is fine. I sigh and play my heart out, letting Laura know I am waiting for her.

Then she appears, her hand resting on Marek's arm for support. Each step is slow, measured. I know she has mustered all her strength to do this. To walk down the stairwell and come to me in the presence of all these witnesses. I know she is here because of her will, rather than her physical resources. But then, that is Laura.

Her veil is sheer tulle, so I can easily see her face and tell it is as pale as her ivory gown. As she gazes into my eyes and hears my music, her expression becomes as radiant as a starburst. Her straight black hair is pulled back into a chignon, with several long locks trailing over her shoulders. In front, the ivory satin sweeps low, exposing her beautiful neck and displaying the necklace I gave her. The bodice is simple and form-fitting, but the skirt has several elegant drapes of material, each edged with lace. She walks toward me, carrying her cascading spray of white roses and orchids. Laura is stunningly beautiful. Breathtaking! I make a mental image of her as she is now, walking toward me, to keep and cherish for the rest of my life.

When she reaches me, Marek gently gives her hand to me and takes my violin. Holding hands, we turn to the magistrate. Although he has no doubt performed this ceremony hundreds of time, the look he gives to Laura, then to me, discloses he is deeply moved and knows this wedding, this ceremony, is special. The words he speaks are simple, almost perfunctory, written to satisfy a civil code. When he is done, and we have consented, we are formally husband and wife.

But those words do not convey the depths of my feelings, so I look at Laura and say for all to hear, "I heard these vows at a wedding ceremony once, and they are my commitment to you. _I, Erik Mercier, take thee, Laura, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, to have and to hold, from this day forth. Until death do us part._" I reach gently around her waist and pull her to me. Tears are running down her cheeks, and when our lips touch, hers are soft and warm and salty. It is a timeless kiss. The beginning of our life.


	87. Chapter 87

**A/N: Thanks so very much for all the enthusiastic comments about the first chapter of Book Three!! We so appreciate each of you who thoughtfully take your time to leave a comment. And, I still invite each of you to leave a post telling us where you live! We have readers all over the world and would love for you to introduce yourselves! We'd also love to hear why you are phans of The Epic Case! **

**PLEASE NOTE: As I promised, I posted last Sunday in the review section my responses to each of you who have left a comment in the last year. I also answered the questions which you have asked about the book I am writing and about the future of the Epic Case here. Book Three will move much faster than Book Two and cover an entire year, with lots of action and exciting events!**

Well…the wedding is over, but the festivities have just begun. Both the dinner and the honeymoon night loom ahead. Will Laura get sick again? What will Erik's first night of marriage be like? Hovering caretaker or passionate lover? Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 42 FEAST AND LIGHTNING, by Phanfan, Phanna and KFC**

_Sunday, January 28, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

The small crowd of guests watch in silent reverence as Erik takes Laura in his arms and gives her a passionate kiss. It's great to see Erik so enraptured, but I'm worried about Laura. Considering her condition, maybe she needs some air. As the kiss continues, people exchange knowing smiles, but the bride and groom are clearly oblivious to their surroundings at the moment.

The kiss keeps going. _Come on, Erik! Let up! Let her breathe. _Laura pulls back slightly to inhale, but he enfolds her in his arms, and they are lip-locked again.

Everyone's enjoying this immensely. Except Matt. He's staring in their direction, but his eyes aren't focused on them. As if he's disconnecting himself from his surroundings. Trying to transport himself elsewhere. Trying not to be here.

I glance around and catch Sue look quickly away from me. Julia's standing next to her, watching Matt. He's still staring into thin air. _Good grief, Erik, finish the damn kiss!_

Finally Erik manages to separate his lips from Laura's. A spontaneous cheer goes up from the crowd. The unmistakably perturbed Magistrate clears his throat and announces, "May I introduce Monsieur and Madame Mercier." Everyone takes this as a cue and presses around the couple to offer personal congratulations.

As soon as Matt gives his best wishes to Erik and Laura, he hastily leaves the Great Room, and I notice Julia's eyes follow him. After Marek, the Pimpernel and his League, and all the other guests have given their effusive congratulations, I make my way toward them. Laura is looking flushed, but she's smiling and holding on to Erik's arm for support. I slap Erik on the back, and we both laugh as we finish it off with a handshake. "You're a very lucky man, Erik!"

He looks down at Laura and goes sober for a moment. The look in his eyes is pure devotion as he says, "Yes. I know."

Then I give Laura a gentle hug and ask under my breath how she's feeling. "I'm holding up so far," she whispers in my ear as her arm wraps around my back in a hug. "Thank you, Jeremy. For everything."

I know what she means by "everything," and grin back sheepishly. "Always a pleasure. And never boring." I give her a sly wink as I pull away. There's laughter deep in her eyes, and a look of understanding passes between us before we resume our formal poise. With a lump in my throat and one last slap on Erik's back, I leave him to fawn over his lovely bride.

The French League of the Pimpernel, as I like to call them, are mingling amiably with the guests, no doubt gathering any info and gossip available while passing themselves off as frivolous ladies' men. And they are quite convincing. I notice Blakeney is enraptured with a certain attractive ballerina. And it's obvious she's enjoying his attention. I'm not so sure how keen her mother is on this though. I'd venture to say she's purposely sticking close enough to Meg and Percy to monitor everything that's going on between them.

Percy says something to Meg, accompanied by the most dashing of gestures, and Meg laughs delightedly. But Antoinette slips a wary glance in their direction and frowns. I guess I'd better work my way over there. I need to see what kind of inroads I can make with Percy and his League. I move in their direction, making a pit stop at the buffet table for a glass of wine and one of Jeannette's special cheese and oyster encroutte appetizers.

"But why have you taken such a particular fancy to my name, Monsieur?" Meg asks with a slight blush in her voice.

The Pimpernel clears his throat discreetly. "Because, it reminds me of a character in a story I once heard."

"What sort of story? Maybe I've heard it."

"A love story," he says with a tantalizing tone. "Of the most intriguing kind."

"And was the lady merely beautiful beyond description, or the witty and adventurous sort?"

"She was both. And more."

"Oh, please tell me the story."

"Perhaps I will tell you the beginning."

"Marvelous!"

"It began with a very clever Englishman, who on a visit to France, fell in love with a talented young actress named…."

"Marguerite!"

"Yes. Marguerite St. Just."

"And?"

"And thus began a very long and intriguing love affair." There is a pause as Meg waits with baited breath for Percy to continue. "That was the beginning," he says matter-of-factly.

Meg laughs, like tiny bells. "Tell a little more."

"Well all right. The two married, and before long, several children were born. The years passed, and those children grew up and had children of their own, one of whom was….myself."

"So it's your grandfather's love story then? And the beautiful, adventurous French woman is your grandmother?"

"Precisely."

"Oh, please, I must hear the whole story, Viscount."

"I will divulge a bit now and then," Percy pauses enticingly, "if you agree to visit with me on occasion."

Meg claps her hands. "I shall hardly be able to sleep at night, for the anticipation!"

"Then will you come to my cousin St. Just's chateau as soon as can be arranged?"

At this point I pivot and walk over to them. Percy smiles at me as if he expected those words would draw my attention. With a nod, he continues, "I will speak to Monsieur Nichols about such a plan."

Meg beams an unabashed smile at Percy as I stop next to them. Her sparkling eyes shift to mine, and for a second I'm reminded of Terese. Meg's eyes are deep and mysterious, but filled with light and laughter at the same time. So that's why Terese's eyes always looked like stars.

My heart skips a beat. How does Terese feel now that we're separated by such great distance? Are there still stars in her eyes? Is her hair really so luminous, or did I just imagine it shining like gold? And where is she? Sitting in an office chair right now, or outside under the stars? Maybe she's at home, sleeping. Or lying in moonlight. Suddenly I feel like I'm not really here in this room. As if I'm almost somewhere else, and Terese isn't far away. It's the strangest feeling, but she seems so close.

"We would be pleased to accept your invitation," I hear myself saying to Percy. Yes, it's me speaking, but my voice seems to come from a far away place. I am here, and far from here, at once.

Percy and I discuss the arrangements with St. Just and agree on a date, pending approval of Erik since he and Laura are also invited. Meg is ecstatic. I am still listening to all this as if from another dimension.

When our conversation is finished, I move through the milling guests, still feeling in a daze and not quite connected to my body. This strange sensation isn't the effect of the wedding wine Erik had served, is it? I glance warily at the bottles and take another sip of what's in my glass. It's very good, and I've never tasted anything quite like it. After downing half the glass, I feel grounded again and solidly tied to the present reality. So it wasn't the wine. Then what was it? It must have really been her. It felt like her. It felt like...us.

Thinking of _**us, **_I almost start drifting again, but an announcement is made that we're to take our places at the table. Sue appears beside me out of nowhere. As we move into the dining room, she gives me a quizzical gaze. She seems to be aware somehow of what just happened to me. Does it show on my face? As we take our respective seats, I have a strange feeling Sue can sense that I've just come from…a womanly encounter.

_Julia's POV:_

The strong scent from the profusely abundant roses in the flower arrangements around the Great Room lingers in the air, but is overpowered by the aromas of food as we enter the dining room. A card marks each setting, and the mood is festive. It reminds me of musical chairs as the guests laugh and call out to one another in their attempts to find their places. The seating is formal with the ladies and men alternating around the table. I see Erik studying Laura with deep concern when they enter, but he seats her at one end of the table and then proceeds to his place at the other end of the long table. For an instant, Laura looks panicked. Earlier today, Marek briefed the Team on the situation and told us to be on our toes to help in any "situation." Marek's seated on Laura's right side, leaning toward her and grinning as he speaks next to her ear, probably telling her one of his colorful jokes and trying to get her mind off her stomach. She nods and smiles appreciatively, but looks very pale. As she listens she holds a handkerchief delicately to her nose, probably trying to filter out some of the smells from the food. How's she going to make it through dinner?

Glancing around the dining room, I notice no expense has been spared. Everything is opulent. A beautiful centerpiece of white roses intertwined with small pink flowers and green vines is arranged down the entire length of the long dining table. Sparkling Waterford crystal and elegant Limoges china reflect the candlelight of the hanging crystal chandeliers overhead. Surrounding the china is an array of highly polished Napoleon III sterling silver flatware. I recognize the silversmith's mark on each piece. The service was crafted by Henin Freres in Paris. My mother collected those, so I know they'll sell for a good price in the future. To complete each setting a single creamy orchid tinged with a pale blush of pink sits on top of each white damask napkin, exquisitely tied with a black ribbon. Knowing what the black ribbon stands for, I blanch at Erik's boldness.

When I find my place, a formally dressed servant steps forward and pulls my chair out. Joe sits down on my right, giving the servant a warning glance to stand back and not touch his chair. I scan up and down the table, noting the people as they take their seats. There are several couples from the neighboring estate along with the four men who'd helped during the battle. Everyone was formally introduced before the wedding ceremony, and they're busily chatting away. Besides my affinity for nineteenth century antiques, I love to watch people. Body language tells so much about the person. Like Joe's. He's completely at ease with me, his posture is relaxed, and he maintains eye contact. He's like a brother to me.

Everyone's seated fairly quickly, and the servants waste no time beginning to serve. The chair across from me is still empty, and I'm trying to read the place card when Matt plunks down in the chair. "Hi, Julia, Joe." He mouth smiles at us, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

I don't have to read his body language to know he's under a lot of stress. Today's been hard on him, and even though no one really talks about it, I know he cares deeply for Laura. Who married Erik today. And then there was those long kisses. Wish I could pull Matt in my arms to comfort him. Instead I take a deep breath and say, "Hey, Matt. Linc was looking for you a few minutes ago. Did you see him?"

He glances toward Linc, who's busy talking to the daughter of one of the guests. "Nope. I'll catch up with him after dinner." I study him. Usually I'm not shy, but Matt hasn't picked up on any of my hints that I care about him. In fact, he isn't even aware of me.

While trying to figure out what else I can do to get his attention, I hear laughter and glance down the long table toward Meg. She's making sure her blond curls fall enticingly over her shoulder as she leans toward Vicomte Blakeney. And she's hanging on his every word, definitely flirting with him. He's responding by looking directly into her eyes, nodding whenever she speaks, a sure sign he likes what he sees. I catch a few words as she blushes, then admonishes him. "Oh, Viscount, you're teasing me." I suppress a chuckle. Not as much as you're teasing him, Meg.

A rotund man with large jowls, introduced as Baron LeVere, is sitting across from her. And not at all subtle about staring at Meg while he eats. Unnoticed pieces of food fall on his cravat on their journey down the front of his waistcoat and onto his plate. Next he'll be drooling, I suppose. Quickly shifting my gaze to Baroness LeVere to see if she's noticed, I snort to myself. She's talking to one of the young Vicomtes, making sure to display her ample bosom by….

"Julia, you're not paying attention to a word I'm saying."

Reluctantly pulling myself away from my observations, I answer Joe. "Of course, I am. You're telling me about the orchards and vineyards on the property."

Joe glares at me. Then the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs. "Okay, so you _were _paying attention. What do you think of my plans?"

"What plans?" I've just spotted Sue watching Jeremy again, and my attention is suddenly riveted on them. Jeremy's in a conversation with the Magistrate's wife and doesn't notice. Poor Sue. Jeremy and she had a thing a long time ago. He's moved on, but she's confided in me that seeing him again brings back a lot of old feelings. Feelings she thought she'd gotten over.

"Julia." There's a hiss in my ear.

"_What?" _

Joe shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Forget it." Obviously he's miffed because I'm not listening to him. He turns to Russ and Danielle's conversation on his other side, freeing me to indulge in my favorite pastime. Good.

But Joe turns out to be my next subject. Even though he's listening to Russ and Danielle, Joe's eyes keep straying in the direction of Antoinette who's seated next to Ace. She smiles down the table at Joe sometimes. I already know Joe's pretty intent on her. Sue told me about Antoinette's reaction when she thought Sue was Joe's girlfriend. But I notice his eyes soften around Antoinette. He's attracted, uh, make that _very _attracted to her. I hope things work out, but it's not going to be as easy as dating a modern woman. There are a lot of obstacles between them. And, one of the biggest ones is Ace. Looks like he's thrown his hat in the ring too. Interesting. I've never seen him put any effort into a personal relationship before. He's all work and no play. But his body language tells me he's attracted to Antoinette, too.

Conversations around the table are lively with lots of laughing, but when my gaze settles on Laura, I can tell she's exhausted and beginning to look a little green around the gills. What little food is on her plate, she seems to be pushing around instead of eating. I turn and look back at Erik seated at the opposite end of the table. Today he's particularly stunning to look at. His black hair sheens and is combed impeccably. I like the way he wears it, long and curling under slightly at the nape of his neck. His clean-shaved features seem even more darkly handsome than ever against the flesh-colored mask. And, his suit seems sculpted to his tall body and broad shoulders. The ivory waistcoat and cravat add an elegance that perfectly offsets his formal, black suit. He's so handsome, that it's hard to imagine the mask covers a tragic deformity. I have overheard the servants whispering about the mask. Apparently he often leaves it off when he's in his private rooms, but only his butler has seen his face without it, and whatever he saw, he's kept totally confidential. No doubt Laura has seen his face, and it clearly makes no difference to her. I wonder if there will ever come a time when he'll feel comfortable enough not to wear the mask in public.

I watch Erik as he listens to the woman seated next to him while keeping his gaze fixed on Laura. His eyes are narrowed, studying her. Suddenly he turns to the lady and politely utters a few words. I can't make out what he says, but when he finishes, she looks a little startled. Recovering quickly, she nods in agreement.

Erik rises and moves with that panther-smooth walk to the other end of the table. He leans down and speaks under his breath to Marek who also gives him a surprised look. But Marek breaks out in a laugh, then stands and bows to Laura and the lady on his other side. He walks up to the head of the table and takes Erik's place. Erik announces that it's the custom in America for the groom to sit next to his bride at the wedding dinner. All the French men and women around the table exchange shocked looks. Viscount Blakeney raises his glass to Erik and says, "Of course! It is another quaint American custom. I witnessed it on my travels in America." Everyone at the table suddenly murmurs some comment or other about how charming that is, and Erik slips into Marek's place.

While everyone else goes back to their conversations, I continue watching Erik. He appears worried and ready to sweep Laura away at any moment. I can tell he's holding her hand under the table, and occasionally he leans over to whisper in her ear. Definite sensual body language between them. I envy them. They are blessed with a deep love that will endure. I want a relationship like theirs. I glance over at Matt.

"What's the dreamy look in your eyes for?" When I turn to Joe, he's got a smirk on his mouth.

I laugh to cover my embarrassment, hoping Joe didn't notice my look toward Matt. "I was just thinking how obviously in love the bride and groom are. They're a perfect match."

"Yep, I agree." Joe takes a large bite of bread and while he's munching it, adds thoughtfully, "But they've been through a lot. They deserve all the happiness they can get."

I can't resist teasing him. "Gee, Joe, you almost sound like a romantic."

He snickers a bit, then turns serious. His voice lowers, so only I can hear. "This era changes you. It's not like the future. Death is all around you here. It can happen in an instant." His expression turns serious, and he stops eating. I know he's thinking about the recent attack.

I touch his arm in understanding and keep my voice low so that not even the servants hovering nearby are able to overhear. "We take a lot for granted in the future. Modern medicine alone makes a difference. I cringe to think what Laura will go through." We both glance at Laura. She doesn't look well at all. Hopefully Erik can get her out of here soon.

"Yeah. It's dangerous for women here." We both know what he's referring to. Childbirth in this century is risky for women. Thank God Matt will be here to help her through it. Joe coughs and changes the subject. "Laura told us how the corsets you ladies wear can cause all kinds of damage." He glances down at my waist.

Heartily agreeing, I nod. "True! It's damn hard to eat, too. All you can take are small bites and sips and not many of them." I add with a grin, "There's a stash of food in my room so I can eat after I undress at night."

He laughs aloud, causing several people around us turn to look. "Glad men don't have to wear any of those contraptions. At least we can eat." To prove his point, he motions to one of the servants, asking for another helping.

I take a bite and let my eyes pause briefly on Matt. He's studying Danielle who's talking to Russ. I watch the three of them. It's clear Russ and Danielle are comfortable talking with each other. Their arms and upper bodies are relaxed, and they smile with their eyes as well as their mouths. Russ' gaze sometimes lingers on Danielle when she isn't paying attention, suggesting he's interested in her. I turn and surreptitiously observe Matt again. He just seems curious about Danielle, watching her react to Russ. He's also noticing their body language. Has he figured out Russ is attracted to Danielle? Does he care? At that thought, my heart sinks.

People are barely finishing their meals when Erik motions for the head waiter. He wastes no time and directs them to serve the wedding dessert. This is one formal dinner where people will not be dallying. Is he going to shuffle Laura off to his suite as soon as dinner is finished? I chuckle to myself at the ripple of gossip that would cause among the wedding guests. I'll most certainly be watching and listening.

I'm anxious to taste the dessert. I heard it'll be croquembouche, but I've never eaten it before. It's a creampuff filled pastry, coated with a thin crust of hard-cracked sugar and surrounded with a golden webbing of spun, lightly caramelized sugar. When mine is set in front me, I'm in awe of the skill and artistry of the chef. This also avoids the American cake-cutting tradition. Laura won't have to stand up to cut the cake and be required to eat some. In her current state, that might be disastrous.

When everyone has been served their croquembouche and their wine glasses are refilled, Jeremy stands and calls for silence. Clearing his throat he begins his speech and toast to the couple. All eyes turn to Erik and Laura.

_Erik's POV:_

One sweet kiss is not enough. When our lips separate, and she takes a breath, her beautiful dark eyes gaze into mine and fill my soul. All I want to do is enfold and protect and caress her. My body responds instinctively. I kiss her again. Nothing else in the world exists but her. And our child.

When we finally part, the sound of cheers startles us back from that private, timeless place we were sharing. I look around and realize how many people are staring at us. A warm, red flush goes up my neck and onto my cheeks and my mouth falls open, disconcerted. With her pixie grin, Laura looks up at me as her hand gently squeezes mine. Her expression tells me that whatever happens for the rest of our lives, for good or ill, in triumph or the embarrassment that we are now experiencing, we will face it together. I smile down at her and nod my head in understanding. The Magistrate finds his voice and introduces us formally as husband and wife. Then everyone seems to surge forward and surround us like an incoming tide.

Matt is the first to personally give his best wishes. He shakes my hand and gives Laura a gentle hug, not looking her in the eyes. Then he leaves quickly. I watch as he walks out of the Great Hall. I cannot help but feel sympathy. For him this has not been an easy day.

Marek as usual slaps my back and pumps my hand. "You're a lucky dog, Erik." Then he turns to Laura and quips with that devilish grin of his, "If he ever does anything out o' line, you just call on me and I'll straighten him out!"

Laura chuckles and replies, "Thanks, but I think I can manage."

"No doubt you can, lass!" Then to my annoyance, Marek leans over and kisses her cheek. "My verra best wishes to you both!"

From behind Marek we hear Viscount Blakeney's voice pipe up, "Is kissing the bride another charming American custom?" He steps next to Marek and with a rakish look at Laura, adds, "If so, I would like to take my turn."

"Ach, no!" Marek winks at Laura, "I'm like a brother." I glower at Marek darkly. He almost started something that could have gotten out of hand. All the men kissing Laura! Unthinkable!

"In that case, I give you my very best wishes for a long, happy life together." The Vicomte makes a low, formal bow. When he rises from it, he adds, "And may you have many children. Soon." His expression is entirely proper and there is no hint of double-entendre in his voice, but the glimmer in his eyes says otherwise. He knows! How? He graciously steps aside and others take his place, so I push the question from my mind.

Amazed by all the warm outpourings of sincere congratulations, I am deeply moved. I cannot contain my smile as I hear the many compliments about my beautiful wife. And she is truly glowing. I cannot believe how well, how courageously, she is withstanding all this stress and exertion after being so ill. But the thought of the upcoming dinner is giving me grave concern. How will she hold up during that? Will she become ill again?

As the throng of well-wishers dissipates, I spot Jeremy wending his way through the groups of people now enjoying a glass of wine and appetizer. He, too, shakes my hand enthusiastically and slaps my back. I am not sure if I'll ever get used to back slapping. Strange custom! A formal bow would be much more dignified. He effuses over Laura and then even hugs her! They whisper something to each other, which I cannot hear. I suspect the two of them have formed some conspiracy. Something to do with me. After leading a solitary life on the fringes of society, I am still adjusting to being around people. Now Laura and Jeremy have become the constant in my life. My phantom self finds this disturbing, but my newly emerging self finds it…. I have to search for the word: comforting. Yes, that's it. I find it comforting they are part of my life.

With a final slap on the back, Jeremy leaves, and we are alone. Eyes keep turning our way, but at least we have a few moments where we can speak privately and freely with each other. Once again Laura rests her hand on my arm and leans discretely on me. I need to caress her, to take down her hair and brush my fingers through it. But I control my impulses, not wanting to shock the sensibilities of our guests any more than we already have.

With a longing gaze, I breathe out, "I just want to take you away. Where we can be alone."

"Soon, my love. Very soon." She smiles, but the corners of her eyes glisten with wetness. "And we never need be separated again."

"Never," I repeat, wanting desperately to lean down and kiss her soft lips. It is sweet torture standing so closely to her, yet not be able to enfold her against my body. We whisper private, sensuous endearments to one another, again losing ourselves in each other and forgetting the rest of the world.

When dinner is announced, I escort Laura into the dining room and reluctantly take her to her chair at one end of the table. Once she is seated, etiquette dictates that I occupy the master's place at the head of the table. No less than thirty people, fifteen on each side of this endless table, will separate us. Being that far from her would be bad enough in normal circumstances, but I am deeply worried about her condition. I take my seat and listen to the conversation of those seated around me, entering into the discourse when appropriate.

But I keep looking at Laura, wondering how she fares. She seems too pale, barely able to consume more than a couple spoons of the soup. As the bowls are being cleared, I notice she holds her napkin to her mouth and closes her eyes for a moment. I can take no more of this! Turning to the lady seated next to me, I ask her forbearance and say it would be appropriate for me to exchange places with Marek, explaining that is in conformance with an American custom. Her surprised reaction is to be expected, but she graciously accepts my suggestion.

I quickly go to Marek and request that he take my place at the head of the table. He laughs good-naturedly, and for once he does not object or make some irritating remark. I announce that in respect of Laura's American traditions, I will be sitting next to her for the remainder of the meal. The astonished expressions around the table tell me the explanation is being received dubiously. As I sit down, Viscount Blakeney off-handedly remarks he is familiar with this wedding tradition from his travels in America. Since I just made up my little story, so did he. I subtly nod to him in appreciation. He seems to be as facile as I am in a tight situation. I must get to know him better.

I lean over and ask Laura how she feels. She smiles and replies in her modern idiom, "So far, so good." But I notice she only takes a couple bites from each course which is served. Between courses, I hold her hand under the table. The only people who appear to notice are Baron LeVere and his wife. Regarding us with indignation over his spectacles, he frowns. At the same moment his wife notices our indiscretion, and she titters, then considerately looks the other way. I think Julia also catches me on one occasion. She is a keen observer, always scrutinizing, albeit subtly, the people around her. I order the servants to bring each course as quickly as possible. The meal is exquisite. The chef and Jeannette have outdone themselves, and I try to enjoy each delicacy, especially the rack of lamb with its red-currant wine sauce. But after eating a few bites of each dish, I become distracted, watching Laura. Worrying about her nausea. Wondering if it has returned.

So, I am relieved to finally have the croquembouche served. Soon dinner will be over. Miraculously, Laura has managed to get through it. Jeremy noisily pushes back his chair and rises to his feet, slightly wobbly. Evidently he has been enjoying the vintage wine being served this evening. Ever since he told me he was going to give a toast as best man, I have been quavering at the thought. Now I brace myself for this final public embarrassment.

Jeremy introduces himself humorously, bringing a round of laughter. Then he addresses Laura and me directly. "I have had the pleasure of knowing Erik and Laura for _a very long time._ We met, of course, when Erik was living in America. I had the opportunity to witness him learning our _unusual customs and practices, _and I give him a lot of credit for adapting so well." Jeremy emphasizes the words which refer to my time in the future. "I once heard in a toast at a wedding the expression that 'marriages are made in heaven, but so are thunder and lightning.'" Again there is laughter, along with some nods and knowing looks our way.

Grinning at us, Jeremy continues, "I think that fits you both perfectly. Laura is like a flash of brilliance that lights the heavens and certainly has been the source of light in Erik's life. And Erik is like powerful thunder. In fact, Erik means 'ruler' in Norse, and the most famous Norse ruler-god was Thor, the God of Thunder. They go together well, thunder and lightning, existing together, creating explosive displays and unending excitement! That is what it's been like, being in the presence of this couple. And, so I ask everyone to rise for the toast." All around us stand, lifting their wine glasses as Jeremy pronounces the benediction, "We wish you, Monsieur and Madame Mercier, a brilliant and happy life together. Robert Browning said it best, 'grow old with me, the best is yet to be, the last of life for which the first is made.'" The room rings out with clicking crystal glasses and expressions of agreement. Gazing into Laura's eyes, I repeat, "the best is yet to be," then we touch our goblets and drink to our lives together.

The croquembouche is superb, and Laura is even able to take a couple bites. She smiles reassuringly and leans close, saying for my ears only, "I'm feeling all right, Erik. I can visit with the guests for a little while before retiring. If we go straight to our suite, everyone will be scandalized." I agree, regretfully realizing she is correct. We have had this wedding to make our marriage public and proper and must follow through.

We lead everyone back into the Great Hall where a string quartet is playing in the far corner, sending music echoing pleasantly through the massive room. Escorting Laura to the large oak couch in front of the stone fireplace, we remain there soaking in the warmth of the fire. So, as a proper man and wife, we hold court for our guests as they come by and visit. The men go into the library for cigars and scotch, as is the after-dinner custom, but I remain next to Laura. After awhile some of our guests request that a waltz be played and an area is cleared to serve as a dance floor. We pass two hours in this manner, holding hands while our passions smolder, waiting for the time when we can allow them to flame. Marking the time, I check the clock and notice something is amiss. I pull out my pocket watch and discover the clock is running fast. That means when I announce our retiring, it will seem to be later. Good!

When two hours have passed, I stand and guide Laura to the center of the Great Hall. Thanking our guests for coming, I welcome them to remain and enjoy the festivities as long as they wish. I even extend the invitation that any who wishes to remain over night at the château may do so. Guest rooms have been prepared. That is received with enthusiastic applause. I name Jeremy and Antoinette as the hosts, and we take our leave. Baskets of petals have been handed out to the guests and the servants. As Laura and I walk to the stair well, rose petals rain down on us. When we reach the first landing and are out of sight, I pick Laura up and carry her the rest of the way. She sighs in my arms and rests her head on my shoulder, utterly exhausted.

I take her straight to my bed and lay her down gently, leaning over to kiss her lips. Her hand reaches up and caresses my uncovered cheek. When the kiss ends, she gently removes my mask. Handing it to me, she says, "Please. Put this away. I don't want anything to come between us." I smile and take the mask. Walking over to my dresser I set it down, then remove the black pearl stick pin and the cravat. Quickly I remove my clothes, laying them across the back of a side chair. I take a black silk robe from my armoire and put it on. When I turn back to Laura, I discover she has been watching me intently.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I touch her forehead and cheeks. They are quite warm. "How are you feeling?"

"Truthfully?" She swallows hard.

"Yes, my love. Truthfully."

"I was able to eat some of the food. It was so delicious. But I have been a little nauseous ever since. Danielle said she would have something brought to help settle my stomach in case that happened." She points at a flask on the table next to the bed. I look over and find a note confirming the concoction in the flask was prepared by Danielle. I pour it into the glass and bring Laura gently up to a sitting position. As she drinks, I rub her back soothingly. She hands the glass back to me when she is done. "Please keep rubbing my back. It feels so good."

"Yes, but you need to be more comfortable. Turn around a little." She moves so that I can unbutton the long row of pearl buttons on the back of her bodice and remove it. Then I gently rub the upper part of her back above her corset and massage her shoulder muscles until she moans.

"Lie down," I direct. She leans back against the thick down pillows, and I unbutton her bustle and skirt, pulling them down, over her legs. I carry the ivory gown over the settee and carefully, reverently lay them there. When I return to the bed, Laura has already undone the front lacing of the corset and slips it off, placing it on the bedside table. Unbuttoning her shoes, I remove them, then gently peel the silk stockings off her long, shapely legs. Now she is wearing only her chemise. I turn off the oil lamp by the bed, so the fire light in the fireplace creates a warm, golden glow in the room.

I lie on the bed next to Laura, holding her to me. "How are you feeling now? Is Danielle's elixir helping?"

"Yes, my stomach is better." She delicately kisses my eyelids and each of my cheeks. "And how are you feeling?" She asks with her pixie smile.

"I want to ravish you, but…" my voice trails off, and I swallow hard.

"But what?" She searches my face, questioningly.

"But I am afraid to."

"Afraid? Do you think I'll break?"

"Yes. Your condition. Are you truly well enough? And, then there is the baby."

Laura bursts into a gentle laugh. "I am well enough. And, we won't harm our baby. Remember what I said? Our baby will be just fine!" She pulls her chemise over her head and with a husky voice says, "Now, do your husbandly duty and ravish me!"

My silk robe joins her chemise on the floor by the bed. With abandon I kiss and touch every part of her body, all shimmering in the firelight, until she moans once again. Then I do my husbandly duty many times throughout the night. Whenever we awaken, we glory in each other's body, in the joy of being alive and together. Each time I join my body with Laura's, I am struck with something more than ecstasy. It's more like lightning. Like being pierced body and soul by lightning.


	88. Chapter 88

**A/N: Thanks to each of you who posted your comments, but we'd love to hear from all of you who DIDN'T post!! Every comment is read and appreciated by us writers! You feed our muses! **

**And, by the way, we're considering spacing out the chapters a little farther apart over the next two months, during the holidays! So, if that's NOT your cup of tea, we need to hear from you! By the way, for those of you who are not members of this website and can't post your comments, feel free to email me directly with them. Just click on my name, Phanfan, and my email is on my personal page. I'll post here any such reviews I receive. I'm still hoping to hear from many more of you about where you live and why you like The Epic Case!**

Well…the wedding is over…the honeymoon just beginning…and Jeremy has a problem. He needs, desperately needs, to talk to Laura. And, Erik is not amused…

* * *

**Chapter 88 A Million to One, KFC & Phanfan**

_Monday, January 29, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

"You dozed off again, Jer." I jolt awake to see Sue smirking at me. I rub my head. Wow, _only_ two in the morning. What's wrong with me? Julia and Sue are still here, lounging on the couches in front of the fire that Matt's poking. The guests and the rest of our guys are gone.

"Don't worry. You weren't snoring," Julia teases.

I crack a smile for her sake, "Was I, Matt?"

He gives a nonchalant shrug. I turn back to the women. "Matt knows I don't snore."

Sue doesn't look convinced. "Is this true, Matt? Or are you covering for him?"

"The only one who knows for sure, would be Terese," he says casually, continuing to stoke the fire. There's dead silence. Hell, I only asked him to drop a hint or two, and you'd think it knocked 'em dead. Matt purposely keeps his back to me, and I fight the urge to give in to laughter.

Julia and Sue resituate themselves, as if suddenly not so comfy on these couches. "Gosh, I'm getting a backache from sitting on this thing," Julia complains. _Way to go, Julia, cover for your friend. You and Matt make a good team. _She lets out a yawn. "Well I think I'm going to have to hit the hay, guys. It's been lovely. Lovely wedding. Lovely dinner. Lovely evening. Sue, I'm gonna need your help with this corset. You ready to head upstairs?"

Sue stretches and feigns a lazy reluctance to leave. Behind her I catch Matt slipping a wink at Julia. There's a little quirk playing on her lips when my view of her face is obstructed by Sue's skirt passing gracefully in front of me. "Sweet dreams, Jeremy," my former flame's voice floats by me on the seductive swish of her skirt.

As the women disappear up the stairs, Matt turns and gives me an amused stare. "Well I tried," he shrugs.

I finally let myself laugh. "For a minute I thought it worked."

Matt crosses his arms and leans against the fireplace. "I guess she's got to hear it straight from you."

I squint tiredly up at him. "Did you get the feeling that would make any difference?"

He smirks. "No."

Lying back on the sofa, I run my hands through my hair. "And unfortunately I can't tell her the one thing which might settle it for good."

Matt tosses me a sympathetic glance. Okay, so I have a few complications with women, but I'd still rather take my lot over Matt's. I had a feeling he wasn't staying up for Julia. He doesn't want to go upstairs any more than I do and lay in a cold bed alone. Especially not tonight. This is one night when a guy could feel extra lonely. I guess that's why we're both downstairs. I'm going to sit here until my eyes slam shut again, then sleepwalk upstairs. I plan to go unconscious the second I hit my empty bed. But damn, it's gonna be a long night for Matt. I get up and grab a bottle of wine still left on the buffet table and pour another glass for both of us.

_5:30 a.m._ I sit on the edge of my bed waiting for my body to get up to speed. Monday morning is my scheduled weekly contact with STARLab when I send in my status reports. I can't wait to talk to Terese. I pick up my watch off the table. Crud. I've slept three hours, and it seems like all night. The STARLink isn't scheduled until 6:30. Since I don't have to keep track of Erik this morning, what the heck am I gonna do for another hour?

A cold shower doesn't strike me as inviting, but I grab my shirt and head for the bathroom. To my surprise there's hot water ready and waiting. This was probably meant for the women, but I doubt Linc realizes how late they were up last night. And since Marek's training sessions are over, and female shadows won't be needed for outings with Laura, I bet the girls sleep in. This water will be cold by the time they get up.

I rig up the shower and let the hot water run down my aching body. If I close my eyes I can almost transport to a regular shower in the 21st century. Terese's shower hopefully. I even smell her soap. When I open my eyes, the soap smell doesn't go away. I notice a small bar of modern looking soap on the little shelf. Where the hell did that come from? I can't believe my eyes. It's a little 21st century hotel soap, all unwrapped and ready to use. Contraband! I'll have to have a talk with Sue about that.

When I buzz through the hall after my shower, I meet up with Linc. "Morning!" I greet him. "Would you bring up more water for the women? I was betting on their sleeping in and used the hot water."

"Don't worry. Theirs is already heating."

I stop in my tracks. "What?"

"Theirs is heating. I was just waiting for you to finish so I can grab the buckets." He gives me a quizzical look which says w_hat part of this don't you understand? _"Sue ordered it," he adds slyly.

In a daze, I turn down the hall as Linc goes in for the buckets. Hot water…modern soap…towels all laid out. Oh boy. She ordered it for me! As I pass the stairwell, Matt almost runs into me. He's cold, wet and exhausted, apparently just coming in from outside. "Morning," he says tiredly.

I grab his shoulder. "Matt, tell me you slept in the barn and weren't out walking all night."

He glances at the hall clock. "I had nothing better to do. What are you doing up already?"

"We have a STARLink communication this morning, and I have to report to the Lab."

Matt's eyebrows lift perceptively. "All right. And I'm gonna go get some sleep."

"Damn, you better," I hiss. Then Linc appears with the buckets, and I suddenly have an idea of how to deal with my Sue Situation. "Before you go to bed, Matt, take a good hot shower." I turn to Linc who's processing this keenly behind an innocent façade. "Do you mind hauling two more buckets?"

"Not at all, sir." Linc actually seems relieved at the prospect. Maybe he wasn't keen on Sue's "order" for more reasons than meet the eye.

After a briefing with Ace and Marek, I go down to the underground room. I sip coffee, and boot up the computer, entering in the codes. Now all that's left is to wait for the STARLink. I try to relax and think up something clever to say to Terese, but I'm no good at coming up with things ahead of time. I have more luck on the spur of the moment.

Finally I get the signal the link is established. We exchange confirmation codes back and forth, then the next phase initiates, the downloading of text messages from STARLab which comes in each Sunday. With all the worry around Laura yesterday and the wedding, I didn't get down here to read them. After all they're only technical reports like world news, memos from headquarters, miscellaneous data files and system upgrades. Damn! When the Sunday reports pull up, they turn out to be a lot longer than usual. It's going to take an hour to download those before I can get to the chat phase. Unless…in case of an emergency, I can override the sequence of downloading the technical reports first. With only an instant of hesitation, I press override.

_LAB: You have an emergency?_

_SAGGITARIUS: Yes._

_LAB: What is your status?_

_SAGGITARIUS: Outpost secure. All personnel secure. Wedding went off without a hitch. _

_LAB: What is the emergency?_

_SAGGITARIUS: I love you, miss you, think about you all the time, and can't wait for the damn downloads to finish before we can talk. _

There's a slight pause, during which I begin to sweat. Finally a response comes up.

_LAB: That's very sweet, but this is Merlin. Who would you like me to pass this message on to?_

I recoil from the screen in shock. Now it's my turn to pause. I'm trying to think of a way to save this situation when another message pops up.

_LAB: Just kidding, honey. It's me. Of course I was right here waiting for the damn downloads to finish too. You're too sweet, and romantic. Had me worried for a minute though. _

_SAGGITARIUS: And how do I know it's truly you? I hear Mr. Merlin is a grand deceiver, and I can't be taken for a fool twice._

_LAB: Merlin has stars on his hat. Mine are in my eyes. _

_SAGGITARIUS: You've cleared security level one. _

_LAB: Merlin wears moons on his robe. I wear the moon. _

_SAGGITARIUS: Level 2 – Clear. _

_LAB: Merlin is still trying to figure out how to turn rocks into gold. My lover knows how. _

_SAGGITARIUS: Then I'm indeed speaking to the golden goddess. _

_LAB: You are. And the goddess in her all knowing wisdom, thinks you ought to download the technical reports without further delay. There's one very important item in there. _

_SAGGITARIUS: Curses! Lose you already? Can we talk more after?_

_LAB: Sure …but once you find the file, be sure to print it immediately. For security, the digital file auto-destructs within 15 minutes of being opened. _

_SAGGITARIUS: Alright. Emergency on hold…_

Reluctantly I enable the downloads and sift through each as they finish, looking for the "important" one. What could be so urgent? Suddenly I open "it" and am startled half out of my wits. A bank draft! For a hell of a lot of francs! I look at all the zeros on the amount and do a quick mental calculation. My God! That's equal to a million dollars! And, it's made out to Laura, from the Program. What on earth is this all about?

I read the attached letter from Grace. She explains Laura's townhouse in Seattle, her car and other possessions, have been sold through her estate, which came to about 500,000. The Program matched that amount, dollar for dollar, in appreciation for her "invaluable legal services." I grunt at what a delicate euphemism they chose to describe Laura's services, which included stepping in front of a bullet and dying.

My heart begins to pump ferociously when I get to the part of the letter which explains this check needs to be given to Laura _before_ she's married. According to Grace, because of the laws in a 19th century France, as soon as Laura is married, all this money automatically goes to her husband, Erik, and Laura has no control over it. Grace says in her lawyerlike fashion Laura will want to sign an agreement before they're married to clarify this money remains Laura's separate property so she can retain control of it.

I swallow hard as my mind starts to reel. The final sentence says it's being sent as a wedding gift for Laura. But, with Laura sick, and me keeping watch with Erik all day before the wedding, I never came down to check on the reports. I moan, realizing now it's too late. The wedding's over, and I'm sitting here with a million dollars of Laura's money which now belongs entirely to Erik. And it's all my fault! As soon as all the technical reports finish printing out, I reconnect with Terese.

_SAGGITARIUS: I don't think I'll be able to chat further._

_LAB: Have something important to do?_

_SAGGITARIUS: You know it! A day late and too damn many dollars! _

_LAB: That's what I was afraid of. Good luck. _

_SAGGITARIUS: Thanks a million! I'll need it._

The signal goes dead.Now I have to deal with delivering this to Laura and Erik. Talk about good news, bad news! As I climb up the hidden stairwell to my room, I wonder when to expect the newlyweds to make their first "post wedding night" appearance. I go straight through my room and down to the second floor. It's eight, and maybe, just maybe, Erik and Laura will be coming out of their suite, and I can talk to them before they go down to breakfast.

Settling into the big chair outside Erik's bedroom door, I nervously tap my thigh with the letter and bank draft drawn on the large account The Program has in Paris to fund its projects. After fifteen minutes Laura's maid appears with a tray of tea and some croissants. She walks past me and taps ever so lightly on the sitting room door of Erik and Laura's suite. There's no answer, so she opens the door and goes in.

I consider sending the papers in on the tray, but think better of it. It needs to be delivered personally. I can't allow any possibility of foul play, for word to leak out, or for rumors to start via the servants. And I need to make sure it gets to Laura first. I'm not sure how Erik will feel about this situation. I would like to think he has developed some modern sensibilities, especially since being in the future. After the fiasco in the carriage when he defended the current law in regard to a man's authority over his wife—and nearly blew his chances to marry Laura—well, I'm not taking any chances. I hope he's learned his lesson. But after all, this is a million dollars. Yep, I've got to deliver this into Laura's hands.

"Anyone up and around in there?" I ask the maid as she quietly exits Erik and Laura's sitting room, her tray empty. She shakes her head "no." Clearly embarrassed, she slips away down the hall. I stand outside, trying to decide what to do. I hear Julia and Sue coming downstairs, so I decide to go to breakfast and wait 'til lunch to pursue this any further.

After checking in with Ace and Marek, I return to my room and take a nap. Just past noon I get up and go down for lunch, stopping in the hall by Erik's rooms to assess the situation. Once again the maid is going into the sitting room with a tray of food. Hallelujah! Someone's up. I knock lightly on Erik's bedroom door, but there's no answer. By now the paper is burning a hole through the fabric of my jacket. Damn it, I can't walk around all day with a million dollars in my pocket! I stare at Erik's firmly closed door and will him to open it. All that happens is, I lose a stare-down with the menacing lion's head on the brass knocker. When the lion growls at me, I decide it must be my stomach and go down for lunch.

Everyone's there. Even Matt, sitting across from Sue and Julia. The only empty chairs are beside Sue, across from Sue, kitty corner from Sue, or at the head of the table. Hoping Erik and Laura may still show up, I sit down beside Matt, across from Sue. "You couldn't have slept much," I slap him lightly on the shoulder.

"Oh you know me. Up at the crack of dawn. Had a good hot shower though. It helped."

A few silent vibes pass through the air between Julia and Sue. Sue's eyebrow rises ever so slightly as she ponders whether Matt got the hot shower she ordered for me. "Who brought the soap?" Matt asks casually, looking across the table at the women. Now Julia's brow rises archly, and she glances at Sue. With a forced smile, Sue nods to Matt and resumes eating. Thank heavens Danielle appears at this moment and sets a plate in front of me. Gratefully, I focus on the food, and on the task of putting the proper amount of cream and sugar in my coffee.

Joe and Russ keep the conversation lively for the rest of the meal, Joe entertaining Antoinette and Meg, while Russ banters lightly with Danielle as she stops to serve him. When Danielle comes up beside Matt and offers to take his plate, he gets up and gently leads her to the side of the dining room. While Julia eyes this situation from across her coffee cup, I listen to Matt speaking with Danielle in hushed tones, asking about Laura. _Has she been to Laura's room? __Has Laura been drinking her tea? Are there any signs she's not doing well? _

Danielle explains she's been sending in her herbal potions with each tray of food, and has been selecting the menus to make sure they will be easy on Laura's stomach. She says that so far, Laura has had only one episode of vomiting. Laura's maid has been on hand, doing clean up duty and delivering pails of hot water. I make a mental note to talk to Laura's maid and see if Laura will be going to her rooms. Maybe I can waylay her in the corridor.

Monitoring Julia in my peripheral vision, I sense she's responding to Matt's gentle and vulnerable emotional state with a large dose of sympathy. This does not bode well. While Matt could use a distraction from his painful predicament, I'm not sure I like the idea of Julia coming to the rescue. He doesn't need someone possessed with a maternal sense of pity to fix his broken heart.

With another light touch on Danielle's arm, Matt thanks her and sends her on her way. He returns to the table, but after several bites of food, he seems to notice Julia is no longer enjoying her meal. Instead of making progress on the sliced meat and steamed vegetables, she's just pushing them around in the sauce. Finally she puts down her fork and stares blankly at the uneaten food. "Full already?" Sue asks. "How you can even think of letting those croquembouche leftovers pass you by?"

Julia's face retains its blank expression as she places her knife and fork formally across the top of her plate. Taking up her napkin, she looks warily at her coffee cup, then back at the table. "Are you alright?" Sue asks with concern.

"I feel a little ill for some reason," Julia says quietly, without looking up.

Matt stops eating and gives her a contemplative stare. To my surprise, she does look ill. Either she's really sick, or she's a terrific actor. Shakily, she rises from the table, and Matt is instantly on his feet. As she turns to leave the dining room, he's beside her, his hand at her back. "What's wrong, Julia? Are you nauseous?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," she murmurs.

He takes her gently by the arm, and I hear his calming doctor tones over the dining room clatter. "Here, let's get you to the Great Hall. Just lie down, and I'll get you some of Danielle's tea."

"I don't think I want any tea…"

"Well, I know it's not the best tasting, but Danielle's tea is excellent for nausea."

When they've disappeared around the corner, I look across the table at Sue. She's finished eating and is waiting for her dessert, calmly sipping coffee with telltale hints of a smirk on her face. I look down at my cup, then back at her as I take a slow drink. There's a clever twinkle in her eyes, and an amused quirk to her eyebrow. For once I don't feel the need to look away, and Sue and I share a silent laugh across the edges of the coffee cups.

After dessert is served and I've had several of the famed croquembouche, I decide it's time to excuse myself and head back upstairs to check on Erik and Laura. Perhaps I'll catch Laura's maid on her way to pick up the lunch tray and at least get a message through to Laura that I need to speak with her. On my way past the Great Hall, I catch a glimpse of Julia comfortably reclined on one of the sofas, with a cup of tea on the side table. Matt is sitting on the edge of a chair leaning toward her, apparently telling some story or joke. I sigh. _Well, Julia. More power to you._

I'm in luck when I reach Erik's rooms. The maid is just exiting the sitting room with a tray of plates. I notice the food was only half eaten. When I stop her and ask if Monsieur and Madame are up and about, she turns slightly red and says, "Oui. They are awake, but they are not prepared to receive visitors." She turns to leave hastily, but I stop her again and ask if she would do me the favor of conveying a short message to the Madame.

The little maid turns positively scarlet and shakes her head no, then says in a lowered, almost fearful voice, "Monsieur Mercier left a note. We are to leave the meals in the sitting room and not disturb them in any other manner."

Again I glare at the lion on the door. And again I lose. I decide it's time to tell Marek about this. Maybe he'll have a suggestion.

By about 4 pm, the weight of this million dollar piece of paper feels almost comparable to its weight in gold. And Marek didn't help. He read the papers and chuckled. Sympathizing with my situation, he said it was clearly my place to break the news to Laura…and Erik. Then he patted my shoulder, giving a not-too-promising shake of his head. Of all the challenges I've had with this job, making this delivery is one of the top ten. Not even my Navy SEAL training is any help. But surely Erik and Laura can take a little time this late in the day to allow me one minute of official business. I resolve to try my luck again.

Outside their door, I hear a faint noise from inside. No voices, but I hear someone moving around. Wonderful. I knock boldly on the door and _will_ someone, preferably Laura, to answer it. There's no sound for quite some time, so I knock again. I wait several more minutes with no response, then as I raise my hand for one last knock, the door opens, and I find myself face to face with Erik. He's wearing a long black dressing robe, and his stark white mask. His shiny black hair is slicked back, but he's got a slight stubble of beard. I've never seen him without a clean shaven face. His eyes are like coals of fire, boring through me and telling me I'm not welcome.

I swallow hard and ask if it would be possible for Laura to come to the door for only a moment. He almost snarls and lets me know in no uncertain terms that Laura is "entirely unavailable," and they are _not_ to be bothered. With that he slams the door. The reverberation booms through the corridor, and I'm left staring at his bronze likeness again.

At dinner, subtle smiles and chuckles are exchanged around the table about Erik and Laura's continued absence. For some reason the servants keep setting their places. I figure if they're not down here for dinner, it's no use waiting up for them tonight. I don't stay up late to hang out around the fireplace or keep Matt company. Julia has that well under control. I head to my room early, and try to figure out where the hell to stash a million dollars while I sleep. I finally decide it's safest under my pillow, and settle in for a long restless night.

In the morning I wake to the sound of my door latching. Resisting the urge to spring out of bed, I pretend to be sleeping and wait, listening for any telltale movements. I sweep my hand under the pillow and confirm the million dollars is still there. Hearing no movement, I roll over and spot a tray of coffee and croissants on the table near my door. Alright, it was probably Sue…just sneaking out. I get up and get dressed, skip the shower and decide to pass on going downstairs for breakfast. Instead I take the coffee and croissants with me to stave off hunger while I finish working on reports in the underground room, giving Linc the duty of sitting outside Erik and Laura's door. If they venture out, he's to come and tell me, pronto.

The coffee and croissants don't last the morning. My brain shuts down a good half hour before lunch, and I'm editing a bunch of typos when Marek comes tromping down the stairs. "How goes the battle?" he bellows.

I answer with a grim shake of my head. "Sounds like you're having a good morning."

"I feel like a million bucks! I get t' go home!" He whoops enthusiastically.

"Not until the million bucks is safely and _legally _where it belongs," I retort.

"Well then let's get on it, Captain. I've got a Lady t' get home to. It's going on seven weeks I've been gone. Let's go see if we can bust somethin' loose."

I get up from the desk. "Well unless you have a better idea, I'm going to knock on the door one more time and at least try to get him to tell me _when_ I can see Laura. If that doesn't work I'll slide a message under the door and hope it gets to her. Short of staging a fire drill, I don't know what else to do." Marek laughs and contributes a few ludicrous ideas of his own as we tramp up the secret stairwell.

When we arrive in my bedroom, I notice another tray of food has been left on the table inside my door. This time it's lunch, and the plates are heaping with food. Since I skipped breakfast, Sue must be trying to make sure I don't starve. Famished, I reach out for one of the dinner rolls, and find a note tucked under the napkin. I try to shove it farther under the plate, but Marek sees it. I snatch the envelope before he does.

"Come on, Nichs, let's see what she wrote," Marek prods wolfishly. I hesitate, but he threatens to grab it. "Jeremy, either read the thing or let's get down t' business and end tha' hostage situation in Erik's room."

As I shove the note into my jacket pocket, I notice the wax seal. A fierce red lion's head, with fangs. I break the seal. The note contains a single line, handwritten in fine calligraphy.

_My Dear Monsieur, Do not even think about it._

Marek hoots with laughter. "Well, Jeremy. It could be worse. He could've signed it Opera Ghost."

Exasperated, I spit out, "What am I going to do with this money?"

"Start a game show and see who wants t' be a millionaire?"

I glower at him.

"All right, all right. Hold off on the show, and give 'em til dinner tonight to come out on their own. If they still won't see you by then, you'll have t' take the good ol' Navy SEAL approach.

I sigh, hoping it doesn't come to that. The afternoon drags along slowly, and the bank draft seems to weigh heavier and heavier in my pocket. By mid-afternoon, I take Matt aside and tell him what's happening. Then I ask hopefully, "if they don't come out today, is there any chance you need to check in with Laura as her doctor?"

Matt shakes his head. "Sorry, Nichs. Danielle's herbal remedies have been taking care of Laura's morning sickness, so my services haven't been needed."

This gives me an idea. I search the kitchens for Danielle, but Jeanette says she's helping Russ with today's lessons. Storming down the hallway, I burst into the library. Sure enough, Danielle's sitting in front of the fire with a couple of the smaller children, reading to them while Russ is giving a math lesson to the older children and several of the servants. I tiptoe across the room to Danielle, and motion for her to come over for a moment. Handing the book to the children, she walks up to me and curtsies. With a puzzled look, she asks, "May I help you, Monsieur Nichols?"

"Yes. Are you going to see Madame Mercier any time today to help with her…ailment?"

"I was told Madame was not to be disturbed. So, I prepared a canister of the herbal tea, and her maid took it to her this morning. That allows Madame to make the tea whenever she needs it. I haven't received any requests for assistance. It appears the tea is working."

"I see." Disappointed, I excuse myself and get a sharp glare from Russ on the way to the door.

Racking my brain, it occurs to me Antoinette understands Erik better than anyone other than Laura. Surely she could think of a way to get past Erik. After scouring the château for Antoinette, I'm told Meg and she went to Paris for the day to shop. I glance at the clock in the Great Hall. It's five. Only a half hour until dinner. I'll have to hold out hope Erik and Laura come down to the dining room tonight.

Just then Erik's butler walks by, so I stop him and ask, "Do you know if Monsieur and Madame are coming down for dinner tonight?"

"I am quite certain they are not. I was given instructions to have dinner served in their sitting room." The butler bows and trundles off down the hallway.

Fuming, I hit my fist on the wall. This means war!

From behind me, I hear Marek's voice, "So, they'll no' be coming down for dinner, then?"

"No! And, I need a battle plan to smoke them out of that lair."

Marek rubs his beard thoughtfully. "Smoke? Now there's a thought."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, where there's smoke, there's fire! Why not burn their food? Tha' should bring Erik t' the door."

I shake my head admiringly, "I guess it takes someone from the Dark Ages to come up with an idea like that!"

"Aye! I've had my share o' food burned over an open fire! Disgusting. It'll inflame Erik's fine palate. And Erik t' boot!"

Together we go to the kitchen and give the order to Jeanette to burn the food that's taken up to Erik and Laura's room. She yelps out in protest and stares at me, accusingly. "Why would you want me to do such a thing?"

"You see, it's a typical American prank that's played on newly wed couples." I grin at her, realizing the so-called American traditions the French servants have been hearing about these last few days must make them think Americans are completely wacko.

She eyes me suspiciously, but concedes. Marek and I stand by and watch as she carries out our orders. When she begins to remove the burned meat from the pan, Marek says, "No' yet. That needs t' be good and burnt…err…fried!" She frowns, but obeys. Under our scrutiny, the tray is filled with charred pheasant, rolls burned on the bottom, and potatoes fried until black and crisp as pieces of coal.

The maid picks up the tray and looks at the food in horror. But, she stoically does her duty, with Marek and me following her up to the second floor. While everyone else sits down to the perfectly prepared meal in the dining room, we take up our vigil in the corridor outside Erik's suite. Staring at the door, we wait for the moment when he throws it open and roars his displeasure.

The aromas of the pheasant dinner waft up to us, enticingly. My stomach growls, but we don't desert our post. After awhile dinner's finished downstairs, and we're starving up here. We wait for another hour. I run my hand through my hair, wondering. Haven't they noticed the food yet? Could they be _that _preoccupied?

Just then the maid comes up the stairs, walks to the sitting room door and knocks on it. There's no answer, so she goes in to collect the dishes. When she comes out, it's clear the food hasn't been touched.

I ask her, "Did you see anyone?"

"No, sir. As usual, I didn't see the Master or Madame," then she pauses and adds, "but there was something odd."

"What?" We ask in unison.

"The fire was out in the fireplace. That hasn't happened before. And, with it being January, the room is already very cold. Should I send up one of the servants to start the fire again?"

Marek and I look at each other. Instantly we run to the door and don't stop to knock. We rush into the room and sure enough, the fire's out. Marek bravely walks over to the bedroom door and knocks, but takes several judicious steps back. I hold my breath. Either way, it's bad news. If Erik's in there our goose is cooked, burned to a crisp. If he's not, where did they go and how do we explain their disappearance to the servants?

No one answers. Marek knocks again. Silence. He looks at me questioningly. I nod in agreement. We cautiously open the door and peer inside Erik's bedroom. No one's in bed, and the fire has burned down to embers. The lion's den is dark, cold and empty.

* * *

A million thanks to Phanna for her invaluable edits!

**AND…what's next? Erik's POV of the honeymoon!**


	89. Chapter 89

**A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful and enthusiastic reviews! Each one is SO appreciated! A goblet of wine and a pink cupcake to each of you who has posted a review for The Epic Case!**

**And, we are posting this chapter two days early as our Halloween treat for all of you! It is posting just before midnight for the east coast of the US, and about 9pm, west coast! So, here it is the height of the evening for ghosts and goblins! But, this chapter has some of the Halloween spirit about it!**

**Also, we writers have had a pow wow, and based on your responses and caring, we wanted to post as many chapters over the next two holiday months as possible. So, we have decided to post TWO chapters each month. Here is our schedule:**

**November 1, Chapter 89 (Yep, this counts as the first one for November) **

**November 22, Chapter 90**

**December 13, Chapter 91**

**December 22 or 23, Chapter 92—a special Christmas edition!**

**In January we'll return to our every other Sunday schedule!**

Now…back to Jeremy and Marek and their problem! You never know where a wild phantom chase will take them!!

And…of course, this Halloween has a very special moon…a honey moon!!

**

* * *

****Chapter 89 HONEY MOON by KFC, Phanfan and Phanna **

_Tuesday, January 30, 1872_

_Marek's POV:_

"Damn! There's no smoke!" Jeremy curses as we ride side by side toward the cottage.

I second his sentiment with a few more graphic ones of my own as we streak past the smokeless chimney and whirl to a stop in the yard. The cottage windows are dark, but we bust through the door anyway to verify what we already know. Erik and Laura aren't here.

Spinning on his heel, Jeremy leaves the doorslamming to me and gets right back on his horse, spewing his thoughts out loud. "So the bad feeling that's been lodged in my gut for the past few days was more than just an urge to give Laura her million dollars as soon as possible. Damn it, Erik. You do give me hell."

"All right, where did he go?" I growl, heaving myself back on my horse. "You think he's got a love nest in one of the chateau attics? Or maybe he found some other secret room underground."

Jeremy squints hard into the sun's glare. "No, I don't think so."

"Well where else? He canno' have gotten off the premises can he?"

"I would _not_ put it past him."

"What? Haul Laura off on horseback in broad daylight? Laura's not in any condition t' do that."

"Damn it, Erik." Jeremy turns his horse and heads back toward the château. As we make a beeline for the mansion, we spot a carriage coming up the drive way.

"Who's that?" I call out to Jeremy.

"It's Antoinette coming back from shopping in Paris."

"Really?" Connections begin exploding like fireworks in my brain. "So _that's_ how he did it!"

"Hell yes!" Jeremy spits back.

"You had someone guardin' outside Erik's door all the time, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"But the hidden stairwell goes from Erik's sittin' room up t' your room on the third floor, doesn't it?"

"Yes! I have that room because I'm his bodyguard and it gives me quick access to him, if need be. And, it's clear he went up the back way to put the tray with the food from his lunch and the note in my room." He shakes his head in exasperation as he continues, "Then he no doubt took Laura down the stairwell and out through the underground passageway to the cottage. All Antoinette had to do was have the carriage stop in the woods on the far side to pick them up."

We overtake the carriage and are on the ground next to it as the wheels roll to a stop in front of the château. Jeremy waves the footmen aside and opens the door of the carriage

He smiles broadly as he reaches up to assist Antoinette. "How was your shopping?"

She beams back. "Very good!"

Keeping his smile plastered on his fact, Jeremy asks without missing a beat, "And where did you take Erik and Laura?"

Her startled gasp tells all. As she steps down, she returns his accusatory stare with a look of determination.

"Just tell us where they are," Jeremy says sternly but calmly. "We're not going to bother them, but we need to know they're safe."

She glares silently at him. Obviously, she knows better than to feign innocence with Jeremy, but she's not about to give anything away. "Erik assured me they will be safe," she answers coolly.

"Erik is drunk with love and forgets that disaster followed a party on New Year's Eve. After what happened that night, I can't guarantee the threat is completely eliminated."

"I am quite certain they will go unnoticed and remain safe." Antoinette is resolute. "Anyway, they will be back by Monday. It would take you longer than that to find them."

"I will find them, with or without your help," Jeremy insists. "But if you care for their safety, you'll help me make short work of it."

She stares back in stony silence as if considering Jeremy's words. Finally she ends the conversation, "We are sworn to secrecy, Monsieur." Then taking Meg by the arm, she goes inside the château, her shoulders thrust back stubbornly. Nope. We're not gonna get anything out of her.

As Louis begins to drive off with the carriage, Jeremy stops him. "Tell me where you left the Monsieur and Madame, or you'll be out of a job 'til he returns."

The driver's eyes are challenging as he meets Jeremy's questioning gaze. "The Monsieur said my position here is ended forever if I breathe even a word. But he did not have to threaten that." Defiantly, he continues, "One Frenchman will not betray another Frenchman. Especially under these circumstances."

Jeremy looks sternly in the direction of Paris. "Fine, Erik. Have it your way," he hisses under his breath, then raises his voice. "Louis, get this carriage hitched up to a fresh pair of horses. Then get one of the other men to drive it back into Paris." Jeremy asks me to search every inch of the carriage for clues, while he goes after Matt and Russ.

I inspect the carriage thoroughly, but find not a thing that will help us. When Jeremy arrives at the stables, trailed by Russ, Matt, Linc and Ace, he gathers us into a huddle to inform us of his plan. "Joe's staying here to see what he can glean from Madame Giry." He hands a fistful of bills to the other four men and gives his orders. "I want you to go into Paris in the carriage and have the driver drop each of you off at every ritzy hotel. Pose as tourists arriving from the train station in need of a room. When you sign the register, take a good hard look at the signatures in the registration book. If Erik and Laura are there, they won't have signed in under Mercier, but we've got to cover this base anyway. Anything that strikes you as a possible lead or connection, make note of it, follow it, do whatever you think best, then we'll all meet at the Place de la Concorde at ten tonight. Meanwhile, Marek and I will go on horseback and find Blakeney and St. Just. Perhaps they can help us. But remember, our sole objective is to locate Erik and Laura and provide protection. If we find out where they are, we'll remain covert and make no intrusions on their privacy. Understood?"

"Right," Russ agrees, then the four men heft themselves into the carriage, and Henri drives them away at a smart pace. Jeremy and I mount our horses and take off across the clearing, directly toward the city. The winter sun is setting as we ride, and by the time we reach the city's edge, streets lamps are alight. Instead of going to St. Just's château, we decide to follow the first address Blakeney left with us when we were introduced. The note he left with his contact info and Pimpernel seal. But Jeremy and I find ourselves deep in the Parisian slums by the time we reach the address. Scanning the street warily, he knocks at the entrance to the dwelling. An old woman with a hooked nose and wart on the end, opens the battered wooden door and peers out cautiously. Hunched shoulders covered in an old, tattered shawl, she reminds me of something ancient and eerie as she peers up at us suspiciously.

"Good evening, Madame," Jeremy says, extending his hand with the note bearing address and the Pimpernel's seal.

The woman scrutinizes him closely in the dim light coming from inside the doorway, then examines the paper in his hand. "One moment," she says and disappears inside the house.

We wait in the shadows, listening to barking dogs and street urchins calling to each other across the street. Finally the door opens again, and the woman pokes her wrinkled face out. "You may come in," she whispers, opening the door wider and stepping aside. Jeremy and I stoop through the doorway into a cave-like room with a low ceiling and several rough hewn tables between us and a stone fireplace. Scattered around the room are an odd assortment of beggars and ruffians, richly clad carriage drivers, and surprisingly, some noblemen. _A motley crew_, is my first thought, though I know they must be a highly ordered and well-organized League. I scan the group for Blakeney or any of his companions…those "amigos"….but am at a loss to recognize any of them. I glance at Jeremy whose gaze has settled on a cloaked man in the corner. A hood shadows his eyes, and he's contentedly smoking a pipe. I wait for Jeremy to make the first move toward _someone_, when the man in the corner pulls the hood from his head, and shakes out his long overgrown locks. The edges of his mouth curl up around the pipe as he smiles. "What brings you to the Parisian slums on such a beautiful moonlit night?"

"A matter of some urgency," Jeremy answers, without hesitation. "May we have a word with you in private?"

Blakeney eyes us quizzically, then nods, taking the pipe from his mouth. We follow him up the most rickety and tiny stairwell into a dim room with even creakier floorboards. Light from the kitchen below actually seeps up through the cracks. There are clothes everywhere, strewn across the bed and over the furniture, bulging from trunks and bureau drawers, and stuffed into an open wardrobe. Clothes of all sorts and a stunning variety of wigs and hats. _Their costumes, _I suddenly realize. Percy walks to a nearby window and leans against the frame. Then he takes another draught on the pipe. "How can I help you, Monsieurs?"

Jeremy cuts right to the chase, "We've lost track of Monsieur and Madame Mercier."

Percy's eyebrow raises in curiosity, "You've misplaced them?" He adds a droll smirk.

"We believe they stole away to Paris," Jeremy explains with a testy edge to his voice.

"That seems a rather expected thing to do on a honeymoon." Percy isn't making this easy at all.

"But, you were there when they were attacked on New Year's. We believe they may still be in danger from those who were behind that attack. Until we can track them down, we feel Erik and Laura are at risk and unprotected. We haven't been in France long enough to develop many contacts in Paris. Would you help?"

Percy listens with keen interest, then takes the pipe from his mouth and lifts an eyebrow in question. "How did they escape?"

"Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg, were the accomplices. They stowed them in the carriage on the pretext they were going to Paris for shopping."

"You didn't anticipate this?" He quips.

"I might have, Monsieur, if Madame Mercier had not been so ill."

"Ah, yes." He brims with amusement. "With the delicate condition she is in, one would not expect travel plans."

This causes me to bristle. How in the hell does he know about Laura's pregnancy? I can tell this also strikes Jeremy as suspicious.

Percy's eyes spark playfully. "Madame Giry's charming daughter is clever, but a little too honest to tell a compelling story. Her attempts to cover the belated wedding ceremony were valiant but a bit transparent to me. Perhaps a few lessons in the fine art of deception would be in order if she plans to stay on with you?"

Stay on? Suddenly I'm thinking the sooner Meg goes back to her dance tour, the better.

"But it's quite possible we can help you find your missing couple, Monsieurs," he resumes a serious tone. "And yes, you have reason to be cautious. While a good many scoundrels were eliminated last New Year's Eve, I fear a few may yet remain. I've just recently got wind of another American or two, popping up in rumors surrounding 'Herr Gunter' and his friends and associates."

_Bloody hell,_ nearly escapes my lips, but I stifle it. _More Americans in Paris?_ _Are we dealing with men who've been here since before the New Year, or have STARLab's security measures been totally breached?_ Jeremy eyes me gravely as we follow Percy back down the creaky stairs. Now that we've secured his help, I've no doubt I'll be heading back to the château tonight for an emergency chat with STARLab and the Program. But is everything the Lab has done to counteract this just too damn late? The thought strikes me cold. _God help us if the PTB obtained the technology during the breach and are operating it on their own. _

_Erik's POV: _

With only a brief glance to scan my surroundings, I swiftly close the door behind me. Heavy draperies cover the tall windows, effectively blocking the late afternoon light from entering. As I move farther into the room, my footsteps are muffled by the thick Aubusson carpet under foot. The faint odor of lemon lingers in the air, indicating recent activity in this room. My hand reaches to unclasp my cape, but freezes when I hear voices in the adjoining room. Long moments pass before a door closes as someone leaves. I move cautiously into place, awaiting my unsuspecting prey.

The thick door to my left conceals me as it opens inwardly causing light to spill across the carpet. Taking two quick steps, I grab and rotate the figure toward me, using my cape to entangle the struggling form. A small scream rings out an instant before I am able to quell it. Then, the body falls limp against me.

As my arms hold my prey tighter, my lips make their demand. The body trembles against me in reaction. Unexpectedly, I realize she is not trembling from passion, though she should be from the searing kiss I just bestowed upon her. When I pull away and glare down, Laura is shaking with laughter. "You almost scared me to death! When I said goodbye to Antoinette, and she got into the carriage, I turned around and you'd disappeared. Where did you go?"

"Well, an ugly man with a mask would be very noticeable walking through the hotel lobby with a stunningly beautiful woman on his arm. That would also make it very easy for Jeremy to find us. So, I thought it best not to be seen coming to our suite!"

"How did you do it?"

Feigning indignation, I reply, "I cannot tell you everything, Madame Mercier. A phantom, after all, must have some secrets."

She laughs again and slides her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a lingering kiss. Then she looks up adoringly into my eyes and says, "And you are not ugly!"

"When I am with you, I almost believe that."

My hands follow the contours of her body, and I begin to loosen the multitude of hooks down the back of her traveling dress. She opens my waistcoat and unbuttons my shirt, running her hands across my chest, causing me to groan in pleasure. Resting her cheek over my heart, she whispers, "I never want our honeymoon to end."

"My love, you may kill me with all of your demands." With a chuckle, I confess, "But I will die a happy man."

With that impish smile on her lips, her dark eyes narrow and soften, "I demand you carry me to the bed and make love to me." Her mouth and tongue form small kisses across my chest as she trails her way downward. By the time I lift her into my arms and carry her to the bed, I am senseless with longing and passion. And eager to fulfill her demands.

Cuddling together afterwards in the sumptuous bedroom of our suite, we decide to order dinner served in our sitting room. I am pleased Antoinette decided to make our reservations at the Hotel de Crillon. Often, I had overheard noblemen at the opera house speak about this 18th century palace turned hotel which is famed for its luxury, as its restaurant is renowned for the finest cuisine. Nonetheless, I have one concern. The Hotel de Crillon is located in the center of Paris, near the Place de la Concorde, and not far from the opera house. I do not want anyone, Jeremy in particular, to find us.

Reluctantly leaving the bed in search of a menu, I throw a few logs on the fire and wander into the sitting room. I scan the ornately decorated room with its silk upholstery, velvet curtains tied back with exotic tassels, and elegant gold gilt furniture, finally locating the menu lying on top of the mahogany desk. Fishing an apple from the basket nearby, I take a bite and read aloud while walking back to the bedroom. We decide on a light repast of cold chicken and soufflé, so I use the bell pull to call the waiter and place our order. I make certain an extra teapot with plain hot water is included.

We asked Danielle to prepare a canister of her herbal tea which Laura has been taking for morning sickness. Needing to take some with her meal, Laura goes to the Louis Phillipe armoire and takes her satchel from the shelf under the hanging clothes. She abruptly stops, her hair disheveled from rubbing against the hems of the dresses and asks, "Do you think they've realized we're gone yet?"

My words escape a little too abruptly. "It does not matter if they know or not. I gave explicit instructions to Antoinette that she was not to reveal where we are unless it is a life or death situation." Coming up behind her as she looks through satchel for the canister, I comb and smooth her hair with my fingers, luxuriating in the gentle scent of lavender which floats up. With a distinctly annoyed edge to my voice, I add, "Jeremy was lucky I did not use my punjab lasso on him yesterday!"

Laura bubbles with laughter. "Wish I could've seen his face when you went to the door. What's so important he couldn't wait to tell me?"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until we get back next Monday. Until then, nothing and no one else exists."

When dinner arrives, Laura directs the waiters to serve it on a table in the sitting room next to the glowing fire. It smells delectable, and suddenly I'm ravenous. Food has not been a high priority these last couple days. Neither of us has eaten since noon other than the apple we shared, and it is past eight. I pull out Laura's chair for her to be seated, bending over to kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear. She reaches her hand up and pulls me over to her mouth for a luscious kiss. For a few minutes we eat in silence. Although I eat heartily, I notice Laura merely picks at her food. Instantly I become concerned. "Are you feeling ill again?"

"No. But I don't want to eat too much at once. I hate throwing up." We certainly agree on that. I do not like her throwing up, either. Even though I try to help her through those episodes, I admit it is hard to contain my own stomach at times. Suddenly my appetite is gone. The very thought makes me push my plate back.

Laura notices, but just smiles. Thankfully, she changes the subject. "So, how on earth did you arrange all of this without me knowing?"

"Well, I gave Antoinette a list of instructions, and she made the arrangements on her trip to Paris a few days before the wedding. She even helped me pack two trunks of your clothing one afternoon while you were busy downstairs going over the wedding menus with the chef." I smile over at her. "She brought the trunks to the Hotel the day she went into Paris, and reserved this room for the entire week so everything would be ready whenever we arrived."

She blinks in astonishment. "I had no idea."

"It was meant to be a surprise. But I feared we may have to cancel when you became so ill on our wedding day. Mercifully, Danielle was able to help." I sweep my arms around, indicating the suite of rooms. "And, voilá, here we are."

Her hips sway seductively as she gets up from her chair and walks toward me. Then the little minx sits her enticing derrière on my lap, leans forward and kisses my scarred cheek. "I'm so lucky to have married such a clever man." I am basking in her glowing praise and warm body, when she breathes into my ear, "I'm about to make another demand."

"Your wish is but my command." I carry her to our bed, and we sink into the rich velvet of the down comforter, satisfying our other hunger which seems unending, unquenchable.

The following morning small white clouds punctuate a crystal blue sky. Despite the winter chill in the air, the sun does its best to warm us while we eat breakfast on the terrace. Laura insisted on eating outside, but I notice she sips her hot tea and pulls the shawl tighter around her shoulders. The tea is quite effective most of the time. However, her stomach remains sensitive in the mornings. On the trip from the château, the swaying of the coach required us to stop twice along the road. In haste, I had helped her out and held her while she emptied her stomach. The second occasion, I turned away and was sick as well. When we returned to the carriage, I caught Antoinette glance knowingly over at Meg, as she tactfully suppressed a smile. Then Antoinette kindly handed us both a damp cloth and drink of water without comment. Mercifully, we continued our journey into Paris with no further interruptions.

Leaving my spot at the edge of the terrace, I pull my chair close to Laura. Pealing a napkin back from the basket, I select a croissant still warm from the kitchen. Using my knife, I liberally spread strawberry jam over one end. As I bring it toward my mouth to take a bite, I catch Laura looking at me with a smile lighting her eyes. "What?"

"It seems you've developed quite a sweet tooth for strawberry jam."

I reply with mock sternness. "Perhaps it is a result from nearly starving to death a few weeks ago. It was the only contraband you were able to sneak in to me, if you recall."

She chuckles. "From now on, I'll make sure we always have it on hand so you don't starve again."

As we talk, I unfold the newspaper and browse through the pages. "Do you want to see any of the sights in Paris while we are here?"

"Hmmm, actually I'm content to just spend the next few days with you…alone. Once we get back to the château it'll be hard to find this much peace and quiet."

It is my turn to chuckle. "Quite true. Jeremy was rather adamant about interrupting us." As I continue to scan the pages, I notice an advertisement for an affair we might enjoy. "There is a special event on Saturday evening, a masquerade. Indeed, there will be two functions, both requiring costumes, first at the opera, then at a masquerade party held in the ballroom of our hotel. Would you like to attend?"

"_A masked ball?_ Good grief, Erik!" Her eyes widen in horror. "Don't you remember the last time we went to one?"

"Certainly, I do. But no one knows we are in Paris."

"We don't have any of the bodyguards with us!"

"Which is most fortuitous. No one will be interested in us since we would not be surrounded by an entourage. We would be two people in love in the City of Light!"

Laura hesitates, thinking. Finally she raises another objection. "Neither of us have costumes."

"That is easily solved. The premier designer of clothing for the wealthy women of Paris is renowned that for a price he will design a dress one day and deliver it the next. I am certain Éduardo can create a costume for me as well. He can take our measurements and our order here in the suite. Our costumes will be ready by Saturday."

"For a price? Sounds expensive."

"Most likely, but you are worth any price, Madame Mercier." I push my chair away from the table and encourage her to sit in my lap. When she obliges, I run kisses along her jaw. "I will make the arrangements if you agree." Making my way to her small ear, I whisper, "Will you go with me?"

Sighing, she gives in. "Okay, we'll go."

For several minutes we sit with our arms wrapped around each other, exploring. Then I feel her shiver with cold. Cradling her in my arms, I lift her and carry her to the bedroom. But instead of walking to the bed, I stop in front a large brass tub, filled with steaming water.

She glances up at me. "How did you manage this?"

"A phantom…"

Laura finishes, "…must have some secrets."

We both laugh as I set her on her feet in front of me. I untie her morning robe and remove it. She is not wearing a gown, and the morning sun coming through the window turns her skin into golden honey. I run my hands over her body, savoring the softness and admiring the blush which pinkens her skin whenever I observe her so intimately. My hand lingers over her breast, and I can see the pulse at the base of her neck echoing the rhythm of her heart beneath my touch.

Untying my robe, I toss it aside. I step into the tub, sit down in the hot water and motion for Laura to join me. She does not hesitate and sits facing me, our knees not quite covered with water. The water laps at Laura's breasts which are already becoming larger with carrying our child. Tenderly, we bathe each other, luxuriating in the scented water, then dry off with the thick towels warmed by the fire. Instead of dressing, we again return to the bed and glory in the sublime sensations of joining not only our bodies but our lives and our souls. Then, pulling Laura close to me, we fall asleep in each other's arms, oblivious to the time of day or whether anyone else shares this planet.

When I awaken, Laura is curled against me, her head resting on my shoulder, black hair spread over my arm. As I study her, my heart pounds with joy. It seems the impossible _is _possible. I have Laura, now my wife, by my side and a child soon to be born.

A child. _Our_ child. From the love Laura and I share. I reflect on where I was this time last year and where I am now. All that has happened in my life has led me down this path to today, to this moment. I place my hand on the soft curve of her belly where our child will grow in the months ahead, marveling at the miracle we have created.

I let my imagination stray as I wonder whether we will have a son or daughter. A daughter who will look like Laura with dark expressive eyes and black hair inherited from both parents. Or a son who…. Suddenly the reality of being a parent descends upon me. How can I possibly do this? I know nothing about raising a child. What will I do if…

"You look so serious. What are you thinking?" Laura's voice intrudes into my thoughts.

Glancing down at her tumbled hair and sleepy expression, I grin. "I was thinking about how unprepared I am for being a parent."

She cups my cheek with a hand. "You will make an extraordinary father, Erik, like everything else you do."

"I want to be," my voice sounds as uncertain as I feel, "but…"

"You will be. Besides, we'll do this together. Nice thing about babies is they don't know if you make mistakes or not." She smiles up reassuringly at me. "As I told you, no matter what happens, our child will be wanted and loved."

We spend the rest of the day in our suite, ordering food to be delivered when we are hungry. In the early afternoon, I dress sufficiently to meet with the concierge when he comes to our suite. I request that he arrange an appointment with the designer for our costumes. Laura is sitting at a vanity brushing her hair when I return to our bedroom. "I asked for the designer to come on Thursday afternoon for a consultation and fitting."

Laura pauses, the brush in midair. "Tomorrow? But the masquerade is on Saturday! Are you sure he can make the costumes so quickly?"

"When I expressed that concern, the concierge assured me Éduardo has a fine reputation and never disappoints." I take the brush from her hand and leisurely begin to pull it through her silken hair. In the short time she has been here, it has grown considerably. Her maid keeps it swept up in the fashion of the day, but when we are alone I like to see it fall around her face and shoulders as she wore it in the future.

"Mmmm, that feels good."

I slide my hand downward and inside her robe. "There are other things that feel good."

"Erik, I'm trying to get dressed sometime today." She laughs up at me in the mirror.

"In the Kama Sutra it says,_ 'Love does not care for time or order.'_ "

"_The_ Kama Sutra? The book with all the pictures of the different, uh, positions?" Her cheeks flush.

Managing to keep a straight face, I reply, "Yes, I suppose we are talking about the same book. But it also contains many wise passages which a wife should learn."

She looks at me warily. "Such as?"

"Let me see." I pause as if to consider a passage before continuing, trying to remember some of the more outlandish ones. _"A virtuous woman, who has affection for her husband, should act in conformity with his wishes as if he were a divine being…"_

She protests with mock indignation. "A divine being?"

"Yes, indeed! And there is another very insightful entreaty. _'From__ the very beginning, a wife should endeavor to attract the heart of her husband, by showing to him continually her devotion, her good temper, and her wisdom.'" _I stop and tilt my head, pretending to recall another. _"_Also it says_ '…__she should always sit down after him, and get up before him, and should never awaken him when he is asleep.'"_

"I thought it was mostly a book of pictures." Standing up, Laura turns around, laughing. "Does it really say that?"

"It most certainly does." I take her in my arms. "But there are more _intimate_ passages I would like to read to you." I cannot contain a devilish grin, as I add, "By happenstance, I have the book with me. Did you know there are four kinds of embraces?"

She breaks into a seductive smile and reaches up, touching my lips with her fingertips. "Will you teach them to me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Madame Mercier."

"And…" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "Show me the pictures?"

* * *

By the way…you may enjoy Googling the Hotel de Crillon. It is still a world-class hotel! Check out its gorgeous façade, as well as sumptuous rooms!


	90. Chapter 90

**A/N: We so appreciate the wonderful, thoughtful reviews you have posted! Pink cupcakes and Chablis to each of you!! And, if you haven't posted a comment or review…please take a minute and do that! We love to hear from you!**

**We are posting on schedule as promised! For all our readers who are celebrating Thanksgiving this week, we wish you a wonderful holiday! **

Erik and Laura are having a passionate honeymoon of their own choosing. Now for a special night out, Erik has made plans. Lots of plans to do with operas and bal masques. Erik, the Phantom, is back in his element.

**

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****Chapter 90 A Night at the Opera, by Phanfan, Phanna and KFC **

_Saturday, February 3, 1872_

_Erik's POV:_

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Erik? I don't have a good feeling about tonight."

"All will be fine, Laura." I watch as she picks at one of the folds in her costume, worrying the threads. She has been uneasy all afternoon. I pull her into my lap and turn her face upwards. "Please do not fret. After all, I _am_ the Phantom, and we are going to _my _opera house."

Her eyes go wide and just as her mouth opens to reply, I place my lips over hers and enjoy a deep, delectable kiss. When our lips part, she says breathlessly, "I just think it would be better if Jeremy were here." I raise an eyebrow in mock disapproval. She laughs at my expression. "I didn't mean I _wanted _him here." I cock my head and gaze down at her with my best phantomish glower. Flustered, she tries to explain, "I meant as a bodyguard." When she sees my lips twitch in amusement, she realizes I knew exactly what she meant.

"I have purchased the best box in the house, and there would not be any room for Jeremy." I smile deviously. "After all, Box Five is very intimate and seats only two."

Laura gasps. "Box Five? _The _Box Five?"

Putting on my most innocent façade, I reply, "Of course, there is only _one_ Box Five."

She shrieks, "But, Erik, isn't that exactly where they'll be looking for you?"

I place my hand quickly over her mouth and smirk. "Indeed! I am counting on it."

Her eyes go wide again, but my hand somewhat muffles her reaction. "What are you doing?"

Keeping my hand firmly over her mouth, I reply, "Trust me, my love, I know exactly what I am doing." Teasing, I ask, "May I take my hand away now?"

She nods. As soon as my hand is lifted, she says, "But…" So, I kiss her endlessly until we arrive at the opera house. It appears to be the most satisfactory way to silence her.

When we arrive, I release her to depart the coach, realizing I have discovered a husbandly way to win an argument. Standing in front of the Opera Populaire, I gaze at its ornate facade in anticipation. I have been wanting to revisit my opera ever since returning from the future. It is just as I remembered. I am thankful the fire did not reach beyond the stage.

We enter anonymously, joining other excited opera goers and remove our capes. I wave away the cloak attendant when he tries to take them and instead carry both Laura's and mine on my arm. Spotting the flower booth, I escort Laura over. Although there is an array of exotic flowers, I bypass the orchids. Laura dares not wear one because Jeremy would connect it with me. Instead I select a corsage with delicate pink roses and tie it on her wrist, adding a tender kiss to her fingertips.

When I pay the flower woman, I quickly select a single red rose. Keeping my back to Laura so she cannot see, I slip it into my waistcoat. I suspect I may need this later.

As we take in the colorful, elaborate costumes and bedazzling jewels of the nobility, I cannot help but admire my beautiful wife in her high-waisted Empire gown. The bodice is deliciously low cut with elegantly draped organza accenting her luscious décolleté, and her mask, gloves and gown are virginal shades of pink. Soft ringlets of hair delicately frame her face. Our blonde wigs are so natural they appear to be our real hair, as I had intended.

As for me, I am quite comfortable in my black suit, which is cut in the same Empire style. My jacket sports the characteristically high collar which curves around and conveniently hides my lower face. Combined with the full mask, I am quite certain our disguises will be effective in concealing our identities.

Laura leans over and nervously whispers, "Shouldn't we be going to our box?"

"It is too early." I smile down at her. "We need to socialize with these lovely people."

Laura regards me with surprise. When she starts to say something, I raise a finger and place it gently on her lips. "Trust me."

She tips her head in resignation.

Scouting, I take in the many gaily chatting people, all anxiously anticipating the night's revelries. Finally I spot my prey and guide Laura in their direction. As we get closer, I confirm they are similar in build to Laura and me. Approaching them, I call out amiably, "Ah, my friend! It has been a long time! How have you been?"

The man smiles tentatively and bows formally when we stop next to him and his lovely companion. "Excellent! Let me introduce you to Mademoiselle LaRouche, my fiancée."

I can tell from the way he studies me, he is trying to divine who I am, but is too embarrassed to ask openly. Laura's eyes meet mine, letting me know she thinks I have taken leave of my senses. "And, let me introduce you to my fiancée, Mademoiselle Cooper, recently arrived from America." He bows formally, desperately trying to ascertain my identity, which I have no intention of divulging.

After we have chatted amiably for several minutes, I lean over and speak to him under my breath. "I have a favor to ask of you, my friend. My fiancée has an exceedingly superstitious nature. Her foolish maid told her today about that madman, the Phantom of the Opera and has her quite spooked out of her mind."

"Why is she so concerned?" He glances over at Laura, adding, "What has she to be afraid of?"

"You see, I have purchased Box Five, not realizing her maid told Mademoiselle Cooper that is the infamous box he often used. The very thought of encountering the Phantom has my fiancée nearly swooning." I chuckle to myself. At least that is not entirely untruthful.

The man clicks his tongue in sympathy. "Oh, yes, I can certainly understand why she would feel that way. But in what manner can I possibly help you?"

"I trust you have a box for this evening's performance."

"Of course."

"Will you be so considerate as to swap the tickets with us so my dear fiancée will not have to sit in the box of that notorious madman?"

"Isn't Box Five in the second tier next to the stage? It's the best box in the house!"

"Indeed."

"But we have Box Thirty-three at the back of the theater in the third tier."

"I am quite familiar with this theater. That box still has an excellent view and is sufficiently removed from Box Five to put my delicate fiancée at ease. But this is on the condition that we exchange the tickets secretly, and you agree not to speak of this to anyone. I would not want to embarrass her or for gossip to spread."

The man peers over at Laura and breaks into a broad grin. "Certainly, _my friend_. I would be most pleased to do you this favor, and rest assured, my lips are sealed."

I look over the heads of the crowded lobby, toward the entrance. Speaking in a loud, authoritative voice, I announce, "Is that not Carlotta arriving?"

While all around us are craning their necks to get a glimpse of the flamboyant diva, I quickly exchange the tickets with the man. When Carlotta does not make an appearance, the excitement turns quickly into disappointed murmurs. I shrug my shoulders and say, "Perhaps I was mistaken."

I place Laura's hand on my arm and smile down at her. "Now it is time to go to our box." With a final bow to our newly minted friends, we take our leave. As I guide Laura toward the grand staircase, she gazes up at me with intense curiosity. When we continue up to the third floor, she can no longer hold back her questions. "Where are we going? As I recall Box Five is on the second level."

"You are correct. But our _new _box is on the third level. _My friend_ was kind enough to switch boxes with us. "

She blinks. "He asked to switch boxes?"

"Well, it might have been my idea. After all, my fiancée expressed great alarm at occupying the Phantom's box."

"So _that's_ what you were whispering to him."

I smile smugly. "I had to tell him something to encourage him to swap tickets."

Laura breaks out laughing. "You're incorrigible!"

"Perhaps!" I lift her hand and kiss it. "But I trust that marriage will improve me."

Although the box is at the back of the opera house, it is in the center, with a fine view of the stage. I seat Laura at the front of the box and position my chair slightly behind her. Anyone looking up from the main floor will think she is the sole occupant of the box.

The curtain goes up almost as soon as we are seated. Laura gasps and whispers next to my ear, "I have been to several operas before, but Erik, this is so magical. All the colors seem to glow from the gas lights."

Watching over her shoulder, I soak in the magnificent sights and sounds of the opera, recognizing how much I have missed it. My passion for the spectacle unfolding on stage is heightened even more by Laura's presence beside me. I move closer to her and breathe in the sweet fragrance of her hair. I am so caught up in this exhilarating experience, I am disappointed that intermission arrives too soon.

When the curtain closes, and the house lights go up, Laura excitedly talks about the performance while I survey the audience and boxes looking for familiar faces. I spot three men rising from their seats on the main floor. Jeremy, Russ and Joe, being tall, muscled Americans, stand out distinctly in a crowd. They scrutinize the boxes, particularly Box Five. As Jeremy talks to the others, I lean back into the shadows and watch. They soon leave down the aisle toward the lobby.

"Laura, would you like to go to the ladies' powder room?"

"Yes, I would."

When we reach the powder room for the third tier, I tell her to remain inside until she sees I have returned. She eyes me suspiciously. "What are you up to now, Erik?"

I whisper in her ear, "The Opera Ghost needs to roam." Before she can say another word, I disappear into the crowd.

_Jeremy's POV:_

"Do I really have to sit through this opera, Jeremy?" Joe runs his hand through his hair, anxiety etched in every wrinkle of his forehead. "I know Matt had to return to the château to set the servant's broken arm, but why didn't you send for Ty or Ace?"

"The other men haven't been around Erik and Laura enough. They'd have a hard time recognizing them. Besides," I slap him on the back, "maybe you'll enjoy it."

"Right!" Joe sits down, grumbling to himself about divas and arias. I sympathize with him. This isn't my idea of fun, either. But I'm betting Erik can't resist bringing Laura here tonight, especially since they can easily blend into the costumed audience. Waiting for the curtain, my head lolls down, and I almost fall asleep. Joe stabs me with his elbow and says with vicious pleasure, "Don't you dare go to sleep. If I have to watch this, so do you."

I give him an Erik sneer and rub my eyes, trying to stay awake. This has been one long, sleepless week. After several days of roaming Paris and sleeping in shifts at Percy's slum house, we finally got a break on Friday morning. A maid at the Hotel de Crillon is on the friendly side of one of Percy's "helpers." She told him that one of the finest suites had a couple who had not left their room for days. Apparently few of the staff had even laid eyes on this mysterious couple who ordered the finest cuisine and requested services through 'notes' left on the desk in their sitting room.

I rented a small room at the hotel. Considering how pricey the rooms are, we couldn't afford more than that. So, Russ, Joe and I have been sleeping there in shifts. We've kept vigil over the suspected suite, but for all we know, it could be empty since Erik and Laura never showed their faces. The only evidence we have anyone's there are the meals delivered to the room, and the occasional maid going in to take care of her duties.

The other clue got dropped into our laps Friday afternoon. The hotel concierge brought a couple large boxes and two round hat boxes to the room, knocked and entered. When he came out we waylaid him and tried to pump him for information. Despite our best attempts at 'persuasion,' he remained true to his calling and wouldn't spill any beans. But, the hat boxes were the tipoff. I'd heard about the Opera Populaire's reopening, and that it would be a costume gala. Putting two and two together, that meant Erik and Laura were going to the opera.

I immediately jaunted over to the opera's box office and tried to purchase Box 5. Just as I thought. It had already been sold. I chatted with the ticket salesman, fishing for information. With a lowered voice, he confided the box was not only one of the finest in the house, but infamous for being the Phantom's. He whistled as he informed me it was so extravagantly priced, it had not sold until the day before when the concierge at the Hotel de Crillon bought it for some wealthy guest. Bingo! It had to be Erik. I bought our tickets and tipped him generously.

Despite our standing watch over the door of the suite, we never saw Erik and Laura leave this evening to come to the opera. Percy and his men were surrounding the hotel, and they didn't spot them either. I wonder if they changed their minds and didn't come. Suddenly I see movement in Box 5 for the first time. A couple is settling into the seats, with the woman in front and the man sitting slightly behind. I only get a brief glimpse before they sit down, but they both have dark hair and appear to be similar in build to Erik and Laura. I don't have time to go to the back row where Percy is sitting and ask him to send his men, who are positioned throughout the opera, to check out the couple. Damn! It'll have to wait until intermission.

Opera music isn't my cup of tea, but fortunately I have other things to occupy myself. I keep looking over at Box 5 and studying the couple, hoping to verify it's Erik and Laura. I also watch to make sure they don't do a disappearing act on us. But the light is dim in the theater, and it's hard to see any detail. When the lights get brighter at the beginning of the intermission, we scan the crowd, just in case Erik and Laura are elsewhere. Then the couple in Box Five stand and leave. We quickly join Percy and let him know our suspects are on the move, so he sends several of his men to scout around. Russ and Joe also take off in different directions. I move inconspicuously through the crowd, studying all the tall men, but there's no sign of the couple or anyone else who could pass for Erik. Percy and his men have no luck either by the time the second act is about to start.

As we reach our seats, the house lights begin to dim, so I almost don't see it before I sit down. Holding back a mouthful of expletives, I pivot in all directions, trying to spot Erik, but he's nowhere in sight. Damn! I glare down at the red rose lying across the velvet seat and pick it up. The good news is, Erik's in the building. The bad news is, he knows I'm trailing him. The really bad news is…I have to sit through the rest of this Opera.

Russ is staring up at Box 5. "I'm not convinced it's them." He turns to Joe. "Are you?"

"I don't know. It's just too damn hard to see clearly. He's got Erik's height and build, and she's about the right size. But I have to admit, his movements don't strike me as particularly like Erik's. I only got a decent look at him for a few seconds."

"I agree." Russ sits down. "I watched the woman and couldn't tell if it was Laura."

"We're gonna have to get a closer look during the next intermission," I mutter. When the music begins and the ballerinas flit across the stage, I take another quick look around the theater and catch Joe's expression. My mouth falls open in disbelief. _He's actually enjoying the opera!_ Go Figure. As I fidget with the rose, the thorns keep piercing my fingers. Just like the soprano's voice which climbs to shriller and higher pitches than I thought were possible. When it seems we have neared the end of her solo for about the fifth time, I brace myself, digging my fingers into the arm of the chair as her voice finally reaches the stratosphere, threatening to shatter the glass in the chandelier over our heads. I glance up at the crystal fixture, suddenly feeling a bit phantomish as I consider the benefits of bringing it down.

The second intermission brings welcome quiet. This time we finally get close enough to the couple to determine it's not Erik and Laura. Which puts us back to square one. They're here…but where? Percy and his men diligently help us scour every corner, but we don't have any better luck tracking Erik down than before. Finally we have to return to our seats for the final act. Thunderous clapping erupts as the first song begins, but my ears and nerves have had all the shrill singing they can take. _Oh for some good old Bon Jovi or Bruce Springsteen right now. _

_Erik's POV:_

"I didn't know there was a ballet in the middle of the opera.'" Laura stares, transfixed, at the floating dancers below.

"The Paris opera always has a ballet piece in the second act of operas." I grin knowingly. "It is tradition. The male patrons insist on it."

Laura gives me an impish smile. "I can understand why. When women have to keep even their ankles covered out of propriety, seeing a woman's legs under a ballet skirt is very daring!"

With my arm resting on her waist, we enjoy the second and third acts of the opera. At the beginning of the second intermission, I notice Jeremy and the men again searching for us, so I propose that we not leave the box. The third act is glorious and when the final curtain goes down, the performers receive their well-deserved standing ovation. Even Carlotta was in good voice tonight. We mingle with the milling crowd down the corridor and the grand staircase. When we reach the second level, I spot one of the managers.

"Laura, come this way with me." With my hand at the small of her back, I gently guide her toward him. A horrified look crosses Laura's face when she sees who we are approaching.

"Erik, it's Andre! Let's get out of here."

"Do not worry." I peer down at her and grin. "Sometimes it is good to bump into an old friend."

As I pass Andre in the pressing crowd, my shoulder hits his. "Pardon me, Monsieur." I bend down and appear to pick up something off the floor. I extend my hand toward him, saying, "You must have dropped this note." He seems surprised, but takes the envelope I offer. Hurriedly, I lead Laura down the corridor and just as we are going around the corner, I glance back to see Andre's red face as he splutters, reading the note.

Opening an unobtrusive door used by the box tenders, I usher Laura inside. As I take an oil lamp from the shelf and light it, she asks incredulously, "What was in the note?"

Innocently, I reply, "I merely congratulated him on the reopening of the opera house. Oh, I also mentioned I look forward to enjoying many future performances."

Laura chuckles. "Let me guess. You signed it O.G."

"What else?"

Laura giggles. "It just occurred to me. That makes me Madame O.G., doesn't it?"

Her words remind me it has been almost three hours since we have kissed. I take her in my arms and passionately let her know what it means to be Madame O.G.

We descend down the narrow stairs, and I guide her through seemingly endless, winding passageways. Not wanting her to become alarmed at the cobwebs and reeking corridors, I begin to sing. She focuses on me as I use my voice to comfort her and distract her from the ugliness of the tunnels. Holding her hand, I sing soothingly the entire trek. When we arrive at the underground lake, she breathes out, excited, "So we _are _going to the lair. Just as I suspected."

She settles into the boat, and I use the pole to push away from the landing. Laura is totally unafraid and looks in every direction, studying the walls of the cavern. When we go under the portcullis into the lake around what was once my home, the oil lamp casts only a dim light and shadows. I regret the candelabras are not lit and glowing for her.

When the boat comes to a stop, I hand her out of the boat and lead her to the desk. I pick up the stubs of candles and light them, giving us a better view of what remains of my home. Statues lie on the ground, shattered, and the tapestries, along with everything of value, have been taken. Only the furniture remains. Laura picks up the face of a statue and holds it in her hand, studying it. "This is beautiful, did you make it?"

"Yes."

Laura's eyes sweep over the bleak area I once called home. "I think all of this must have once been very beautiful."

"Yes, my love, it was." I feel sadness and regret she will never see it as it once was. "Had I known there was so much devastation, I would not have brought you here."

Laura reaches her hand out and takes mine. "I am also sorry you had to see it this way, but I don't regret your bringing me here. I needed to see what your world was like."

I step behind her and pull her tightly to me, reaching my arms around her waist. I can feel her heart pounding in her chest as I whisper into her ear, "Would you like me to tell you what it once was?"

"Oh, yes, please."

Holding her in my arms, I whisper, "Close your eyes and imagine. Once there were draped curtains, pulled back with elegant tassels, and rich tapestries covered the stone walls. Tall, standing candelabras of brass held a myriad of brilliantly lit candles which reflected in the water." Then, I describe some of the paintings and sculptures I made with my hands, and the beautiful swan bed with the red, velvet coverlet. Finally, I tell her about the monkey music box which had meant so much to me.

When I have finished, she turns around in my arms and pulls me down to her, kissing me gently. "You created a beautiful home in the past." Then, taking my hand and placing it on her stomach, she adds, "And we will create a beautiful life, together, in the future."

We lose ourselves again to tender kisses and caresses.

Then I remember the other reason for coming here. I need to find the box which has my money. That will be needed to pay for the kingly sum we owe the hotel for our honeymoon. When I fled there had been no time to retrieve it. I pick up a large shard from one of my statues and lead Laura a short distance down the tunnel which I had used to escape. Kneeling, I dig a couple feet into the ground, uncovering the metal container. Inside, all my money is safe and intact. Hastily I put it into the pockets of my cloak. Our business is now complete, and we return to the boat.

When we have crossed the lake and arrived at the landing, I take Laura in a different direction, down a passage which exits onto an alleyway a block from the opera house. There I engage an enclosed brougham and give the coach driver instructions to stop a block from the hotel. When we feel the weight of the driver settling into his seat, Laura asks, "Why don't we have the carriage drop us off at the hotel?"

"I suspect Jeremy and the men will be waiting for us at the main entrance."

Her brow furrows at my disclosure. "What do you mean _Jeremy_ will be waiting for us?"

"Jeremy and the men were at the opera tonight, seated on the main floor."

"They were? I didn't see them. Did they spot us?"

"No, they were quite preoccupied watching the couple in Box Five."

Laura laughs. "Does that mean we aren't going to the ball?"

"Of course, we are going. They will not recognize us in these costumes. And, if they are waiting for us to arrive by carriage, they are going to be disappointed."

Her eyes dance in amusement. "You've thought of everything!"

I smirk. "Of course."

When the carriage stops, I assist Laura down the steps, then we walk the remaining distance. At the rear of the hotel, we slip into the delivery entrance for the wine cellar. I have already scouted this area and know that one of the stairs from the cellar goes directly into a corner of the ballroom. We pass row upon row of fine French wines for which the hotel is famous, moving stealthily and taking care we do not surprise a steward selecting wine for the party above. When we climb the stairs, I stop Laura at the landing just before we enter the ballroom to give her a final, lingering kiss.

We enter unobtrusively, then walk casually through the crowded ballroom, directly to the dance floor. With the first strains of a waltz, we gaze into each other's eyes and let the music move us as we sweep around the floor. Only once before tonight have we been able to dance. And that was at the chateau when Antoinette was giving her lessons. This is what I have longed for. To hold Laura in my arms in the glowing candlelight of a ballroom, and dance as if there were no one else in the world but us.

My hand rests on her back, and I can feel the heat of her skin beneath her dress. I want to lean over and kiss her neck and then work my way down. I can see the enticing swell of her breasts over the top of her gown, and let my eyes go where my lips long to. As we glide across the floor in our lover's dance, I can feel her own passion rising. When her eyes meet mine, it is clear we are both thinking the same thoughts. I pull her as close as I am able in this public place, conveying promises to her for later with the touch of my fingertips on her upraised hand, the feel of my palm gently massaging her back, and the words of love I whisper into her ear. Endlessly we dance, lost in each other's arms.

_Elderly Man's POV:_

"May I have this dance?" I look from the lovely lady in pink to her tall, astonished companion. It's dawning on him that he may be obliged to share the young lady with others at this ball. Disarming them both with an earnest smile, I offer my gloved hand to the lady and feign the tremor of an aged man.

Smiling, she glances up and whispers to the gentleman, "Just one dance. Won't that be all right?" His expression softens as he looks into her eyes. Reluctantly, he lets her go. I take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor with an appropriately tottering shuffle. She seems surprised when I spryly keep up with the pace of the waltz.

Behind her mask I can see her eyes. Yes, I am quite certain they are the dark, beautiful eyes of Madame Mercier. And her voice also has the same soft, throatiness I remember from the wedding.

"Are you enjoying your trip to France?" I ask.

She replies warily, "What do you mean?"

Trying to put her at ease, I smile. "Your accent betrays you. American isn't it?"

"Yes, my husband and I are from America. We are on our honeymoon."

"Your honeymoon? My best wishes to you both! How are you enjoying Paris?"

"Oh, it's by far the loveliest city I have ever visited, Monsieur," she replies politely.

I take note that her husband is pacing at the edge of the dance floor like a panther, watchful of its mate. "Are you returning to America then?"

Suspiciously, she shakes her head no.

I remove the elderly quaver from my voice. "Good! I was looking forward to your coming to St. Just's château for dinner on Monday."

Astonished, she stares at me. It is fortunate her back is toward her husband, so he does not see her alarm. After several moments she demands, "Who, exactly, are you?"

I lower my voice even more. "Your friend, Sir Percival Blakeney."

She gives me a half smile. "How did you recognize me?" Then, gazing around the room, she asks, "Is Jeremy with you?"

"Yes, he's here. But at a judicious distance. He's up on the mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom."

Her eyes go up to the mezzanine, and she scans the people who are watching the dancing over the balustrade. After we have made a full circle of the dance floor, she says, "I can't see him up there."

Returning her smile, I reply, "No, he is well-hidden. After all, you have led us a merry chase this past week. But those who watch over you and Monsieur Mercier would not be worthy of their positions if they did not do their duty despite the 'obstacles' you place in their way."

"How did you find us? Could you tell it was us despite the costumes?"

"No, your costumes were excellent. They would do justice to the Scarlet Pimpernel!" I chuckle, adding, "Try as we may, we weren't able to spot you at the opera. But Jeremy was certain you would show up at the bal masque, so we had to bide our time."

"Then how did you know it was us?"

"Madame Mercier, you may mask your face and don a costume, but certain things cannot be hidden by even the cleverest disguise." Her eyes question me, so I explain, "Jeremy saw you dancing with your husband and knew."

"How did he know, if the costumes were as effective as you say?"

"It was Monsieur Mercier's behavior which gave you away. His attention to you to the exclusion of everyone else in the room was the first sign. Then, Jeremy kept watching him and noticed something else." My mouth curls up in a knowing grin. "You see, his withering, forbidding stare at anyone foolish enough to approach you for a dance gave away his identity. Jeremy informed me that is typical of Monsieur Mercier. Apparently he is most protective of your person."

After contemplating what I have told her, she implores me, "Please promise me that my husband _will never_ know we've been found out."

"As you request, Madame. We certainly do not wish you and your husband the inconvenience of a spoiled party. But Jeremy wanted me to inform you they will be watching over you from a hidden distance tonight and for the remainder of your stay."

As the dance nears its end, Monsieur Mercier edges toward us, anxious to have his wife back as soon as possible. With a bow and a curtsy, we finish the dance. He appears instantly, gathering her protectively into his arms. When the music begins again, they move across the ballroom with elegant grace. I continue watching them for some time. They glide in sweeping turns, moving as one. When they dance past me, Madame Mercier's eyes catch mine. She gives me a conspiratorial wink, then she is gone, swept away in his whirling embrace.


	91. Chapter 91

**A/N: Thank you for your patience, waiting for this chapter of The Epic Case! We writers are working hard, and sometimes very late hours into the middle of the night to bring you these two chapters in December. Please consider them our Christmas gifts to you. The next one, the Christmas story, is already being written and should post on the 23rd or 24th, as promised.**

**And, as always, we so appreciate the wonderful reviews you take your time to write! **

The honeymoon is over, and Erik and Laura begin their lives together. But, as always in their lives...nothing is simple!! Just how will Erik feel about his life as a married man?

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**Chapter 91, The First Day of the Rest of our Lives, by Phanfan & Phanna**

_Monday, February 5, 1872_

_Marek's POV:_

"Wha' are you going t' do with all o' it?"

Laura's mouth falls open as she blinks at me. Dazed, she turns to Erik who's sitting next to her on the settee. I notice he's never very far away from her these days. "I don't know. It hasn't quite sunk in." Erik's lips curl into a smile as he reaches out to push a stray piece of hair away from her face. I've also noticed he finds any opportunity to touch her.

Erik and Laura returned late last night from their honeymoon in Paris. When the lovebirds arrived at the château, they went straight to their suite with only the barest formalities to the staff waiting to greet them. Jeremy and the men were following them at a discrete distance and arrived sometime later, coming in through the underground passage from the cottage. I sent the stablemen to retrieve the horses which had been tethered in the forest. Jeremy was apoplectic when I insisted he wait until this morning to deliver the check into Laura's hands. Something told me Erik wouldn't take kindly to our knocking on their door.

Breakfast was barely over before Jeremy rushed Erik and Laura into the library to present her with the million dollar bank draft. I noticed he chose not to hand over the letter from Grace along with it. It's just the four of us right now, but the entire team should be arriving soon to be briefed about the intelligence report received from Horatio late last night.

Staring again at the draft in her hands, Laura sighs, "I can't believe I've been given a million dollars."

"A million dollars in this day and age would make you one of the wealthiest women in France, Laura," I point out. Unfortunately, she needs to be made aware of those fine, little legal points Grace was trying to impart. "But the truth of the matter is, it's no' your money. It belongs entirely t' Erik now. In this century, the husband has control and rights over all your money and property from the moment you marry. It's a shame you dinna get this money before the wedding." I look pointedly at Jeremy. "You could've written an agreement so you'd be able t' do with it what you wanted."

Erik's suddenly on this feet and storming toward me like a thunderbolt. He stops just inches in front of my face and glowers at me. Trying not to show my pleasure at the accuracy of my barb, I keep my expression steady. I do enjoy sparing with this man and will miss it when I return to my own century

Hopping mad, Erik spits out, "I will not have you upsetting Laura with that kind of talk."

I glare back. Good! I seem to have hit a nerve or two. Just as I intended. I'm hoping to prod Erik into an agreement now, after the fact, which will give Laura some rights to this money. "Well, it does no' seem I'm the one causin' her upset. I'm no' the one who's now in possession of all her money."

Erik takes a step back, his eyes sending daggers along with his snarl. "One of these days, Marek, one of these days, you are going to push me too far."

Then he turns his back on me and walks away. Sitting next to Laura, he takes her hand in his and says, "My love, please do not pay any attention to that blackguard Scot." He turns and glowers at me for emphasis.

Laura glances back and forth between us, and I can see she's trying not to laugh. I think she suspects what I'm doing. Trying to bring this matter to a head now. Letting it fester will do no good for her, Erik or Jeremy.

"Blackguard Scott, is it?" I press. "What does tha' make you, _Monsieur Mercier_? Not much different than a highway robber."

Once again Erik's on his feet and barrels across the room at me. His hands are around my neck before anyone can react. Laura's close on his heals, and Jeremy jumps out of his chair, grabbing Erik's arms from behind. While Jeremy attempts to dislodge Erik's grasp, Laura grabs his hand and pleads, "Erik! Stop!"

At Laura's entreaty, Erik releases my neck. As my hand rubs and soothes my throat, I cough some air into my lungs. Laura plants herself between Erik and me, and puts her hands on her hips, glaring up at Erik. It suddenly occurs to me he's in a lot worse shape than I am right now. When Claire puts one hand on her hip, I know I'm in deep trouble. But when she puts both hands on her hips, well, that's a sure sign I'm going to have a long, cold, lonely night.

"What is this between the two of you?" Laura demands. "You're always going at each other like two bulldogs."

Still restraining Erik's arms, Jeremy pipes up, "There's a bit of a history here that began in the hospital after you were shot."

Laura turns her attention on poor Jeremy, "Really? Is that so?" She hesitates for just a moment before telling him, "You can unhand my husband now." Then she steps aside so she can look at both of us. With a no-nonsense tone, she says, "Enough of this. Shake hands and agree to put whatever's happened in the past behind you both for good."

I still feel the pain in my neck, as Erik regards me with resignation and holds out his hand. Smart man. Best not to anger Laura any more than necessary. I reach out, and we shake on it. Then, grinning, I add, "But there's still the matter o' the money."

Without missing a beat, Erik replies, "For once I agree with you, Marek."

Jeremy and I watch as he takes Laura by the hand and leads her across the room. He seats her at the desk and pulls up a chair next to her. "There is parchment in the center drawer." As she takes out several sheets, he reaches for the quill pen and inkwell and pushes it over within her reach. Smiling at her, he says earnestly, "You are the lawyer in the family, so you do the honors. You write the document in which I give you back all the money, and I will sign it."

Laura takes his hand between both of hers. "No, I won't write that. It's not what I want."

Erik looks startled. "I do not understand."

She gives him one of those wifely smiles. "In the future, a husband and wife hold their property together, with equal rights to it. That is what I would want for this money. It should belong to both of us."

Still rubbing my neck, I decide getting to witness Erik's reaction is worth my small discomfort. He's totally stunned. Speechless as a matter of fact. He just sits there, staring at Laura and trying to get his mind around what she just told him.

Finally Laura speaks up, "Well, Erik, what do you think? Would that be agreeable to you?"

Swallowing hard, he says, "Yes, but only on the condition that my savings, and the annual recompense The Program is paying me will also be treated in like manner. So, you must also add that to this agreement."

Smiling, Laura replies, "Very well. As you wish."

Then, taking the quill, she writes industriously for many minutes while we three men look on. When Laura finishes her scratching on the parchment, she hands the quill to Erik who signs without hesitation. Then she signs and asks Jeremy and me to add our signatures as witnesses. When that's done, I wink at Jeremy. Mission accomplished for Laura. And Jeremy's now off the hook. And, Erik doesn't know it, but he just finessed his way out of a long, cold, night.

_Ace's POV:_

Reaching into my watch pocket, I pull out my antique timepiece. I press the small button to pop the cover open and check the time. As I snap it shut, my thumb runs across the engraving which has been rubbed smooth in spots from handling over the years. This had been my great-grandfather's and was passed down to me when my dad died five years ago. When I was told I'd be going on this mission, this was the one possession I brought with me. A small remembrance of my life and family I was leaving behind. Sliding it back into my pocket, I knock on the library door.

"Come in," Jeremy calls out. All the team follow me into the library, and we quickly settle on the chairs placed here for this meeting. Only Ty remains outside the door to make sure none of the servants overhear.

Jeremy stands in front of the fireplace and wastes no time, plunging right in. "Last night a message came through from Horatio. As you all know, he's been busy tracking down those responsible for the attack on New Year's Eve."

That attack almost brought a halt to the plans of The Program by eliminating the key player, Erik. I regret my team wasn't here to help, but HQ hadn't seen the need for additional personnel at the outset of the project. Horatio's condition, along with his insistence and debriefing convinced them otherwise. I speak up, "Yea, Horatio was already leaving no stone unturned when we were sent back. Admiral Brooks was pulling out all the stops and military intelligence was working around the clock to get to the bottom of how the PTB succeeded in sending people back when we knew they didn't have the time travel technology."

Joe clears his throat and shifts in his chair, causing the wood to creak. "So did they find the mole?"

"Yes." Jeremy replies. Then looking at the members of the original team, he asks, "Do you remember William Townsend? If you recall, he was on the Board of Directors for the Program. Turns out, it was him."

"I remember that guy." Matt leans back in his chair and shakes his head in disbelief. "He was the captain of _The Regina_!" He looks over at Erik and Laura. "Remember? We all went on a whale watch aboard his sailing ship."

Laura gasps, but doesn't say anything. Erik does. "The Captain?"

Jeremy nods, "Yep, that's the guy!"

"Incredible!" Erik also appears taken aback. "I remember he told me his family owned sailing ships which went up and down the California coast in the 19th century. The one we sailed on that day was the last of the ships from that era. Those sailing ships were the foundation of his family's international shipping fleet. What did he have to gain by aligning his loyalties with the PTB?"

"Well, it turned out he wasn't loyal to the PTB as much as he was loyal to himself. It came down to money. The PTB was blackmailing him. The PTB business conglomerates weren't using any of his ships for their international trade. His company was going bankrupt, so he turned over confidential information to the PTB he'd gleaned at The Program's board meetings. He did it to save his business."

Russ blurts out, "But why would the PTB entrust someone they were blackmailing with information about their having tapped into the Programs' time travel system?"

Good point. I wonder too.

"They wouldn't," Jeremy replies. "But, Townsend identified the two PTB agents he was passing information to. Admiral Brooks had intelligence track those PTB operatives around the clock, and they led us up the ladder of command. Finally we struck gold. We found the scientists and lab which were piggybacking into our time travel technology using it to send their men back when we transported ours. The good news is, they hadn't developed their own time travel system. They were only able to tap into ours, which is why Marek ended up here. They sent a final man to help with the ambush that night, not realizing Marek was supposed to go to the 14th century. Since the power for their signal was set for this time period, it short-circuited Marek's program. That glitch actually is what gave away what they'd been doing."

But this leads to another pressing issue, which I point out, "So how many men did they send before we detected their system? _And,_ just how many more are still here?"

"We found out from the scientists at their lab that they'd sent six people." Again addressing his question to the original team, Jeremy adds, "Can you recall how many were killed at the battle?"

After several moments of silence while everyone searches their memories, heads begin to shake doubtfully. Joe speaks up first, "I sure can't tell you how many were killed, or even who they were. I was a bit busy fighting them off until I was knocked over the side of the hill, and all I could see there was a lot of mud and darkness."

That seems to be the consensus of everyone. After some heated discussion, it's agreed that at least a dozen of the enemy were dispatched. But the question remains, how many of these six from the future were included?

"At least we know the leader, Rick Charmant, who was posing as Herr Günter, is permanently out of the picture, thanks to Grace. The best news, however, is that the PTB lab has been shut down and destroyed and all the scientists locked away along with Townsend and a large number of the PTB command structure. They're definitely out of business and won't be sending anyone else back to interfere with our projects."

"So, that just leaves one question." Joe rubs his chin and gazes around the room. "How many of the six men who were sent are still alive here?"

"I plan to discuss that with Saint Just and Sir Blakeney tonight at the dinner. I'm hoping with their network, they'll have information about who participated in the ambush. Of those who were killed, maybe they'll know which were Frenchmen." Jeremy folds his arms across his chest and adds, "But, whoever remains here is cut off from any contact or support from the future. I suspect they've probably gone to ground and are hiding to save their own skins."

Marek gets up and walks over to Jeremy. "Well, it would seem you've got everythin' under control here." Marek breaks into a grin. "So I'm goin' home! It's been too long since I've seen Claire and my bairns. I wish you all well." Putting his hand on Jeremy's shoulder, he adds, "I have no doubt you can handle whatever is left o' the pests."

"We'll miss you," Jeremy responds, along with many others in the room.

Marek glances over at Erik and chuckles, "Well, perhaps, not all o' you will be feeling that way." I notice Erik narrow his eyes threateningly. What's that all about?

We all get up and start shuffling out. I'm the last of the Team to leave, and just as I'm shutting the door, turn and catch Erik shaking hands with Marek. Marek slaps Erik on the back and makes a joke. Both men break out in a bawdy laugh, as Laura blushes and shakes her head at them.

_Joe's POV:_

Leaning close to her ear so only she can hear, I whisper, "To me, you're the most beautiful woman in the world tonight."

Antoinette's eyes soften as she looks at me and smiles. Then, typically, she glances around, making sure no one saw us. Returning her smile, I offer my hand to help her into the carriage. I strategically seat her next to the window where I can see her from my horse as we travel to St. Just's château for dinner.

The carriage holds six and four more of us will be mounted on horseback with Louis and a footman sitting on the driver's bench. We're armed to the hilt, taking no chances until everything is cleared up.

Erik and Jeremy are riding in the coach with Laura, Meg, Antoinette and Susie. Derek, Sam, Linc and I are mounted to ride guard. As we near the main road, I can tell Meg's busily chatting with Jeremy while Susie watches them with more than casual interest. Oh boy. I need to talk to her because I don't think Susie realizes how 'taken' Jeremy is with Terese. Erik and Laura are talking quietly together, still in that newly wed mode where the rest of the world barely exists.

When my eyes fall on Antoinette, I discover she's watching me. It's been weeks now, and we've not had any time to ourselves, or to talk. But I have a plan, and it's just a matter of time now.

The ride to the chateau is uneventful, which suits me just fine. There's been enough excitement for this year. As we pull up to the mansion, a small entourage floods out the door. Not only are there two footmen, but Saint Just and Blakeney are also waiting for our carriage. Jeremy steps out first and helps Susie, Meg and Antoinette down the steps. Erik gets out and helps Laura down the steps treating her like she's a porcelain doll. I'd wager Erik's going to be fussing over her like that for the next eight months.

The footmen usher everyone into the marble foyer where servants are waiting to take our cloaks. When the formal greetings begin, I notice Percy gives Meg's hand a lingering kiss. Antoinette bristles and glares at Percy. He doesn't notice. Chuckling to myself, I'd make another bet that she'll be watching them like a hawk all evening.

Thankfully, the butler soon announces dinner is served, and we're led directly into the dining room. I'm glad we won't have to mingle and make small talk for an hour before eating. I'm starved. St. Just sits at the head of the table, with Laura on his right and Erik next to her. Meg's seated on his left and Percy right beside her. It's obvious to me Percy planned this intentionally. Smart man. But if he thinks he's going to get by Antoinette, he's fooling himself. The one thing I know about her is that she's tenacious. Once she's on a path, heaven help you if you get in her way.

Antoinette and I are seated at the far end of the table with Linc, Derek, Sam and Susie between us and the head of the table. I cringe as I examine the formal settings and the forest of silverware surrounding each plate. Since Antoinette is seated across from me, I'll just have to watch her and follow her lead. As the servants begin to serve the meal, Meg laughs at something Percy says, and Antoinette swivels around and glares down the table. I have a feeling this is going to be a long evening. She's not going to relax with Percy paying so much special attention to Meg.

The food is a little fancy for my taste with a lot of sauces and gravies, typical of French cuisine. Antoinette catches on quickly that I'm watching her use the various forks and knives. She manages to give me little hints during the meal. The only mishap I have is when the back of my hand hits a glass and spills wine on the tablecloth. Servants quickly move in to sop it up, reassuring me it happens all the time.

The next time Meg breaks out in laughter, Antoinette doesn't bother to look. I keep my voice low as I try to reassure her. "It's just dinner conversation, Antoinette."

She looks at me and sighs, "I know. It's just that I don't know him. Or his intentions."

When the dinner is finished, St. Just announces the men are invited to the library for cognac and cigars. That means the women are required to retire to the sitting room. I escort Antoinette to the door, taking my time about it to enjoy the few moments I have with her. "I miss talking…" I look straight into her eyes and smile, "and playing cards with you, Antoinette."

I'm happy when my comment makes her laugh. "Joseph, you are a scoundrel." Then she lowers her voice before she steps into the room. "I miss you, too." When she spots Meg sitting on a settee by herself, she heads straight for her. That's another bet I'd make. I'd bet Meg's going to get a stern lecture on men.

Cognac is poured and cigars passed around in the library. Soon the odor of expensive cigars fills the room along with a blue haze. Not bad cigars, either. St. Just has good taste. We all settle into the comfortable leather chairs and settees to discuss politics and the news of the day.

Glancing around the room, I notice the pecking order is being observed. Erik's seated in the chair closest to the fireplace as the guest of honor. Jeremy's next to him. On the other side of the fireplace St. Just and Percy occupy a settee. I work my way across the room and position myself just behind Jeremy so I can listen to the conversation. I want to hear what Jeremy finds out.

Erik takes a few puffs of the cigar in his hand out of politeness, but he soon sets it aside. I know he's not a smoker. He leans forward, speaking to St. Just and Percy. "Due to circumstances, I have not had the chance to thank you both personally for your assistance after the bal masque."

St. Just nods in acknowledgment, but it's Percy who remarks, "We were honored to be of assistance, Monsieur."

"It was very appreciated." I suppress a chuckle. I wonder if Erik would "appreciate" how they were of "assistance" last week when they helped Jeremy track Laura and him down in Paris.

Jeremy now eases into the subject our team's especially anxious to hear about. "Do you mind if I ask a few questions about that night?"

Percy waves his hand, indicating he's to proceed. "I will answer if I can."

"Do you have any information about the renegades who attacked us on the road? We believe Herr Günter was their leader, but do you have any idea how many men he had with him?"

Percy rolls his cigar between his fingers while he thinks. "About twenty men attacked your party."

"That's what I estimated, too." Jeremy nods thoughtfully and asks, "Do you know exactly how many were killed?"

St. Just answers without hesitation, "I can tell you exactly, Monsieur. There were twelve bodies taken away for burial by the local gendarmes the next day."

Jeremy raises an eyebrow. "Are you certain of that number?"

St. Just smiles. "Yes, the head of the gendarmes just happens to be a friend of mine, and he confirmed that number to me."

"Were the gendarmes able to determine the identities of the men who were killed?" Jeremy takes a large puff of his cigar and blows the fragrant smoke toward the fireplace. At least he knows how to enjoy a good smoke.

"Some of them." St. Just picks up his glass of cognac and takes a sip before continuing. "Seven are known to belong to a gang of ex-soldiers who turned to thievery after the war was over."

Jeremy leans forward as he asks his next question. "They weren't able to identify the other five?"

"No."

I notice Percy is studying Jeremy keenly when he asks his own question, "Why are you interested in the identities of a group of ruffians?"

"We have reason to believe they may not have been Frenchmen," Jeremy replies simply.

"So you feel the attack was not for the purpose of robbery?" Percy looks directly at Erik as he adds, "But, perhaps, for some more sinister reason."

Under Percy's scrutiny, Erik rises from his chair and walks over to the fireplace, taking a few minutes to gaze down into the leaping flames before responding. "Whatever their reason may have been, it is important we ascertain who was involved. If these five men were not Frenchmen, we need to know." There's a long pause and only the crackle of the fire breaks the silence. Finally, Erik turns and addresses Percy directly, "Would it be possible for you to check into this matter using your…resources and learn more about those unidentified men?" Erik looks a bit uncomfortable as he adds, "I would be deeply obliged." I suspect he's never asked for help like this before. As a phantom he always took care of himself. But now he has Laura and his child to put into the equation.

Percy also stands and with a slight bow to Erik, says, "I will be most pleased to be of service to you, _Monsieur Mercier_."

_Erik's POV:_

As I help Laura into the carriage I notice she seems a little shaky. I know she has not had any wine or alcohol tonight, but it has been a very long, eventful day. After that dinner with the rich sauces, I wonder if she is feeling ill. As I sit next to her on the coach seat, I place my fingers gently under her chin and lift her face up, looking into her eyes. Just as I feared, she is white as the snow on the ground outside, and we have none of Danielle's herbs with us.

Laura gives me a weak smile, and I groan inwardly. Now I am certain the nausea has returned. I gather her to me and wrap my arms around her. She snuggles against me and rests her head against my shoulder. She reaches her arm around my waist and pulls me tight as if trying to hold in the contents of her stomach. As the carriage jerks forward, she lets out a low moan. With each bump in the road, her fingers tighten more around me.

I look around the carriage, disgruntled that there are others present. If they were not here I would take her in my lap to comfort her more. Suddenly the coach hits a large rut in the road. Laura's hand goes to her mouth as she moans. I yell out, "Louis, stop the coach!" Louis, being the master driver he is, brings the coach to a smooth halt in short order. The footman is on the ground opening the door before the coach has stopped completely. Lifting Laura in my arms, I quickly descend the steps. Her feet barely touch the ground when she bends over and retches.

I hold her around the waist as she continues to empty the overly rich food from her stomach. My own gorge rises, but this time I am able to control it. When it is over, I gently carry her back into the coach. All eyes regard us sympathetically. And this time, propriety be damned! I cradle Laura on my lap, and she rests her head underneath my chin. When Antoinette hands me a handkerchief from her reticule, I use it to wipe Laura's lips.

For the remainder of the trip, Antoinette makes pleasant small talk trying to take everyone's, especially Laura's, mind off her illness. Thankfully we arrive back at the château without further incident. As soon as we enter the foyer, I ask my waiting butler to bring a pot of hot water to our room. When I reach our suite, I dismiss Laura's maid and tend her myself.

Laura is able to stand only long enough for me to unlace her gown and help her out of it, as well as her corset. I carry Laura over to our bed and remove her chemise and slip a robe around her. As she lies against the pillow, I step to the wash basin and wring out a washcloth with cool water. Hurrying back, I gently pat her forehead and cheeks with the cool cloth. She seems to take some ease from my attentions, but I'm counting the seconds until the hot water arrives for her herbal tea. Thankfully, the butler arrives soon, and I take the tray from him, dismissing him for the night. Quickly making the herbal tea, I gently ease Laura up from the pillow to help her take several sips. "This should settle your stomach." She gives me a grateful smile.

I set the teacup on the nightstand and walk over to my wardrobe to undress and hang up my clothes, then quickly don my black robe. When I return to Laura, she is taking more sips of the herbal tea. Even in the dim light of the oil lamp, I can tell the color is returning to her cheeks. Taking her in my arms, I carry her to the rocking chair in front of the fire that crackles invitingly in the fireplace.

As she snuggles in my lap, I wrap a quilt around her. "How are you feeling now?"

"The nausea is gone." She breathes out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

I kiss her forehead. "Bother? You are never a bother. I hope your getting ill did not ruin the evening for you."

"No, it didn't. I enjoyed the witty conversation at dinner. St. Just and Sir Blakeney are very interesting people, aren't they?"

"Indeed, they are. There is much more to them than meets the eye."

Surprisingly, she giggles. "Yes, I've noticed that myself."

"But they are also very helpful. When we asked them if they knew anything about the men who attacked us, they were most informative. St. Just turns out to be a friend of the head of the gendarmes who, shall we say, took care of the bodies after the battle. Apparently they were able to identify all but five of the men as known brigands. Those five probably came from the future. So, only one remains unaccounted for and our good friends are going to use their network of contacts to try to locate him."

Laura gazes up at me, thoughtfully. "They are very interesting men, indeed."

I kiss her forehead again. "The good news, my love, is that only one person from the future remains. And he most likely is hiding and rendered powerless."

"So, we are safe?"

"Yes, it appears we are quite safe now."

"Thank God!" Then she curls up against my chest, placing her hand over my heart. Soon I can hear her soft, even breathing and know she is sleeping. I rest my chin on the top of her head. The smell of lavender in her hair is the last memory I have before I, too, fall asleep.

The clock striking its reverberating chime wakes me. I glance over at the towering grandfather clock and realize it is three o'clock. We have been sleeping for several hours. Indeed, even my arm is asleep where Laura has been resting her head. As I shift my arm slightly, Laura awakens and looks up at me with sleepy eyes. She reaches her arms around my neck and pulls me down for a long, deep kiss. My body responds noticeably. When our lips part, Laura's pixie smile appears as she murmurs, "I think it's time to go to bed, don't you?"

I gaze deeply into her dark eyes. "You appear to be feeling much better now."

Her gentle hand slides through the opening of my robe and follows the contours of my chest and stomach as she leans close to my ear and breathes out softly, "Much better."

Fascinated, I watch her eyes soften with passion. Her hand moves to the sash of my robe, untying it, and then her fingers travel steadily downward. I inhale sharply when she caresses me with a feather light touch. My heart pounds wildly.

Groaning, I reach for her robe. It is already open, so I slide my hand beneath it and caress her soft, warm skin. She arches against me in her own passion, and I lean over to kiss the swell of her breast.

When I can take no more, I stand, shrugging off my robe, and gather her close to me. As I carry her to our bed, I whisper seductive suggestions in her ear which cause her to blush an enticing rosy hue. Lying her on the soft bed, I let her know how beautiful she is to me, saying her name each time I caress her. In response, she kisses and strokes my skin, leaving paths of searing heat with each touch. When we are both hovering on the precipice, I cover her body with mine. In a myriad of sensation, our bodies and souls entwine to become one.

Even after my passion is spent, I cannot separate myself from her. We continue to remain joined as I gaze down into her adoring eyes. On this day, this first day of our lives together, I feel the most complete joy, the deepest peace and love I have ever known.


	92. Chapter 92

**A/N: As promised, this is the Christmas edition of The Epic Case and is our Christmas gift to you. **

**By the way, I am one of the airport refugees who got stranded in Seattle. It rarely snows here, and this is considered a blizzard. Tens of thousands of people had their flights cancelled. We lucky ones are in hotels, but many others are camping out in the airport. So I do not have access to a computer. Phanna and I am on my cell phone talking Phanna through the posting of this on ffnet. This has all been a challenge to say the least. **

**In case you were not aware, we did post the previous chapter last Wednesday, December 17. Because it was considered an edit to the chapter, no new notices were sent out. So if you have not seen that chapter, please go back and read it. We would appreciate your reviews for that chapter as well as for the one we are posting today. And, as ever, thank you so much for taking your time to comment. May you all have a wonderful holiday season. **

Marek is about to be subject to more computer glitches, and he's not happy. But for others it becomes a Christmas gift.

**Chapter 92 How the Glitch Saved Christmas, by KFC, Phanna and Phanfan **

_Dec 23, STARLAB_

_Terese's POV:_

"_Oh ya better watch out_

_Ya better not cry_

_Ya better not pout, I'm tellin' you why_

_Santa Claus is comin'…to town._

_Oh he's makin' a list_

_Checkin' it twice…"_

The radio is suddenly drowned out by the blare of the incoming transport signal. I pull up the incoming data screen to monitor the process and watch with the childlike wonder I always feel when the 3D image of a human being materializes before my eyes. This never ceases to amaze me. How all the little pieces of a person, from blood cells to brain configurations, can be taken apart in little pieces and put back together again. Perfectly.

The image rotates on screen while the matrix of what is soon to be Dr. Jandt from Team 3 continues to develop. Merlin peers over my shoulder, noting the odd shape bulging from the doctor's torso. "Looks like he's carrying a bundle of some sort."

I scrutinize the image as the details become clearer. Then suddenly I panic. "Merlin, it's not Dr. Jandt!" We both gasp as the image completes its final rotation. I'm shocked to see a very disgruntled Andre Marek materialize. "My God! What happened?" I pull the external memory device from the port and look at the label. It says _Dr. Daniel Jandt 1908419384751._ "The port's working, and we plugged in the right file, but for some reason Dr. Jandt's info didn't upload. The transport wizard is still using Marek's ID we uploaded yesterday when we sent him home."

Merlin scratches the scraggly stubble on his chin, "That should've cleared out after Marek transported!"

"Yes. But it didn't."

Merlin muses in that otherworldly way of his, then says, "Since you've configured this system for a single ID, if Marek's file was still in the main computer, the safety override in the transport program wouldn't allow an additional file to upload."

I drop my head into my hands. "Damn glitches!"

Merlin peers through the glass overlooking the transport arena. "He's out of the chamber. Someone needs to go say hi."

"Or duck for cover." I groan. "And someone has to report this to Nick. Take your pick."

"Uh…by the looks of Marek, I'll take my chances with Nick."

"Is Marek breathing fire or just smoking through the ears?" I ask, not sure I want to know.

Merlin doesn't answer. He's already gone. Marek's hot as hell when I meet him in the hallway. "What in the blazes went wrong now?" he bellows. "Snatchin' me right outta my own house, completely unaware! What happened t' our agreement I'd only be taken out in the middle o' the night and with notice? I finally make it home after all the months o' complications and delays. I'm there for one night, and all of a sudden…"

"I'm sorry, Marek. But believe me, no one intentionally snatched you. It was a computer glitch. We were trying to retrieve someone from Team 3 and got you instead."

"That's some glitch!" As he runs his hands through his thick mop of hair, Marek's eyes flash fire. "Why do I always get to be the lucky one it happens to?"

I try to buy time, hoping he'll cool off. "What did you bring along in that bundle?"

"This?" Marek thunders. "It's my son, little John. I took him from his mum while she went to the next room to fetch a nappie. Then, poof! We were grabbed into cyberspace! It's a damn good thing this new chip implant and invisible transport technology replaced the old transport pod, or I'd have a hell of a lot o' explainin' to do t' Claire."

Ignoring Marek's fuming, I move close to him and peek at the baby. Marek pulls the blanket back, and I let out a sigh of admiration at the sight of his sweet, chubby face. He's sound asleep—unbelievably, after Marek's carrying on like a bullhorn. "He's got your hair, Marek. What a little darling. How old is he?"

"Five months, and still very attached t' his mum. You can thank God he's a heavy sleeper. Now would y' mind explainin' what the hell went wrong here? It's nothing we need t' be alarmed about is it?"

"No. It was just a random glitch. For security reasons, each traveler's ID is now stored on a removable storage device, and we upload it each time they travel. It's supposed to automatically clear out of the system after they transport. But something malfunctioned and yours didn't clear after we sent you home yesterday. So the computer used your info instead of uploading the next traveler's file."

Marek lets out an exasperated growl. "Ok, that explains how I got here, but what abou' Little John?"

"Because you were holding him. The computer locks onto anything touching you and brings it with you. You know that, Marek. That's so clothing and any articles the person has on them, comes along, too."

Marek glowers at me. "I want us both sent back. Now!"

"Sure, I understand. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"Inconvenience?!" Marek thunders. "What if it had been Claire I was holdin' on to? What if you'd snatched us right out of our bed?"

"Well in that case," I try to suppress my grin at the image, "at least the blankets would have come, too."

Marek snorts. "You'd better make damn sure you send us t' the exact moment we left. If we're not back by the time Claire returns, I'm gonna be hard put t' explain this disappearin' act. With your precise new technology, you can do that, right?

"Yes, but you know a normal transport can only hit the time with a plus or minus two hour window. We usually don't need to get any closer than that. To replace you to the exact time we took you from, will take longer to do the calculations."

"How long?"

"Around ten days."

"Ten days! You guys are outta your bloody minds if you think I'm stayin' here ten days. And with a baby cryin' for his mum! Alright, that's it! Where's Nick?"

"In his office, last I saw him." Marek is a blur as he storms off to the Director's office. Hoping Nick still has a pacifier or two in his bag of tricks, I return to my desk and set about fixing the glitch. The glow from my chat with Jeremy an hour ago on the STARLink has completely evaporated. All the sweet words and witty banter—gone.

I've just resolved the technical issue and achieved a relative sense of calm when Marek bursts through my door. "All worked out." He announces as he walks over to my desk.

I stare at him, stunned. "What lovely toy did St. Nick produce from his bag to make you happy?"

Marek glowers at me.

"So, you're not happy with staying. But what about the baby?"

He shrugs. "Well sweetheart, I figure you can help me out with 'im." He lowers his voice to a discreet level and leans close to my ear. "You wanted a baby for Christmas, right?"

"Not yours," I snap, embarrassed by his knowing smile.

He laughs a sarcastic, "Ho, Ho, Ho!" Sitting on the edge of my desk as gently rocking the baby, he adds, "Well Nick talked a bit o' sense into me. He promised STARLink would put me back t' the same second I left, then he bored me with all the details o' the hows and whys. And, I sure don't want to have to explain my disappearance to Claire, so I'm stuck. Nick's providing me with a car and his guest house, as well as a nanny. So, what do you say we spend Christmas together, like old times?"

I look at him and sigh. "Well, I suppose you're the closest thing I have to family. In the present time, at least. So, sure...you and Little John can spend Christmas with me. Just be forewarned I'm spending a lot of time on December 25th here in my office." Before Marek's _"Bah humbug"_ expression can turn into a spiel, I explain, "On Christmas I'm getting extra STARLink time with Jeremy. That's my present from Nick."

"Fine," Marek concedes. "But Jeremy told me it's my job when I'm here t' get you out o' this place as much as I can. So…"

"Marek, don't you have a baby to take care of right now?"

"Yes. But he's tiny. He goes wherever I go. How about we sneak outta here and do some shopping?"

"Shopping? For diapers and formula?"

"Of course. But I was thinkin' we could also swing by Starbucks…"

_I knew that was coming._ "I'd love to, but I need about an hour to help Merlin with your problem before I can leave."

Marek rubs his chin, then brightens with a smile. "Tha' works. I need t' take a shower and change my clothes. By then my car should be here, and I'll catch up t' you." He starts for the door, and calls over his shoulder, "Meet me at Starbucks in an hour. Then we'll go shopping, and you can help me stock up on baby stuff."

I sigh, resigned. "All right, Marek. Starbucks, in an hour."

"Give or take," he adds as the door swings shut behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out to be a little over an hour later that I pull into Starbucks. As I walk across the parking lot, I take a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. The weatherman predicted there may even be snow today. In rainy, drizzly Seattle snow always comes as a shock. Lovely Christmas music envelops me as I walk through the door, along with smiles and rosy cheeks of shoppers who've stopped in for a hot cup of holiday cheer. I peer around, but Marek's not here yet, so I decide to order our coffee while I'm waiting. Starbucks is packed, so I settle in for a long wait in line. Ahead of me two young lovers are stuck together like glue, his arms wrapped around her, and her hands in his jeans pockets. I glance outside at the parking lot. _Where are you, Marek_? Still no sign of him. Finally reaching the counter, I place our orders.

The blonde seems to recognize me. Or maybe she remembers I usually show up here with Marek. I order the decaf for me and Marek's high octane coffee. Her eyes flit past me, looking for him. I have to smile. If she only knew who he really is, and why a caffeine addict like him shows up so irregularly. She hands me the to-go cups, and with a pleasant 'thank you' I take the hot drinks and head back outside.

On my way to the car, I don't spot Marek. Tossing my purse into the passenger's seat, I get inside and put his coffee in the holder and take a sip of mine. I wrap my hands around the cup to warm them. The temperature's really dropping fast. I'm scanning the satellite channels for Christmas music when someone knocks on my window.

"Marek, get in! I've got your coffee." When I look out the window, I freeze. It's not Marek.

A man with hazel eyes leans on my door. His shoulder-length hair is tied behind his head. And the expression on his face is timeless.

I gasp. For a moment my heart stops beating.

"Hey," he chuckles at my reaction, and his eyes gleam with amusement. "Can I get out of your dreams and into your car?"

The world begins to spin out of control. I can't believe who I'm seeing. I hear myself shriek, "Jeremy!" Then I throw open the door, spring out of my seat and fly into his arms. It feels like heaven when he crushes me to him. His fingers entwine in my hair, and his hand holds my head against his heart. I wrap my arms around him, pressing against his big, solid body to be sure he's truly here. I look up, through tears. Then our lips meet in a deep, sweet, burning kiss. I melt into him completely, and time disappears. When our lips finally part, I'm breathless. "Jer…what in God's blue universe are you doing here?"

He touches his forehead to mine. "Marek said there was this girl at the Lab who'd be spending Christmas alone, working, unless he could come up with someone to pry her out of the office."

"He got you here?" I laugh, still incredulous. "I thought you were Marek. I was supposed to meet him here. We were going to shop. He and his baby are here for ten days and…"

Jeremy smiles and rustles his fingers through my hair. "I know." Then, he hugs my shoulders and murmurs. "Can we just get in the car and go somewhere?"

I laugh. "Honestly, Jer…I don't think I could drive right now. I'm shaking so badly, I can't even stand up and walk straight?"

"All right then," he kisses my forehead, "I'll drive."

Dizzy with happiness, I lean on him as he escorts me to the passenger side and helps me in. As my head falls against the seat I watch him walk back around the front of the car...almost slow motion…my man. I can't believe I'm with him in a Starbucks parking lot, in the 21st century. I've never seen him in modern surroundings before. Or modern clothes.

He gets into the driver's seat and reaches over, pulling me close and finding my lips with his again. Only after another long, lingering kiss, does he finally pull away to start the car. Then he puts his arm around my shoulders and asks, "Where should we go?"

I lie back against his arm, speechless, my mind a blank. "I have no idea," I finally manage.

Grinning, he glances in the rear view mirror and backs out of the parking space.

"So where's Marek right now?" I ask, trying to make sense of the puzzle pieces.

Taking a sip of Marek's coffee, Jeremy spits out, "Whoa! That'd put hair on a baby's chest!"

Breaking out laughing, I explain, "Marek takes his coffee strong and black! No sugar or cream!"

Jeremy takes another wary sip of the coffee and places it back in the holder. Shaking his head, he continues, "Marek's still steaming about being jerked out of his home. When he found out he had no choice but to spend a ten day layover with a motherless, nursing baby, he put his Scots deviousness to work and did some scheming."

"Scheming? What do you mean?"

"I was still on the computer at the château reading reports after you logged off. About an hour later, Marek logged in and made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"What kind of offer?"

"He explained his situation. Then he told me he'd talked to Nick about me having a ten day R and R to come back to spend Christmas with you. Apparently Marek felt I needed some time off from my duties…and Erik. I'd then be returned to the exact minute I left and no one in 1872 would know the difference. Just like what's happened to him." He turns and gives me his drop-dead smile, "Like I said…it was an offer I couldn't refuse."

I gaze at him, astounded, but ecstatic. "Marek's more of a genius than I thought. But how in the world did he manage to get it approved?"

"Well I think Horatio helped him out at bit. Horatio was at the Lab when I came through, and I got to chat with him for a few minutes. He basically told me to 'get lost' and 'have a merry Christmas." Then he said if he heard from me before the morning of January 2nd, when they'll probably have the calculations completed to send me back, I'd be in hot water."

_Jeremy's POV:_

As I open the restaurant's door for Terese, a riot of blonde curls are caught by the wind rushing around the corner of the building. I let go of her hand long enough for us to get inside, then wait while she takes her gloves off before I grab her hand again. She smiles as she looks around the entryway. "I haven't been here since summer. I love how they've decorated for Christmas. It's beautiful!"

I return her smile, not bothering to glance around because there's nothing more beautiful than her. Since we made reservations, we don't have long to wait. The hostess leads us through the dining room where crystal chandeliers create a dim light from overhead. When we're seated at a small table in the corner, I notice candles provide the light in all the wall sconces. Damn, it feels like I'm still back in France and have to remind myself I'm here, with Terese, in the modern world.

"I come here for the ambiance." She leans closer, and her eyes gleam with mischief. "It makes me feel like I'm surrounded by candlelight." All of a sudden, I remember a scene she described to me during our first dance. She likes to soak in a tub with candles all around her. My imagination runs wild as I visualize relaxing in the warm water, my eyes following her bare shoulders down to the curve of her breasts…

"Would you like to order a bottle of wine?" The waitress' voice interrupts my fantasy. She hovers at my elbow, expectantly, so I ask for suggestions. She smiles engagingly. "The French Riesling is an excellent choice if you're going to have seafood. It's a dry, white wine and pairs nicely with our raw oyster appetizer which, by the way, I especially recommend tonight."

Why did she mention oysters? I squint up at her, wondering for an instant if she somehow knows I've been transported from the past where the French prefer their oysters raw, and I've had more than my share lately. "Yes, bring us a bottle." I ask Terese if she wants the oysters. She nods her head yes, so I add, "Also bring the oyster appetizer for starters."

The Riesling turns out to be very good and begins to relax me. As I check out the menu, I remark, "I don't see anything here that's not French."

Terese scans through the menu. "You're right." Giving me a sympathetic look, she asks, "Would you like to go somewhere else?"

"No. It just seems odd there are so many reminders of France tonight, if you get my drift." I grin reassuringly. "Besides, you look enticing in the candlelight."

She reaches out, taking my hand and giving me one of her glorious smiles. We sip the wine and just luxuriate in being with each other. I want to remember this moment: Terese sitting across the table from me, her beautiful hair backlit like a golden halo, and the intoxicating touch of her fingers against mine. As I lift them to place a kiss on her fingertips, I freeze. A melody is playing in the background, and it's all too familiar.

_Night-time sharpens…_

_Heightens each sensation …  
_

Terese's hand is still suspended in the air as I glance around the room, wondering if I'm just imagining things.

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses ..._

Nope, I definitely recognize it, and it's coming out of the speakers.

"Jer, what is it?"

I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say anything, the waitress appears with our salads. "Oh, this is such a beautiful song." The waitress sighs and turns to Terese. "It's from the movie. Excellent, isn't it. I like the movie better than the play. That actor was fabulous in the role of the Phantom."

Caught a bit off guard, Terese shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I've never seen it."

I notice her eyes sparkling with mirth just before the waitress turns to me. "Have _you _ever seen _The Phantom of the Opera?_"

I nearly choke on my sip of wine.

She watches me a minute to make sure I haven't stopped breathing, then continues with her gushing, "You just _have_ to catch the touring Broadway company's performance. It's here in Seattle right now." I keep the napkin over my mouth so I don't have to reply. She stares at me, her eyebrows raised in question. I tell her I'm fine, so she goes on. "You don't know what you're missing."

"Really?" The words slip out, "you don't think so?"

"Well, if you haven't seen it, you'll fall in love with the characters. And the Phantom! He's so…mysterious and intimidating. You want him to be happy, but Christine can't seem to decide who she wants. It's full of drama and romance. I guarantee you've never experienced anything like it!"

"I wouldn't be so sure." I grin broadly. The waitress gives me an odd look, then walks away.

When I turn to Terese, she's giggling. "Good grief, Jer. I almost lost it when she said 'you don't know what you're missing.' If only she knew…" She starts laughing and finishes in rhyme, "if only she had a clue."

I shake my head while slathering butter on a warm French roll and dig into my salad. When I'm finished, the waitress arrives with our main course and after a 'bon appétit' leaves. Thankfully she doesn't bring up the Phantom again.

Terese orders the _La Sole Classique de Douvre Meunière_, in other words, fish with butter on it. I get the _Le Tournedos de Boeuf et ses Pommes Dauphine, Terrine Shiitake, Petite Haricots aux Lardons et Béarnaise Frie_. A half pound of steak with deep fried mashed potatoes, mushrooms, French beans and bacon and a small ball of something that tastes pretty good. I'm almost done when I notice Terese isn't eating much. "Aren't you hungry?"

She shakes her head. "Maybe I shouldn't have tried the oysters. My stomach seems a little touchy right now." An alarm bell begins to ring in my head. Oh my God! She's nauseated! Images of Laura's face on her wedding day, and sounds of her retching echo in my mind. "Do you want to leave?"

"If you don't mind."

I catch the waitress' eye and motion her over.

"Is anything wrong, sir?"

"No. My wife isn't feeling well, so we're leaving." I help Terese with her coat, lay a hundred dollar bill on the table and put another in the startled waitress' hand. "Merry Christmas! Treat yourself to the _Phantom_. It's on me."

On our way out the door I wrap my arm around Terese in case she starts to feel faint. Her arm slips around my waist, and she rests her head against my shoulder as we walk. "Just take slow, deep breaths. The fresh air might help."

Some of the color returns to her face. "Yes, Baby, I'm feeling a little better."

An electric jolt hits me at her use of the word "baby." I pull her close. "Are you sure?" I whisper, kissing the soft skin near her hairline. "Have smells been bothering you lately?"

She looks curiously at me and shakes her head, sending her curls flying around her face. "No really, I'm fine." She touches her lips to mine.

I kiss her back, reveling in the softness of her lips, but I still pursue my concern. "Terese…" She makes a 'hmmm' sound. "How long has it been since…since you and I were together?" Then taking a deep breath, I ask, "Would you know if…if?"

She pulls away and stares at me, confused at first. Then realization of what I'm asking dawns on her. She smiles and leans over to whisper next to my ear, "No, I'm not pregnant." Her breathe is warm against my cheek as she adds, "And yes, I would know."

Taking her in my arms, I nuzzle her neck and work my way up to her ear. "Do you still feel the way you did then? About the possibilities?"

She presses her cheek against mine. "As long as you still feel the same. I could never pass up a chance to keep part of you here with me." Closing my eyes, I let her sink against me. "Are you still hungry?" she asks.

"Not for food."

_Terese's POV:_

"You're going to love my place, Jer. Just wait 'til you see it." As he drives down the street, I rest my hand on his knee and add, "Let's talk about what other fun things you want to do on your vacation."

As he turns onto the highway, he replies, "Let me think. By the way, can I turn on some music?"

"Sure!"

When he turns on the radio, the station is playing, _"It's Christmas and I'm really getting' in the mood…" _

Click—he begins to scan the stations. "I want to see U2 in 3D…and go to a hockey game…"

Now Barbara Streisand's voice fills the air. _"What are you doin' New Years'…New Year's Eve…?" _

Jeremy catches my eye. "That was playing at the château during the Christmas dance when you told me you'd be spending it soaking in your tub surrounded by a lot of candles and drinking wine." He gives me an intoxicated glance.

"You remember that?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah! Vividly."

"Well, I don't think candles are a good idea for us tonight."

"Why not?" He glances at me, surprised.

"Because candles could remind you of Phantoms, and I'm going to make sure that for the rest of the time you're here…you're thinking only of me."

Click-- _"I don't want a lot for Christmas…there is just one thing I need…_

Click-- _"I'm pickin' up good vibrations…She's givin' me the…" _

Click_-- _Finally, just some good soulful guitar with a driving rhythm.

"Hey, there we go," Jeremy stops scanning. A rough, lusty voice sings, _"Well I don't look good in Armani suits… no Gucci shoes or designer boots…I tried the latest lines from A to Z, but there's just one thing that looks good on me. _

The loud, kicking beat seems to prompt a string of smoldering glances my way, as Jeremy sings along with the chorus,

"…_Sometimes I think I might be lookin' good…_

_But there's only on thing that fits like it should _

_The only thing I want… The only thing I need…The only thing I choose_

_The only thing that looks good on me is… you."_

_Jeremy's POV:_

Like a goddess, she seems to wear the moon. It gilds her skin, washing over her soft contours and shimmering on the crests. She leans against the curved marble edge of the hot tub, her hips just above the gently stirring waterline. Mesmerized, I move through the water toward her and place my hands on the marble ledge on either side of her hourglass figure. Breathing out a long sigh, I lower my head in worship.

My breath is the only thing between me and her shimmering skin. I feel her hands on my head, in my hair, pressing me to her. Resting my forehead against her belly, I close my eyes and let my hands find her hips. Heat sears my veins when I touch her. The fire inside me kindles my limbs, and I'm afraid I will scorch her. Drawing her deeper into the water, our kisses go from slow burning to soul wrenching. When she moves over me, wrapping my body in her embrace, every sense is overwhelmed. She whispers to me, but I can't speak from the overwhelming sea of feeling as she makes love to me.

The moon travels from skylight to skylight as we wander through the night. When its glow has drifted to the far end of the room, we follow the moon to her bed. The sheets are white like sails, her nakedness awash in moonlight. A wind seems to rush through me. I'm suspended, flying as I gaze up at the moon goddess, at her shimmering breasts and the stars in her eyes. She bends to touch my face, washing over me like golden beams skimming the ocean. Sometimes her face rises against the sky, her hair flowing in the reflection of starry lights. The sensations wield us through moonlight and wind, through time and tides. Then all of heaven rushes through me. In a moment of sheer passion, I carry her through the sky. The red heat of Mars and stellar fires course through my veins in ecstasy. She floods my emptiness with deep, rejuvenating peace, and we float in heaven, drifting over the edges of night into a vast sea of calm.

_Terese's POV:_

Jeremy walks over to the glass enclosed shower and reaches in to turn on the hot water. I can hear his contented sigh when he steps under the showerhead. Chuckling at his reaction, I step in next to him, and he pulls me under the flowing water with him. "Having hot showers is what I miss the most."

"I would too." I lean my head back as he washes my hair. When it's my turn, I push him up against the wall and kiss him while the suds run down between us. We don't come out of the steaming shower until the water finally runs cold. Laughing, we dry each other off. He shaves at the sink, but watches me in the mirror as I blow dry my hair. When I'm done, I drop my towel and head for the bedroom, Jer right behind me.

I open my closet door. "I don't know what to wear."

He comes up behind me, puts his arms around my waist and turns me toward the mirror. "Naked looks good on you."

"Thanks." I grin at him in the mirror. "But I can't go out like this."

He kisses the side of my neck and steps in front of the closet. "Well let's see." He starts rummaging through my clothes, stopping to look at anything that catches his eye. Finally, he says, "This is hot!" He holds up a red dress I've never worn.

"Ok, if you'd like." I chuckle. Going to the bureau, I open my lingerie drawer. Since Jeremy's looking over my shoulder, ogling as I try to decide, I tell him to pick out what he wants me to wear.

I search for pantyhose and a slip as he rummages through the drawer. I can hear him muttering under his breath, _"yeee-oww," "holy Toledo," and "too bad I won't be here long enough to…" _By the time I turn around there's a pile of silk and lace on the bed. I choose a little red duo, and when I turn for the slip, I hear a low whistle. Smiling to myself, I take my time and let the slip cascade over my curves, wiggling and jiggling for him, then doing the same with my dress. I'm pleased at his admiring gaze. His voice sounds husky when he asks, "We're just going to get a Christmas tree and won't be gone long, right?" I laugh.

We're starved so we drive to my favorite café for brunch. Jeremy pointedly avoids the French toast, French omelets, French crepes, French pastries, and French roast coffee. Instead, he orders donuts, pancakes and waffles, then has the waitress bring him a frittata full of peppers and Mexican cheese, while I work my way through a piece of French toast. After downing three glasses of orange juice, he sits back contentedly and plays footsie with me as I finish my coffee.

Next, we stop to buy tickets for an upcoming concert, then decide to take in a movie at the local theater. Jeremy stuffs himself with pizza and more popcorn than I thought possible, washing it down with a large coke. "You're going to get a bellyache if you keep eating like this." He just smiles contentedly and puts an arm around my shoulder while he continues to eat with the other hand. Finally, he's full, and I snuggle up against him during the rest of the movie. By the time we leave, I've had the most fun ever with a guy in a dark theater.

As we drive through town, we spot a large lot full of Christmas trees for sale and pull over. We walk down a long line of perfectly shaped firs leaning against a fence and pick out a favorite. When we chat with the man selling them, he tells us the proceeds will benefit the homeless shelter down the street. Hearing this, Jeremy asks him a few questions about the shelter, and finds out that in addition to housing and assisting the homeless, they're collecting food and other items to be distributed to struggling families in the community. Jeremy looks at me with a silly grin. "Feel like shopping?"

It's fun to shop with him, and doesn't take us long to fill a cart with warm clothing, toys, and blankets. Then we grab another cart and fill it with canned goods, boxed items, and several frozen turkeys. The bags barely fit into the trunk and back seat of my car. We finally manage to get it all in, then drive to the shelter to drop everything off. When the one of the staff members says they're getting ready to serve dinner for the homeless, we stay to help.

Ginny, a volunteer, shows us what to do and introduces several of the regulars who stay overnight when the weather's bad. We're dishing up food as she explains, "A lot of the people who come here are veterans or families of vets who served in either the Vietnam or the Gulf war, and more recently, the Middle East."

"Hi, Miss Ginny." A man in his late seventies with a large nose and smiling blue eyes, tips his hat to her. Ginny introduces him to us.

After exchanging first names, she asks, "So, Harold, how're you doing tonight?"

"Not bad. The free clinic gave me some more of the medicine to stop my bones from achin' so much." Ginny fills the plate with food as he chats with her. "Can I have an extra piece of cornbread? You know how I love it."

"Of course. There's more coming out of the oven in about five minutes. I'll bring a warm piece to you." He smiles and walks over to an empty table.

Ginny explains a little more about the old gent. "He's a WWII vet. Not many of them left anymore. He has post-traumatic stress disorder, but they used to call it shell shock. It wasn't until almost 1980 that PTSD was understood, so most of the vets from the earlier wars haven't received proper treatment. For the old timers, it might not help since it comes too late."

I notice Harold's eating alone and glance up at Jeremy. He must be thinking the same thing. When we're done serving, we walk over and join him. Jeremy and he start talking about their military service. We find out Harold was a tail gunner and served in missions working with the RAF during the war. He tells us about a buddy he lost. "It was the damnedest thing. He'd been hit in the stomach with a mortar shell, but he walked away because it didn't explode on impact. The doctors removed it, and he was fine. That night, I heard him calling my name from the bunk above me. By the time I got up, he was dead. They say it was probably from thinking about how close he came to death that day." He shakes his head sadly. "Yep, he was from Tennessee like me."

On the way home, both of us are lost in our thoughts about the homeless, their stories and their struggles. Even though my time with Jeremy is precious and all too short, I'm glad we took the time to help at the shelter. Surprisingly, snow begins to fall, and the gentle white flakes imbue a peacefulness to the night.

When Jeremy pulls into the parking lot of a grocery store, I figure we're going on another shopping trip for the shelter. But he surprises me. "I know you aren't home much, but I'd like to spend a lot of our time together there. Why don't we pick up groceries so we can cook at home?"

"I'd love that. But I sure hope you know how to cook."

Jeremy laughs and grabs my hand, leading me inside the store. While I put organic salad greens and fresh fruit in the cart, he adds all the junk food he can find. Soon the cart is brimming with chips, dips, hot salsa, pop, and anything frozen, including gallons of ice cream. How in the world does he plan to eat all of this? Then I recall what he's already eaten and figure he'll manage by the time he leaves. When he starts grabbing boxes of cookies, I stop him. "Don't, Jer. I'll make cookies for you."

He gazes at me for a moment, then leans down. "Homemade cookies?" I nod yes, and his grin spreads from ear to ear. "That deserves a kiss!" Right in the middle of the aisle, he sweeps me into his arms and gives me a long, delicious kiss.

"I could probably manage to bake a cake, too." He throws his head back and roars with laughter, making everyone stare at us as he lifts me off the floor and swings me around.

We leave the store with a full cart. Before we reach our car, we notice a little girl standing near the entrance with her father. Next to them is a cardboard box with several kittens. The girl's face is framed by brown curls. A spattering of freckles across her nose highlights her large blue eyes. When we stop to peek into the box, she says hopefully, "They're free to a nice family." She smiles at us from under a red Santa's hat, revealing a set of dimples.

Jeremy gets down on one knee to look at the tumbling kittens. They're all black and white tabbies. When Jeremy puts his hand in the box, one comes over and tentatively sniffs it. "Well, hi, there, little fella," as he tickles its chin.

The girl kneels down beside the box, and I spot something squirming inside her thin little coat. A white paw appears, followed by a furry head and a tiny pink nose. "Claus, you're so nosey." The girl giggles as the kitten squirms inside her coat, trying to escape. She looks up at us. "I think Claus likes you. Every time someone stops, he peeks out at them, then hides until the next person comes along. But this time, he's not hiding. I think he wants you to hold him."

She wraps both hands around the wriggling kitten as she takes him out of her coat and hands him to Jeremy. One of Jer's hands fits easily around Claus. The kitten uses his claws on Jeremy's coat to climb up and nudge his small head under Jeremy's neck. When Jeremy moves close to me, Claus suddenly leaps into my arms.

"Maybe he's your soul cat." Jeremy grins. "Shall we take him home?"

He's busy licking the end of my fingers and purring happily. I laugh. "I don't think we have a choice."

With the glitter of tears in her eyes, the little girl kisses the top of Claus' head. "I'm so happy he's found his family. You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

"We promise he'll always have a good home." Jeremy tucks the kitten inside my coat, pulling my collar around the tiny ball of fur. He takes money out of his pocket. Rolling it up, he hands it to the little girl, and nods to her father behind her.

When we arrive home, two of my landlady's grandsons offer to help unload the groceries and the tree. After the last of the bags has been brought in, I stand in the doorway and hold Claus against my sweater while Jeremy plays with the two kids. Enough snow has fallen to insight a snowball fight. I laugh as the boys gang up on Jeremy and barrage him with the white missiles. He returns the volley valiantly, but lets them win. My hero.

After awhile, he waves to me and calls out, "Come with us. We're going Christmas caroling." Tucking Claus in a warm blanket on the couch, I run out to Jeremy and take his hand.

The four of us ring my landlady's doorbell and wait. When she opens the door, we begin to sing, _"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, falalalala…" _Neighbors begin to open their doors to listen so I motion for them to join us. Soon there's a group singing together, and even my landlady adds her sweet tremulous voice. After the fifth song, she invites us in to warm up. Soon she's fussing over us, serving hot apple cider and freshly baked gingerbread cookies. I swear Jeremy eats two dozen all by himself. On our way back to my apartment, I tease him. "Are you going to get sick from everything you ate today?"

He rubs his tummy happily and an unexpected burp escapes, sending us into laughter. "Nope," he replies with a cat-ate-the-canary grin. I can't help but giggle, wondering where he's putting all this food. I unlock the door, and he rushes us inside, wrapping me up in his arms for a long, sumptuous kiss. When my knees begin to wobble, I take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

_Jeremy's POV:_

"What are you doing in the closet?" All I can see is her backside sticking out the door. She's leaning over, obviously looking for something.

"The tree stand." Her words are muffled. "Ah! Here it is." She hands it to me and takes two more boxes out. "Take these also. One has the lights in it."

It doesn't take us long to get the tree standing upright and positioned in front of the large window. When we finish stringing the lights through the branches, we step back to admire it.

Terese opens the other box. "This was my mother's," she says softly as she delicately removes a large, golden crescent moon and hands it to me. "It goes on top of the tree." Carefully I reach up and put it in place. The tree needs no ornaments. It's looks like a starry night, with a beautiful moon. I sit down on the floor next to her. She reaches into the box again and takes out a stable, placing it on the floor under the tree. Next she unwraps the mother of Jesus. Then Joseph. Then the baby. She places Jesus in Mary's arms. Then she hangs a golden star above the stable.

"Where are the shepherds?" I ask.

"We never had shepherds." She removes another piece from the box. "Just the Magi. They're the wise men and astrologers." A nostalgic smile plays at her lips as she continues to unwrap each piece and place them near the stable. "They were travelers, following the stars…farther than most people ever dreamed."

After everything is in place, we sit back and gaze at the scene. "How long has it been since you opened this box?" I ask, pretty sure I know the answer.

She sighs. "Since my father disappeared. He and I always shared Christmas together, like this. I put the box away because it hurt too much to keep believing we'd ever be together again." She looks deeply into my eyes. "What's Christmas if the Magi don't find the baby? If the star leads them nowhere? If they search and search, and never find who they're looking for?"

Taking her hand, I watch her eyes, waiting for tears to appear. Instead, she smiles at me. "But it's not so sad anymore. Because now I know stars really do lead you where you need to go. And they can still help you find the one you're searching for."


	93. Chapter 93

_**A/N: Deep thanks, and a pink cupcake, for each of you who took time over the holidays to review the two chapters we posted! We hope to hear from our loyal reviewers who might not have had time during the busy-ness of the holidays! We appreciate all your comments…It helps encourage us to continue the story! **_

_**And welcome to all the new readers! Please post and let us know if you are enjoying The Epic Case as the future unfolds for Erik, Laura…and so many others! **_

_So…Erik and Laura are settling into their lives…but will their lives ever be settled? Just what lies in store for them?_

_**

* * *

**__**Chapter 48 LORD AND LADY OF THE MANOR, by Phanna and Phanfan **_

_Thursday, February 15, 1872 _

_Château Mercier _

_Russ' POV:_

Rays of early morning sunshine stream through the window in the library, warming the bowed heads of Jean-Luc and Ethan. They're working on the lessons I just assigned, reading books in English which will be discussed later. Ethan still struggles with some of the translations, but Jean-Luc is quick to help. Three of the younger children are sitting at the other end of the table, diligently copying the letters of the alphabet on small slate boards. Two girls occupy chairs next to the fire, working on a math assignment. The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of squeaking chalk, and the sporadic rustle of pages being turned. I enjoy these quiet moments. It gives me time to plan the next lessons and put my schedule in order for the upcoming week.

When footsteps stop at the library door, I glance up. It's Joe. "Hey, Russ, got a minute?"

"Sure." I turn to Jean-Luc. "You're in charge. Please help the others if they need it."

"Oui, Monsieur Russ." He smiles and sits up a little taller.

I step out into the hall. "What's up?"

Joe motions me to walk with him. "Louis just told us he might have info on Jean-Luc's mother."

That takes me by surprise. Right after Joe discovered the lad in the barn Christmas morning, Erik asked Louis to use his contacts to find out about the boy's mother. Jean-Luc wasn't able to give us much to go on, but he did remember a few names of other tenants in the boarding house where they'd lived in Paris. This is the first news we've had.

When we enter the Great Hall, everyone's gathered near the fireplace. Erik and Laura are sitting on a settee, and Julia is nearby. Josephina has just placed a tray with teacups and a large pot on the table in front of Laura. Louis remains standing, nervously twisting his hat in his hands, while Matt and Ty sit in the side chairs on the other side of the fireplace. I look around for Jeremy, knowing he'll be interested in what's said, then remember he's in a meeting with Ace this morning. Laura's pouring tea when she spots us and asks, "Would you like some?" as she hands a steaming cup to Matt.

While serving the tea, Laura announces, "Louis says he might have some news about Jean-Luc's mother. He was just saying his cousin…well, Louis, why don't you tell it, please."

"Certainly, Madame." He bows to her and begins. "I've had several of my family and friends look into this matter, but they haven't been successful in finding the lad's mother."

Joe interrupts. "I bet she wasn't using her real name in Paris."

Louis nods in agreement. "Oui, Monsieur, we also came to that conclusion. We searched for weeks, but could find no trace of her. It seemed she just disappeared off the streets of Paris." Louis takes a sip of tea from a cup Laura hands him before he continues. "Then last weekend, I was at a family gathering. My cousin, Maude, is a nurse in a Paris hospital. She was visiting with my sister. I overheard Maude telling about a female patient who'd been left for dead in an alleyway. Some kind soul brought her to the hospital when he saw she was still alive. Maude said the woman had been brutally beaten. When she finally woke up, the poor woman couldn't remember who she was or what had happened."

Laura glances at Erik, then asks Louis hopefully, "Do you think it could be Madame Bucher?"

"I wondered the same thing, so I pulled Maude aside later and questioned her. From the description she gave of the woman, it could be her."

"But there are a lot of women who'd fit the description Jean-Luc gave: brown hair, brown eyes." Pointedly, I add, "Jean-Luc couldn't remember any feature which would set her apart."

"Precisely. So I sent one of my men to the hospital, hoping someone there could identify her. But he didn't have any luck. The woman still hasn't regained her memory."

Erik stands. "Well, I promised the lad we would do all we can to locate his mother. We need to determine if this woman is Madame Bucher."

Laura reaches up and takes Erik's hand, "We should go into Paris and…"

"No, Laura. It is best you do not ride in coaches for now." She nods reluctantly. Erik looks at Matt and me. "Would you both go to the hospital and see what you can find out?"

"Right away." But I add, "I think we're going to need Jean-Luc to come with us. He's the only one who'll know for sure if it's his mother."

Erik studies the fire, then reluctantly concedes. "You are correct."

I can guess what's bothering Erik. It would be better if we could identify her without the boy's help. If the woman isn't his mother, he'll be crushed.

Matt speaks up, "I think we should ask Danielle if she'll come along, too. Even if this woman turns out to be Madame Bucher, she won't know any of us. If she has amnesia, she may not even recognize Jean-Luc. Another woman with us would be a good idea, in my opinion."

"Excellent, Matt. Will you ask her?" Erik turns back to me. "Russ, can you tell Jean-Luc what we have just found out and prepare him?"

"Yes, of course."

Erik orders Louis to prepare the carriage for the trip into Paris. As I leave the Great Hall and head toward the library to talk with Jean-Luc, I hear Laura say, "I pray this has a happy ending."

I echo that prayer and hope Jean-Luc will not be disappointed.

_Laura's POV:_

I watch as the carriage passes in front of the window. I really wanted to go into Paris with them, but Erik's right. Danielle's tea helps in most situations. Except with the motion sickness. Riding in the carriage is always disastrous. Still I feel I should be with Jean-Luc. What will happen if this woman isn't his mother? He'll be devastated.

I remember the morning Joe found the boy in the stable and brought him inside. Jean-Luc was so wounded and hurt. Not just from the sores on the bottom of his feet, but in his heart from losing his mother. And not long before that, he'd lost his father. Tears sting my eyes at the memory of his small body wracked with sobs as I held him in my arms, consoling him while he told us his story. How he'd searched for his mother for so long. He was so excited when he came to say good-bye as he left just now. But I fear the wounds will be reopened if this woman isn't his mother.

Warm arms slide around my waist from behind. I lean back into Erik's embrace as he murmurs next to my ear, "They will take good care of him."

"Yes, I know. But he's so small and vulnerable…" I choke up. The past few weeks I seem to be more emotional. Erik turns me around and pulls me close. I begin to voice my fears, "What if…"

"Shhh." He cups my cheek in his hand and tilts my head upwards. "Do not worry. Besides, there is nothing more we can do right now." He leans down and kisses me softly. "Would you like to go for a walk on this beautiful winter day?"

I chuckle at his attempt to get my mind off Jean-Luc. "Yes, I think that's a wonderful idea."

It doesn't take us long to grab our cloaks and head for the kitchen door. Erik stops and talks to Jeanette. She then walks into the pantry and returns with a small bundle, handing it to Erik. As we step into the yard, I ask, "What's that?"

"Food. In case we do not want to return right away." He smiles down at me, mischief in his eyes, and I can't help but laugh.

It feels good to be outside under the warm sun. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the fresh, crisp air, with the pungent fragrance of new grass pushing up in the rich earth beneath our feet. The day is beautiful. The sky is deepest blue with no clouds in sight. From the edge of the field I can hear the hum of the bees around their hives. Birds chirp in the trees and the clucking of chickens can be heard near the chicken coop. As we get closer to the stable, one of the grooms releases several horses into the far pasture to graze.

We spot Joe bent over, examining a horse, and head his way. When he sees us, he waves. The mare he's working with is quite pregnant and whinnies as we approach. Joe speaks to her in a low, soothing voice while he scratches her withers. "Clarisse is going to foal in about a month."

I can't stop myself from asking, "How do you know when she'll foal?"

Joe runs his hand through his hair and smiles. "I've been around horses most of my life. Mares have a gestation period of about 300 days."

That's interesting. My pregnancy will last about 270 days. I reach over and place my hand on the mare's withers, feeling a kinship to her.

Joe continues, "As they get closer to foaling there are other signs. She'll begin to 'bag up.' That means her udders start to swell about a month before."

I lean over to see if Clarisse's udders are swollen, but I can't tell. Suddenly, I hear Erik laugh, and when I look around, both men are watching me. I can feel a blush spread across my face.

"You're such a city girl!" Joe kids me with a broad grin. "Yep, she's close to foaling. In another few weeks, I'll have the grooms watch her appetite. Mares foal mainly between ten at night and four in the morning. If she skips her dinner, you can be pretty sure birth is imminent."

Erik steps over to the mare and scratches her forehead. "Is she the only mare foaling this spring?" When Erik stops, the mare nudges his hand.

"No, there are two more. The stable's going to be busy this spring." We all laugh.

Erik and I decide to walk along a path which circles one of the pastures. Often we stop to admire some of the younger horses running and playing. As we stroll, we pass cows, pigs and sheep. Many of the females are pregnant. There will be lots of young ones born in the spring. I place my hand on my stomach, feeling the connection with nature and the earth.

Erik must sense my inner musings. He pulls me into his arms and leans down for a long, lingering kiss. "I never thought I would be part of a life which held such bountiful blessings." We stay in each other's embrace, enjoying the warmth of the day as well as our passion. It's so good to be alive.

Suddenly, Erik grabs my hand and leads us faster down the path.

"Where are we going in such a hurry?" I ask.

"We are not far from the gamekeepers' cottage. And I am…" his smile widens as he finishes, "…hungry."

Laughing at my clever husband, I squeeze his hand before I let go and start running. "Bet I beat you there!"

_Russ' POV:_

The coach bumps along the road to Paris. I miss cars. Their comfortable, smooth cruising over paved roads. Will I ever get used to riding in jolting, noisy carriages? Matt and Danielle sit across from Jean-Luc and me. The boy hasn't said much since I talked to him in the library and just stares out the carriage window. Though he's excited at the prospect of finding his mother, I tried to make it clear there's a possibility it isn't her. But the optimism of youth keeps him on the edge of the seat during our trip. In the event the woman isn't his mother, all I can do is be there for him.

Matt tries to keep us occupied by telling about the history of the hospital we're going to visit. "Did you know that the Hôtel-Dieu de Paris was founded by a Saint?" Matt directs his question to Jean-Luc, probably hoping to keep him busy on the trip into Paris.

Jean-Luc just shakes his head as Matt continues, "Saint Landry was the bishop of Paris and built the hospital in 650. It's had to be rebuilt and repaired many times throughout the centuries. I read that the gothic buildings survived until the 18th century. The hospital is currently being totally renovated." Danielle gives Matt a strange look. I glance pointedly at Matt, hoping he realizes she's sharp and may wonder where he gets all this wealth of information in a time when it isn't so readily available.

He gets the point and changes the subject. "Amnesia can be a tricky condition. Sometimes the patient recovers quickly, but it may take longer. Months, even years."

I glance at Jean-Luc. He's worrying a loose thread on his pants with his thin fingers, but his head is turned slightly as he listens.

Danielle asks, "Is there anything we can do to help someone regain their memory?" Apparently Matt and she get together and exchange their knowledge. She's teaching him about herbs, and he answers her medical questions. I wonder if Matt enjoys her company as much as I do. She's an interesting woman with a mind as sharp as her sense of humor.

"Not really. Sometimes a patient will recover if they see a familiar person." He looks at Jean-Luc. The boy's staring out the window again. "But it doesn't always work that way. The mind is a complex organ and there's still much to be discovered about it."

"How does amnesia happen?" Danielle asks.

"There are several ways. But the most common is a blunt force trauma to the head."

Danielle repeats Matt's words, puzzled, "Blunt force trauma?"

I glare at Matt, sending him a warning look to not use such modern technical terms.

"Uh, It means a sharp blow to the head," Matt explains.

"Oh." Danielle glances at Jean-Luc and decides to drop the subject. She asks the boy about schoolwork and soon they're in a discussion about a variety of subjects. The time passes quickly, and I chuckle at some of the things Ethan and he do in their spare time. No matter what the era, boys will be boys.

The carriage crosses a bridge over to the Ile de la Cité, the island in the heart of Paris. The Hotel Dieu turns out to be right next to Notre-Dame. I didn't know it was so close. Matt gets out and helps Danielle down the carriage steps. Jean-Luc follows, nervous, but excited. His eyes dart in every direction, taking in everything, especially Notre-Dame. When we enter the large doors of the hospital, Matt walks over to a desk and makes inquiries.

A nun tells him to wait, then disappears down a long hall. It isn't long before she returns and asks Matt to follow her. When he comes back fifteen minutes later, he fills us in. "I just talked to one of the doctors and explained the situation. He took me to her bed. The description you gave fits her, but I can't tell if it's your mother."

Impatiently, Jean-Luc blurts out, "Is she awake? Can I see her?"

"Yes, she's awake, and we're going to see her now." He looks over at me and subtly shakes his head. Apparently she still has amnesia. Matt gazes down at the boy. "The woman doesn't have her memory back yet. You need to prepare yourself. Her wounds have healed, but she has a scar on her forehead. And remember, even if this is your mother, she may not recognize you."

The boy nods, but I can see the anticipation in his eyes. We follow Matt down the long hallway and cross into an older section of the hospital. The air smells fresh because of the innovative technique called the French pavilion which is now being instituted in their hospitals. They believe in fresh air so there's always cross ventilation.

Hôtel-Dieu is well known for taking in charity cases, and the nurse tells us we're being taken to the charity ward. We finally turn and enter a long room with beds lining the walls. As we walk down the center, I glance around, glad to see that the conditions are not as bad as I was afraid we'd find. Each patient seems to be well cared for, and their beds are clean. There are several nurses tending to the patients, offering drinks of water or changing a bandage. One nurse washes her hands before attending another patient. Danielle walks beside me, observing everything with keen interest. Many evenings she's talked about Florence Nightingale and her modern nursing techniques which are changing the way hospitals care for patients.

At the very end of the long line of beds, Matt stops. I can feel the tension in Jean-Luc's thin shoulders as I rest my hands on them. He hesitates only an instant before throwing himself forward onto the prone woman. "Mama! Mama!"

The woman freezes for a few seconds, then starts shouting for the nurse. Tears run down Jean-Luc's face as he hugs the woman. But Madame Bucher is frightened and keeps calling for the nurse, getting louder each time. She's seems confused and scared at the lad's display of affection.

Gently, I reach out and pull him away from her. "Jean-Luc, she doesn't recognize you. We must be patient with her."

His tear-stained face looks up at me, imploring, "It's my Mama. Why doesn't she know me?" My heart breaks. I glance at Matt and see he's thinking the same thing. Even with all of our discussions, Jean-Luc's only a child and doesn't understand.

Danielle kneels down in front of the boy and takes him in her arms. "Your Mama will remember you in time. What's important is that we have found her." She looks up at Matt and silently asks a question. He nods. "We'll be taking her home with us where she'll be safe. I'm sure everything will turn out fine."

Jean-Luc cries against Danielle's shoulder, but keeps his eyes on his mother. Madame Bucher has calmed down and stares at the boy, more with curiosity now than fear.

She's an attractive woman. I guess her to be in her late twenties. Brown hair and brown eyes don't quite describe her. She does have brown hair, but there are streaks of gold and light brown running through it. The thick strands have been pulled back into a long braid which would reach her hips if she were standing. When she glances up, I can see dark lashes framing her brown eyes which have flecks of gold and green. Since her hair is pulled back from her face, the scar which begins just above her temple and continues several inches into her hair is clearly visible. Obviously, it was caused by a very nasty blow.

Matt's already been introduced to her as a doctor, so she answers his question with only a little hesitation. Unfortunately, she doesn't reveal any more information then we already have.

Jean-Luc's tears have stopped, leaving him with an occasional hiccup. Danielle approaches the bed and takes the woman's hand, speaking gently to her. "Madame Bucher, my name is Danielle Sommer. I know all of this is confusing, but we're here to take you home. Would you like that?"

Madame Bucher scrutinizes Danielle, but seems comfortable with her. She's used to the nurses who've been caring for her and probably assumes Danielle is one of them. Finally the woman nods her head. "Oui." Then she glances over at Jean-Luc. "Is he…am I really his mama?" She lifts her hand and rubs her forehead. "I cannot remember."

Danielle motions for the boy to step over. "Yes, Jean-Luc is your son. He's been searching for you a long time."

Madame Bucher stares hard at Jean-Luc, looking him over from head to toe, but there's no sign of recognition. She speaks to him, almost disjointedly, "I am sorry I do not remember you."

He reaches out and touches her hand. "It is all right, Mama. Maybe you will tomorrow."

Matt leaves to make the arrangements to take Madame Bucher with us and let Louis know we'll have another passenger on the way home. It takes some time for Matt to straighten everything out. Erik provided funds to pay all her hospital expenses if the woman turned out to be Jean-Luc's mother. Matt said the hospital was very pleased about that windfall.

Soon we're on our way back to the château with Madame Bucher wrapped in a warm cloak, seated next to Danielle. Matt, Jean-Luc and I are sitting together on the opposite seat. Jean-Luc doesn't take his eyes off his mother the entire trip. Danielle wisely prepared some chamomile tea with the help of one of the nurses at the hospital, and its calming effect lets Jean-Luc's mother sleep during the ride.

She wakes when the carriage begins to slow and stops in front of the château. Several of the servants come out to greet us and offer help. Matt, Jean-Luc and I descend first, helping the women out of the carriage. Madame Bucher is very weak and can barely stand from her long stay in bed while in the hospital. They haven't figured out in this century that patients need to get up and walk around to maintain muscle strength. We transported her in a wheelchair at the hospital, but don't have one here at the chateau.

Matt steps forward. "Madame Bucher, please allow me to carry you into the house." Her cheeks turn red in embarrassment, but she permits Matt to pick her up and carry her inside. He sets her down in the foyer. Danielle stands close to her, Jean-Luc on her other side. Julia and Linc smile at Madame Bucher in greeting. Erik and Laura come out of the Great Hall and cross the foyer to meet us, with Jeremy in their wake.

I've started to make introductions when Madame Bucher's complexion turns paper white. She stares at Jeremy, who's just stepped out from behind Erik. Haltingly, she takes a step toward Jeremy, and with a raspy voice, whispers, "Eliott..." She closes her eyes for a moment and sways, then turns to look down at the boy. "Jean-Luc!" Matt's quick reflexes save her from hitting the floor when he sweeps her into his arms as she faints.

_Erik's POV:_

Laura restlessly turns over again. I have been awake for several minutes watching her, worrying if she is feeling sick again. I reach out and gently rest my hand on her waist. "How are you feeling?" I ask quietly.

"I'm all right." She rolls over and faces me.

"Why are you not sleeping?"

"Well," she pauses and puckers up her mouth, thinking, "I'm hungry, and it's keeping me awake."

"You are hungry?" I glance over at the clock. It is fifteen minutes before two. In the middle of the night. I have heard about this. Women who are expecting tend to get hungry at all hours. I put my hand under her chin, and tip her face up so I can see it better in the dim light from the fireplace. "Well, then, I will make a quick trip to the kitchen. What would you like?"

"Oh, I can get up and get it myself!"

"No, it is the middle of the night. The hallways are very cold. I will go. You need to stay right here and keep warm." She tries to protest, but I press my thumb on her lips, shushing her. "So, what would you like?"

Her eyes roll as she concedes. Without hesitation she replies, "Pumpkin bread. Jeannette made some pumpkin bread today, and it's all I can think about. A nice, thick slice with some butter!"

I chuckle. "Your wish is my command!" Reluctantly I leave the warmth of our bed, quickly donning a robe and stopping at the dresser to put on my mask. I pull on my slippers and hurry down to the kitchen, intent on returning to bed as quickly as possible. I find the kettle sitting on the counter and fill it with water. The cooks leave a low fire in the stove to keep the kitchen warm, so I place the kettle on to boil.

Now, the bread. Where does the cook put that? Surely, the pantry. It must be there. I go into the small room off the kitchen and discover several shelves of breads, neatly bundled in cotton towels. I sigh and begin the process of finding the pumpkin bread. Finally, it is discovered in the ninth bundle. And, thankfully, there is a half loaf. I carry it into the kitchen and cut four, thick slices, then fold the rest in the cloth and leave it on the table. I plan to ask Jeannette to make more tomorrow, that is, later today. Just in case.

I walk into the dining room and take a plate from the china cabinet. The butter is in the cool safe, so I go to the other side of the kitchen and use my knife to cut a generous portion. The bread and butter are deposited on the plate, and now I have to figure out where Jeannette keeps the tea pots, cups and saucers. I open one cupboard after another, but no tea pots. It occurs to me that I need to have Jeannette to acquaint me with the kitchen. This may be the first of many middle of the night raids for food. I finally discover the cupboard with the tea pots, shocked to find such an array. I choose a fine china set and pour the water into the pot.

Now a tray, where are the trays? I look in the compartments below the counter and find a tray in the third one. When I place the tea service and plate with bread and butter on the tray, I realize something is missing. Ah! Spoons and knives! Cannot forget them. Working my way down the cupboards, I search drawer after drawer, finally coming across them. Done!

I pick up the tray and start up the stairwell. Halfway up, Ace passes me, going to his room on the third floor. He must be coming off guard duty. He turns as he sprints past me, his eyes tracking down to the tray in my hands, but does not say anything. He just grins and shakes his head, then is gone. That's when it occurs to me I did not hear him coming up behind me. When I was in the opera house, I always knew who was around. No one caught me unawares. I would slip into the shadows and watch them, unnoticed.

What has happened to me? Then I chuckle to myself. This is my home. I am the lord of the manor. I do not need to skulk about or hide. But, disturbingly, everyone else seems to watch me and know what I am doing all the time. I am mulling over this disturbing realization as I open the door to our bedroom. Laura is sitting in bed, waiting for me. Actually, I am entirely content with some of the aspects of my new status.

I place the tray on the bed between us, drop the robe on the chair and slip under the covers. Laura reaches up and removes my mask, placing it on the bedside table. Then she looks down at the tray and grins. "This is like a picnic!" She reaches over to the jar of Danielle's concoction and puts some of the herbs in the tea pot. While it steeps, she spreads butter thickly on the slices of bread, then stops abruptly. She seems to be searching the tray.

"What is it?" I ask, looking down at the tray.

"Napkins."

"Uh, I did not get any."

With her pixie smile, she says, "No problem!" She reaches over and takes two handkerchiefs from the small drawer in her table, placing a piece of pumpkin bread on each and handing one to me. As she takes a bite, she moans with pleasure. "Thank you so much!" She leans over and kisses me enticingly. Suddenly food is no longer the focus of my attention.

I watch Laura pour our tea, admiring her grace and beauty. "You have become a very fine lady of the manor."

Her lips smile at my comment, but her eyes take on a penetrating quality. "Lady of the manor? I'm not sure I'll ever adjust to that." Then in her lawyerlike manner, she follows with a question which turns the tables, "How do you feel being lord of the manor?"

To stall for time, I take a bite of the bread and chew slowly. This very thought had just been perplexing me. How do I feel? Finally I admit, "Uncomfortable. It is a mantle I was not prepared for, yet here it is, thrust on me."

"I feel the same." Her voice carries a distinct tone of relief. "I'm glad we're finally discussing this. We've been put in a situation that's entirely foreign to everything we've done before." She sighs, "And yet, we can't go back to our former lives. Those bridges have been burned for us both." She takes another bite of the bread, deep in thought. Then her dark eyes pierce into mine. "So, what are we to do about it? What are we to do with the money and responsibility we've been given?"

"Well, I struck a bargain with Marek. He kept his part, and I will keep mine. We need to help The Program accomplish its goal, and I have some ideas where we could begin."

Her eyes glimmer with conspiracy. "I have some ideas, too. Shall we discuss them right now?"

"Most certainly." I look down at the swell of her breasts, covered only lightly by the lace and gauze of her nightgown. I heard a saying when I was in the future, "business first, pleasure second." There is more than enough night left for both. I take her hand and kiss it tenderly, adding, "No time like the present."


	94. Chapter 94

**A/N: I hope all of you are having a very good new year! Mine has been busier than usual. I am finishing the final chapters of the book and already heavily into editing and refining the earlier ones…so that is double duty. To respond to some questions I have been receiving, the book is an entirely new, and much deeper, more personal telling of Erik's story than ever. Other than Laura and the trial…almost everything else is new. With many surprises! Promise!!**

**And, thank you to each who posts your comments about the Epic Case! They are more than appreciated! They do feed our muses and let us know you care about our continuing our Epic story!**

The new year is also in full swing at the _Château Mercier. _Everyone is moving forward into their new lives, beginning with each, small step…

**

* * *

****Chapter 94 Small Steps, by KFC+ and Phanna++ **

_Friday, Feb 23, 1872_

_Château Mercier _

_Matt's POV: ++_

"Where've you been, Jenna? I was worried when you didn't show up." She's breathing hard from running to catch up with me and sits on the ground. "I'm almost finished with my walk." I've been out for about an hour, enjoying the warmer weather. Jenna looks up, still trying to catch her breath. Her expressive brown eyes implore me to forgive her. I do, but can't resist gently scolding her, "You know, we're going to be in trouble if someone finds out what we're doing." Reaching into my jacket, I pull out the bundle I smuggled out of the château. Jenna tilts her head, watching me unwrap it. When I offer her the gift, she excitedly takes it out of my hand.

She drops to the ground again, but this time her front paws grasp the bone. Spotting an old tree stump, I turn it into a stool and keep her company while she gnaws. Late one evening a few weeks ago, I'd been on my nightly walk through the woods behind the château. Deep in thought with everything happening, I was trying to clear my head and set my priorities in order. I'd never admit it to anyone, but I'd been caught completely off guard by Jenna. For an instant I froze, not knowing if the animal was a dog or wolf, friend or foe. We stood there for several tense seconds, taking each other's measure. Cautiously, I'd pulled a piece of food from my pocket to convince the dog we should be friends. It worked, and now it's a ritual--me bringing her a treat. Jeanette's looked at me sideways more than once when one of her soup bones has gone missing.

Jenna followed me back to the château that night. She's what my mom used to call a 'Heinz 57' mutt. Part shepherd, part husky, part who knows. Her fur's multi colored, blacks, browns, golds. While she works at extracting the marrow in the center of the bone, I notice clumps of loose fur all over her coat. I'll grab a grooming comb the next time I think of it.

When she's had her fill, she digs a hole under a nearby bush and buries what's left. Trotting over to me, she thanks me with a wet lick. She usually doesn't get bones. I chuckle, saying, "You're welcome," then scratch her neck and ears, her favorite spots. Grabbing a stick and tossing it, we start our game. She races across the field, running and cavorting before she brings it back to me. We continue this all the way home.

Jenna _'woofs'_ and disappears around the side of the château as I open the back door. Heavenly aromas of baking bread, ham and bacon fill the kitchen. After washing up, I load a plate from the buffet and sit down to breakfast. My only company this morning is Joe. Everyone else is either busy or sleeping in, I guess. I nod "good morning."

Joe stuffs a large piece of strawberry crepe in his mouth, speaking around it. "Hey, Matt." He chews, swallows and keeps on talking. "Glad you're here. I need a favor."

"What?"

"I'm working on the bathrooms today." He takes another huge bite and repeats the process—chews, swallows and doesn't miss a beat before he continues, "I don't have time to track Danielle down. Don't you usually see her when you check on Madame Bucher, uhh, Mina?'

"Usually."

Having finished his breakfast, Joe hastily wipes his mouth and stands to leave. "Danielle treated Chiron last week for a raw spot on his cannon, and the spot's almost healed. Her ointment's a hell of a lot better than what the vet gave me. Can you tell her I need more?"

I manage to say, "sure" before he shoots out the door. I hear a muffled "thanks" as he rushes down the hall. I just shake my head. Everyone's anxious for the new bathrooms to be installed, and Joe's been working on them whenever he can spare a minute. Most of his specially designed building materials have been delivered and stacked in a corner of the barn. Of course, Joe's got a few more 'innovations' than the normal bathroom in 1872. He's even figured out how to heat the household water with homemade solar panels. And they're made out of common materials available here. Got to admire his ingenuity. He says he's got a few other surprises. Wonder what they are?

Finishing my breakfast, I head for Madame Bucher's room. I correct myself. Mina. She's asked everyone to call her Mina. I'm pleased with her progress in the week she's been here. Her strength is returning slowly, and she's able to walk on her own between her room and the Great Hall. When I reach her room, just down the hall from the kitchen, I knock on the frame of the open door. "Good morning."

Danielle and Mina are seated next to a crackling fire, their heads close, speaking in hushed voices. They spend a lot of time together and seem to have become friends. It's natural since they have a lot in common, including the loss of their husbands in the war. I note Mina's skin and hair are already regaining a healthy look because of Danielle's herbals and close supervision of Mina's diet. During several of our talks, I've explained to Danielle it's necessary to include a balanced variety of foods in the meals. She knew the basics, but I went into greater detail, keeping it simple, but teaching her about nutrition. I'd also commented that Mina's scar on her forehead was healing quickly. Danielle credited the salve she made from calendula—the simple marigold. It's amazing how plants I've been around my whole life turn out to be so, well, medicinal.

"Bon jour, Matt." Mina smiles and suddenly her face brightens, the deep worry crease between her brows disappears. Her blue dress compliments her chestnut colored hair, coiled into a fat braid at the nape of her neck. She's still a bit thin, but hopefully, Jeanette's cooking will soon add a few pounds.

I smile at Danielle. "Good morning." Her cheeks flush slightly as she glances first at Mina, and returns my greeting. She looks guilty. Did I interrupt them talking about me? I chuckle to myself. "So how are you feeling, Mina?"

"Better every day, thank you." She stands. "We were just going to take my walk."

I offer my arm. "May I have the pleasure of accompanying you lovely ladies?"

"Of course!" Mina says.

"We'd love to have your company." Danielle says and once again, a hint of a flush blooms across her cheeks.

As we walk toward the Great Hall, I glance at Mina, making a suggestion, "If it's nice tomorrow, you should walk outside and enjoy the warmer weather."

"Oui. That is an excellent idea." She pats my hand. "I'll ask the two boys to join me."

Danielle nods in agreement, then adds, "By the way, Jean-Luc and Ethan want to try out the new pony cart Joe made for them. I agreed only if I was there." Dimples appear as she smiles at me and asks, "Would you like to come along?"

Her mention of Joe prompts me to let her know he needs more ointment. "I'd love to watch the boys. I heard Jean-Luc tell about his hair-raising adventures. Sounds like a good idea for a doctor to be there."

We're chuckling as we enter the Great Hall. Erik, Laura and Jeremy are talking in front of the stone fireplace. Jeremy's leaning over, looking at a newspaper Laura is showing him. When Erik sees us enter, he stands to greet us. Jeremy hastily walks across the room to take Mina's arm and guide her to a seat near Laura. I'm glad Jeremy's spending some time with Mina. She still stares at him, clearly taken with his resemblance to her dead husband. But, thankfully, the intense emotions she showed the first day are no longer triggered.

We say good morning to Linc, Ty and Susie who are sitting near the window. Linc and Ty have cups of coffee in their hands, curls of steam rising off them. Danielle and I take two chairs next to the fireplace. Mina's in a fine mood this morning and chatters away, politely drawing everyone into the conversation. Susie mentions the day Mina arrived, and what a miracle it was that the sight of Jeremy cured her amnesia. Mina agrees then goes on about how she enjoys Jeremy's company, but on closer inspection says he's actually quite different from Eliott.

Susie asks, "Different? How?"

Glancing at Jeremy with a teasing smile, Mina says, "Jeremy's much more handsome."

Laughter fills the room, but I'm relieved to know she's not confusing Jeremy with her late husband. Laura asks Mina about Champagne, the region where she grew up. We're soon in a discussion about vineyards and grapes. I need to hook her up with Joe. He's interested in getting the vineyard here to produce again, and it sounds like she's knowledgeable. The conversation is still going strong when Danielle and I make our excuses to leave. We promise Mina to have Jean-Luc and Ethan stop by later to tell her about their adventure.

It doesn't take the boys long to race to the barn where one of the grooms hitches the cart to a pony. Danielle and I lean on the fence and watch them take turns guiding the pony and cart around the field.

Suddenly, Jean-Luc looses his balance and begins to flail his arms. When Ethan grabs the back of his pants to stop his fall, Danielle breaks out in laughter. It's a scene reminiscent of slap-stick comedy, and I turn toward her to make a wisecrack.

"_Woof! Woof!"_ Jenna jumps up, both paws landing squarely on my arm, knocking me off balance. Then she runs off. Squeals of protest ring out from Jean-Luc and Ethan when Jenna leaps into the cart, landing on top of the two boys. Danielle and I look at each other, bursting into laughter. ++

_Saturday, February 24..... __Sue's POV: +_

"But Sue. What if he really loves her?"

I look up from the arduous task of buttoning my boots. "Who? You mean Terese?"

Julia nods, a furrow in her brow. "What makes you think you even stand a chance with him?"

"I've dazzled him before. I can do it again. But even if he really does love her, how in the world do you think it can last? Terese is impossibly far away. I'm the one who's here day in and day out. Men get lonely, sister."

She gives me a disapproving look.

"Julia. If Matt had a thing for someone in the 21st century, would that put you off?"

"I guess not," she admits sheepishly. "I just feel bad for Terese."

"Oh she'll get over him. Why would she want someone she can hardly ever see? They probably broke it off anyway when she left, knowing they can't be together." I hook the last button and stand up. "Just be glad Jer _is_ fair game." With a pointed smile, I add, "If he wasn't, you might have some tough competition for Dr. Lonely."

Julia crosses her arms, resolved. "So, do you think this is going to work?"

"Trying to get Jer alone? It might if you do your job right."

"Well while you're busy showering him with sparks, don't forget your part of this bargain."

"Right. Gathering intel. Don't worry, I'll find out if Jeremy knows how Matt feels about you."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Perfect. Dusk is settling, and it's just the four of us left in the Great Hall in front of the fire. The rest of the guys are either on guard duty, or playing cards in the library.

I pace restlessly, stopping at the window and peering out. "Hey, what do you say we all go for a ride tonight? It's beautiful out, and I'm tired of being cooped up inside."

"Sounds fabulous," Jeremy exclaims. "Let's go."

Julia glances up, surprised at Jeremy's enthusiasm. I give her a pointed look. It's all up to her now.

She stretches and yawns. "Oh my…I don't know about a horseback ride. I'm feeling good right where I'm at. And I was kind of hoping Matt would give me a rematch of last night's chess game. But that's okay. Maybe he doesn't want to press his luck."

Stretched out on the floor, Matt looks up at Julia. "You're such a glutton for punishment."

She returns his teasing smile. "You better watch out, Doc. I may get you yet."

Matt aims his voice at Jeremy, "I guess I'll stay here and see if I can put this lady in her place, since she's determined to try to climb the ladder."

Jeremy shoots a sly grin at Matt and turns to me with a shrug. "Let's get going. Before it's too dark."

When his back is turned, I flash Julia a triumphant look before following him out of the room.

Outside, I breathe in the fresh air. "Thanks, Jer. I was going stir crazy."

He gives me a boyish smile, and we start jogging toward the barn. Just like old times. We used to run and work out together. He was the toughest trainer, but I loved it.

We saddle horses and ride out into the night at a fast pace. When the horses are finally winded, we stop on a hill that overlooks a deep valley. To my pleasure, Jeremy doesn't seem in a hurry to get back. We end up making a fire, and I settle in for a long chat with my old flame, watching his eyes flash in the warm light while he mans the burning brush.

"So catch me up on the details of your life since I saw you last," he volunteers when the fire is stoked and the trivia exhausted. There's an openness about him tonight. A willingness, almost desire, to talk. And he's asking questions about me.

I describe to him the past several years. The missions, my accomplishments, the adventures. "What about you?" I ask. "What significant events have transpired over the past five years?"

He sighs, in recollection. "Well obviously I was offered a place on the Team. Accepted the sometimes perilous, and always challenging, position of Erik's bodyguard." Grinning, he pauses for a moment, as if remembering some incident. "Then went from second to first officer….got married…"

My sharp gasp stops him in the middle of his list. "Married?"

"What? Are you surprised?"

I reach out and take his hand, scrutinizing it in the firelight. "I don't see a ring on your finger."

He squints and looks down at his extended hand. "Well maybe you don't see the ring. But I do."

I look up, stifling a laugh.

"Believe me, it's there," he smirks.

Furrowing my brow, I look closer. "I'm just not seeing it. Can you tell me what this…ring…_looks_ like?"

"It's a secret," he says, acting bashful and reluctant to share.

I let go of his hand, continuing to pry. "Jer, who is it? Terese?"

"You didn't figure that out?"

"Well I knew you two were having some sort of fling, but…"

Now it's his turn to be incredulous. "Sue. Do I have flings?"

"Well, you didn't used to. But, people change and tend to loosen up sometimes. Jeremy, she doesn't even live here. How in the world…?"

"Well, that was a concern at first," he admits. "But we're working it out. You do, when it's your soul mate."

Agreeing, I lean back with a sigh. "Five years is a long time though."

"Yeah. But if Matt can manage it, I guess I can."

That hits me like a jolt. "Matt's married too? Long distance? That's why he's been so depressed?"

"No, no. He's just recovering.."

"From Laura?"

Jeremy nods, poking at the embers. "But don't worry. He'll find somebody. Just give him time. It's bound to happen. The right person can fall out of the sky at any time. Terese did."

I consider this long and hard. "Well in the meantime, maybe what he needs is a good fling. To help get the past out of his system."

"Hmmm…." Getting up as if it's time to leave, he puts out the fire and laughs, "You'd probably have to give him Love Potion #9, for something like that to happen." +

_Sunday, February 25..... __Erik's POV: ++_

My hands fly over the keys of the piano with pure contentment. The music echoes through the ballroom. I do not even have to think about this piece. It is the piece I wrote for Laura. She sits in the rocking chair, listening, her eyes closed. While slowly rocking back and forth, her hands lightly caress her stomach where our child is growing. Laura told me the babe can hear my music when I play. I am not thoroughly convinced this is true. But I give in to the whims of my enceinte wife. So, most mornings we walk to the fourth floor ballroom, and I play for her. And our child. No matter the reason, I enjoy playing for Laura on the violin or the piano, whichever pleases her at the moment.

Jeremy knocks at the entrance before entering. "I've had Louis pull the carriage around. Are you ready?"

"Yes. We will be down in a few minutes." When he leaves, I walk over and offer my arm to Laura, asking if she needs to stop by the bathroom before we leave. Laughing, she says, "You are getting to know me very well. Of course, I need to stop. It seems I need a break much more often now."

As she tends to her personal needs, I gather up a warm cashmere shawl in case it should become colder on our return trip. Soon I have her tucked inside the carriage and sit beside her. Jeremy gets in and sits next to Julia on the bench across from us. When we have traveled about a mile or so, Laura looks at her watch and says, "We're going to be early for the appointment."

"Do not be concerned," I squeeze her hand gently, "we can inspect the yard and surrounding buildings while we wait for the broker."

"Is the property vacant?" Jeremy asks.

"Yes. From what the broker said, the property has been sitting empty for almost a year. The baron who owned it moved to England. It has been offered for sale ever since."

Jeremy grins. "Maybe he's motivated then and you can get a good price."

"What really matters is if it will fit our needs," Laura says hopefully.

Julia seems surprised at Laura's comment. "Are you moving?"

"No." I reply firmly. Except for Jeremy, Laura and I have told no one on the Team of our intentions. "We have plans for the property."

"Plans?"

Laura glances up at me. I nod my consent. She explains, "Erik and I have been talking about the possibility of opening an orphanage close by."

"An orphanage." Julia looks out the window, then turns to us and states, "I'm an orphan."

I regard Julia with new insight, asking, "You were raised in an orphanage?"

"Yes." She appears sad when she continues, "'Til I was eighteen and could live on my own."

"I thought most orphans were adopted." Jeremy states.

She laughs harshly. "You live in a dream world, Jeremy. Right now, well I mean in the future, there are over 148 million orphans in the world and only one percent get adopted."

Laura's fingers tighten around mine. Laura asks softly, "Were you treated well there?"

Julia scoffs. "Depends on what you mean by 'well.' I was luckier than some. I had food, clothing and shelter. The kids had each other, but it hurts not to have parents who could love you." She closes her eyes. "I remember one director we had for a few years. She was downright evil." She looks away, out the carriage window, deep in thought. After a few minutes, she turns to Laura and me. "You're doing a good thing if you open an orphanage."

"You sound like you have a reason for saying that. Besides helping children, of course."

"Miss Stolid. That was her name." The bitterness in her voice is evident. "Like I said, she was mean. She did things to hurt us, especially the younger ones, and if you told on her, you'd be in big trouble. Sometimes she threatened to make you disappear in the night, and no one would even know where you went. She'd tell everyone we ran away, but she said she'd send us on a train to work as a slave on a farm."

Jeremy breaks in, "But, Julia, you know slavery hasn't been around since…"

"I knew that later, but I was only six at the time. She scared me. And, actually, when I got older I read about the 'orphan trains.'

"Orphan trains?"

"Yes, the ones from New York. The main purpose was to relocate kids, giving poor or street orphans a new chance on farms in the Midwest. Some of them found good homes, some even got adopted. However, the reality was that many more became indentured slaves or were abused."

Laura closes her eyes. Her hand is trembling.

Julia continues, "The orphan trains started in 1854 and continued until 1929. Hundreds of thousands of children were sent away from the cities." She turns to Laura. "That's why it's such a good idea for an orphanage here." Her voice breaks, "And I know you'd make sure they'd be well treated."

"Yes, we would," Laura says in her soft way. "So many men died in the war with Prussia. So many children have lost their parents. We want the orphanage not only give the children a good home, but also a fine education. And, within that education, we can begin to teach the ideas that need to be planted in the world now. Not a hundred years from now, when it may be too late."

I add to Laura's explanation. "Hopefully it will be the first of many. We can afford to found many such orphanages. We also plan to found a college with enlightened professors. Hopefully The Program will agree to cooperate and send people from the future to teach there."

Julia reaches across the carriage and pats Laura's knee. "Brilliant!"

We turn off the road and onto a long, curving driveway, overhung with ancient trees. The brick mansion looms up ahead. It is not as ancient as the chateau and has large, welcoming windows on each of its three floors. Laura and I exchange approving glances. This appears very promising.

_________________________________________

When we arrive back at our château, Laura is still talking excitedly about the estate, already making plans about how its many rooms will be refurbished and used. Although we walked all over the several acres of the estate and through every room of the mansion, she is not tired. Instead, she seems invigorated and can hardly wait for the Baron's response since we signed papers with the broker, making an offer.

When we reach the front door, faint music floats down the stairwell. But that cannot be. No one else plays music here at the chateau. When Laura and I enter the foyer, and the butler takes our capes, I ask Laura, "Do you hear that music?"

She pauses for a moment. "Yes. It's faint, but I hear it. Where's it coming from?"

"That is piano music. It has to be coming from the ballroom. But no one else in the château plays. At least, no one that I know."

"Well, then, it's either an intruder who likes music, or a ghost," she laughs. "Shall we find out?"

We start up the stairway. As we ascend, the music becomes louder. Whoever is playing the piano is performing the song I composed for Laura! _But that is impossible._ The sheet music is in my room. Has someone entered our suite and taken it without permission?

By the time I reach the top step, I am furious and plan to seize whoever has the audacity to invade our privacy and play my composition. Laura is a few paces behind me when I charge into the ballroom. I glance around, but see no one, though the music still fills the air. I charge across the ballroom and around the grand piano. And come to an abrupt halt.

Jean-Luc is sitting on the bench, his hands flying over the ivory keys. I look for my music sheet, but there is none. I realize he is playing the music by rote! Laura stops next to me, breathless from running to catch up. Her eyes go from the boy to me. Then she takes on that deep, knowing look, and smiles. As for me, I am stunned. Speechless. ++

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_Edits and some passages of Erik's POV by Phanfan._


	95. Chapter 95

**A/N: A very special thanks to each of you who post your comments! Since Valentine's Day is coming soon, we give you each a special chocolate cupcake with pink, Chambord, frosting! And a tip of the wine glass and toast from Erik!** **Santé!!**

As everyone settles into their new lives, they are going about it with the best of intentions…but life always throws curves…

**

* * *

****Chapter 95 Impediments, by Phanna, KFC & Phanfan**

_Sunday, Feb 24, 1872_

_Château Mercier _

_Joe's POV:_

Groaning, I sag against the thick wooden beam and rub my head. It's throbbing where I just rammed it. When I pull my hand away, there's blood. "Damn!" Tugging the bottom of my shirt from my waistband, I dab at the spot until it stops bleeding. There's no water in this shed I've set up as a workshop, and I don't have time to go inside and change. Now there's a bloody mess on my shirt. I'll just have to tuck it back in my pants.

Movement outside the window catches my eye. I step closer to look out. The stone path winds around the corner of the shed and toward the garden area beyond. Large, dark patches of earth have been recently plowed for the vegetable and flower gardens. The faint odor of manure hangs the morning air. Yep. Nothing like good old horse manure. And, it's got lots of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium without all the chemical fertilizers which damage the soil.

Antoinette's walking down the path, carrying a basket of food and a container of hot coffee for me. I know because I set it up. It's been weeks since Antoinette and I've talked, or even spent a moment together. And, Susie was glad to help when I explained the situation. Susie was to 'accidentally' run into Antoinette and casually mention I headed for the shed to work without breakfast. Then throw in how concerned she was that I didn't eat.

I'm just stepping over to the door to meet Antoinette when Ace comes around the corner behind her. "Antoinette, wait up."

Damn. I can't believe this. She stops and waits for him, but I see her glance at the shed where I'm waiting.

I made sure there'd be no interruptions, especially from Ace, this morning. But he seems to have radar when it comes to Antoinette. I've never seen him so single-minded about anyone before. And it worries me. A lot.

Ace knows construction from the ground up so he's handy to have around. Even better, he's an experienced stonemason. When I'd left him in the library, he was working on several plans for the addition which will house the new bathrooms. So why's he here?

Double damn! Before I can figure out how to get rid of him, Susie pops around the corner. "Ace, glad I caught you. Jeremy needs to speak to you." Way to go Susie! I chuckle to myself, wondering if she just made that up. Reluctantly, Ace excuses himself and turns back to the château. Susie tells Antoinette she needs to go help Linc.

I open the door. "Good morning, Antoinette. What's in the basket?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

She tilts her head. "Breakfast. Would you like to join me?"

"Sounds good. I didn't eat before I came out." She shakes her head knowingly and laughs. I grin back. "Okay, so it was a ruse to get you alone. And it worked. Can you blame me?"

Still shaking her head, she says, "Non. I have missed your company also."

I take the basket and set it on one of the long narrow work benches. Hunting around, I find two wooden boxes which I turn on end for chairs. The delicious aroma of food makes my stomach growl. "Sorry."

"At least you're hungry." She smiles and hands me a napkin.

She unpacks the basket while I watch. A crock of butter, utensils, warm croissants followed by thick slices of ham and a bowl of scrambled eggs. Ahh. "Perfect! I'll show you how to make an egg McCroissant."

She blinks. "An egg McCroissant?"

I grin. "Yep." I cut the croissant in half lengthways, placing a slab of ham on it, then top it with scrambled eggs and the other half of the croissant. When I hand it to her, her expression says she not quite sure about it. But she takes a bite, only commenting with 'mmm.' She pours coffee for me and chicory for herself. I point to her cup of chicory. "How can you drink that?" I'd tried it when I first got here. Even though most of the locals drink it instead of coffee, it tastes awful. "Danielle tells me they let the animals graze on that plant to kill internal parasites. You know, worms!"

Turning a little green, she yells at me. "Joseph!"

"Sorry. Not a good topic at breakfast, I guess."

Her brow wrinkles in disapproval. Changing the subject, she points to the large panels leaning against the walls. "What are you working on?"

"They're part of a system to deliver hot water to the new bathrooms and kitchen. See the close zigzag pattern of the pipes? When the water runs through them, the sun heats the water. They're painted black to absorb the heat of the sun."

"Where will you put them?"

"They'll be mounted on the roof of the addition, facing south. I'm setting up several systems to collect and store the water. We're even building a waterwheel to run the water to the roof."

"I'm amazed at all the ideas you come up with, Joseph. But this one sounds very strange."

"Well, it really isn't. We have to use what's available here. It would be easier if we could use materials from…uhh...you know."

"Oui…" Suddenly, Antoinette stands, alarm written all over her face. I jump up, looking around for what's alarmed her. She points at me. "Joseph! You're hurt."

Feeling silly, I sit back down, touching the spot on my head. "It's nothing. I hit my head on the beam, but I thought it'd stopped bleeding."

She grabs her napkin and steps in front me to look at it. I take a deep breathe. She smells warm and sweet, just like I remember. I want to put my arms around her and hold her, but I stop myself. That's what got me in trouble the last time. "Antoinette," my voice sounds strained even to my own ears, "we need to talk about that time in my bedroom."

She doesn't say anything right away, just continues to dab at my head with the cloth. I wait patiently for her to answer. Finally, she exhales audibly. "We do not need to discuss that now."

"Yes, we do. I apologize for being so forward that night." Her cheeks flush lightly, and she lowers her eyes. "Please look at me." When she does, I continue, "Antoinette, something's happening between us, and I know it scares you." The flush on her cheeks darkens, and she tries to back up. I reach out and take her hand. "Let me finish."

I can see her internal turmoil even before she says anything. "But, Joseph, I have a grown daughter, and I am too old for you."

"Too old for me?" Surprised, I laugh. "Antoinette, we're only a few years apart in age." I look deep into her eyes. "You must feel the attraction between us."

"It's improper to feel such things at my age!"

Remembering she's not a modern woman, I sigh and rub my thumb along the smooth skin of her hand in slow circles. Even now my blood's racing with her so close. "It's natural to feel this way when you meet the right person. No matter how old you are. You've been alone for so many years, working and raising your daughter. It's time you think of yourself and what you want. Meg is an adult and will get married soon. Have a family of her own."

"Oui," she looks at me triumphantly like she's won the argument, "and I will then be a grandmère."

But I don't let her get away with that. "And what a lovely grandmère you'll be." I pull her closer. Trying to make my point, I cup her face with my hand. "Consider how good it feels when we're near each other, like now."

She lowers her eyes again, saying softly, "I do think about it."

"Not just think. I want you to remember how it feels when we're touching," my fingers lightly caress her neck, "and your heart starts beating faster."

She gives a small, nervous laugh, but her eyes tell me I've hit a nerve, a deep longing. "You are a rogue for saying these things to me."

"Yes, I am." I lean over and whisper next to her ear, "Antoinette, I want to make this perfectly clear. I don't want to be just friends. I want to court you."

_Jeremy's POV:_

A strong gust of wind catches me off guard as I open the stable door to step outside. I yank my collar up around my ears with one hand trying to hold onto the small box of tools with the other. Joe asked me to take them to the shed for him. Suddenly a streak of brown fur rushes at me, colliding with my leg and causing me to drop the box. On my boot. "Damn, Jenna, watch where you're going!"

Matt laughs as he leans over and wrestles the stick out of the dog's mouth. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

I wiggle my toes inside my boot and nothing hurts. "Yes, I'm fine." I pick up the box. "So, Matt. Who won the chess game last night? How much of a challenge is she?"

He looks up from patting Jenna on the head, and throws a stick for her to chase. "Oh, Julia's a pretty fair challenge."

"Who cornered who?"

A slight grin slides across Matt's mouth. "I let her corner me."

"No rematch? You left it at that?"

"No rematch. We just went running. Julia loves to run and can't in the daytime."

"Oh. A new nightly ritual? Midnight pastime?"

Matt just shakes his head. Not exactly 'no,' more like exasperation. "What about your midnight ride?" Matt counters. "Did you manage to douse the smoking wick?"

I laugh. "Yep, it only took one bucket."

"Bucket? You told her you're married?"

"Flashed the invisible ring on my finger. That took care of it."

"Just like that, huh?" Matt looks doubtful.

"Sue didn't mean any harm. She thought Terese was probably a flash in the pan, given the circumstances. She had no idea it was serious. Don't be hard on her. She's a good woman. And I did fall for her once, you know."

This gets a smile out of Matt. "Yep. You sure did. She probably thought the winds of fate were blowing her way when they landed her in France with you."

"Well she took it like the trooper she is, and our working relationship is no worse for the wear."

Jenna drops the stick at Matt's feet and begins to bark at a fancy carriage coming down the long driveway. I do a double take. "That's Percy! I sent word for him to let me know when he got back to Paris. I planned to pay him a visit." Looking over at Matt, I explain, "Remember the daguerreotype pictures that Horatio sent? The ones they made from the photos they found in the files of the PTB office. They were of the six men who transported on our time travel signal. Well, I'm showing them to Percy and his men. Hopefully they'll be able to help us determine if any of those men were killed at the ambush. You might be interested to know that I just got a message from Horatio today. They have now determined one of the men was a doctor." I watch the approaching carriage and chuckle. "I guess Percy paying us a visit suits his purposes better than my visiting him."

Matt calls Jenna back and pitches the stick toward the château. "I'll let you receive the fine company yourself. I've got to check on Mina, and then Danielle is giving me a lesson on herbal tinctures."

"So, running with Julia at night. Herbal remedy sessions with Danielle. And daily visits with Mina. You're really makin' the rounds, huh?"

Matt laughs and heads back to the chateau with Jenna. I walk over and bow to Percy as he steps out of his carriage. "Good morning, Lord Blakeney." Then I formally nod to St. Just and the other two men, "Messieurs." But, I'll always think of them as the Three Amigos. They greet me with their usual good humor, as I add, "You didn't need to go out of your way. My message said I would come to you when you arrived back."

Percy waves his hand, "Ah! Noblesse oblige, noblesse oblige. Indeed my pleasure, my friend."

"We are honored." My grin tells him I know this is indeed his pleasure.

Blakeney turns and motions toward the carriage door. A cloaked man steps out. Tall. Dark. Moroccan, maybe. His dreadlocks are nearly hidden beneath his hood. Not the type of man who would usually be found in the company of the nobility. Blakeney introduces him as "Rajan." I welcome him and invite all the men into the chateau. This should be interesting. For a lot of reasons.

_Percy's POV:_

We are met at the door by Madame Giry. Her grim face does not disguise well her displeasure at seeing me. After a stiff, formal welcome, she informs us that we must all remove our boots in the Japanese fashion and leave them in the foyer for the duration of our visit. My friends and I blink in utter disbelief at this eccentric request. St. Just protests strongly. Jeremy steps forward and explains in his amiable manner this is a policy instituted by Matt, the doctor. Apparently, he believes this to be a hygienic procedure which will prevent undesirables from being brought into the house on the soles of shoes. Very strange people, these Americans. Madame Giry regards me keenly, ready to fault me for any behavior which is not gallant. Former mistress of dance, indeed! My, how she must have kept those little ballet rats in line. I do need to win her over though, so I smile warmly and obediently remove my shoes, donning the slippers the butler hands me. I set the example, and the other men in my group follow suit. I graciously, victoriously, smile at Madame Giry. Her chin goes up, and she leads us with resignation into the library.

Jeremy thanks Madame Giry and she takes her leave. I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Jeremy invites us to take seats around a table near the warming fire. He walks over to an impressive safe and deftly uses the combination to open it. Taking out a large envelope, he joins us at the table. "I have just received these photos of the men we believe were responsible for the ambush on New Year's. Do any of you recognize these men as the attackers?"

Picking up one of the pictures, St. Just points out correctly, "That's Herr Gunter." Jeremy nods in agreement.

"And I personally slit the throat of this one," DePere says matter-of-factly, pointing to another. I smirk at DePere being able to doff his foppish facade in private and show his 'bloody pirate' nature.

Moreaux recalls, as I do, one of the other faces from the bal masque. But I cannot identify any of the others.

I turn to Rajan. "Do you recognize any of these men?"

Silent and aloof, his arms crossed over his chest, Rajan peers down at the six faces. He points to five of the men. "These men are dead," he says in a low voice. Then he points to the sixth man, peering up at Jeremy. "This one I have not seen."

"That man is a doctor," Jeremy informs us. "Perhaps he didn't participate in the battle. He might have been waiting nearby to tend their wounds." He looks up, worried. "It's quite possible he's still alive."

I study the picture intensely. "May I take this? We will use it to track him down." Jeremy hands me the doctor's picture, and I reassure him, "We will return with news as soon as we have some."

"Thank you, Percy," Jeremy replies. With a sly smile, he adds, "Would you care to stay for tea in the Great Hall?"

"We would be most delighted!" I reply. Rajan's dark, regal eyes meet mine as he shakes his head, indicating he will return to the carriage. Jeremy studies him intensely as he leaves.

Soon we are being seated in the Great Hall with Monsieur and Madame Mercier. Their lovely guests, Mademoiselles Julia and Sue are also present. But what delights me most is that Marguerite is seated alone on one end of a long settee. Her beauteous smile welcomes me inticingly. But as I move to sit beside her, Madame Giry magically appears and seats herself between us. Foiled! And by a ballet mistress! The only difference between my displeasure and hers is that mine is not evident on my face. I remain the absolute gentleman. And I will one day win her over. I swear it.

Monsieur and Madame Mercier welcome us warmly. I notice they frequently exchange private, loving glances. They speak with genuine excitement as they tell of the orphanage they are planning to establish. They just returned from viewing an estate which they intend to purchase for that purpose. I congratulate them on their benevolent endeavor. I comment that many more homeless children are now roaming the streets of Paris after the disasters of the war and Commune. Orphanages are needed in these dire times.

I lean forward and direct my question to Marguerite, around the protective bastion of Madame Giry. "And when do you leave to rejoin your dance troupe?"

Madame Giry regards me coolly and answers for her daughter. "It has not yet been decided whether she will return at all. I am displeased with the unscrupulous men who have been paying attention to her."

Hoping to further my suit, I suggest, "Perhaps I could be of some assistance, Madame. Does Marguerite need an escort for her journey? I would be honored to provide such a service if it would put your mind at ease. Furthermore, it would allow Marguerite to return to her dance troupe in safety."

Madame Giry glares at me with steely eyes. Suddenly, I deduce I'm one of the "unscrupulous men" she alluded to. Dash it all! What a horribly ticklish feather this woman is! Or rather, what an ominous buzzing bee…hovering, with her long stinger poised like a rapier! But Madame Giry has no idea who she is dealing with. And I will see to it that one day she says my name with pride in connection with her daughter.

Perhaps proper gentlemanly visits to the château are not the way to go about winning over this Mademoiselle, or her mother! Marguerite will never grow up if she's not allowed to see the world. And what a pity it would be to waste all her spirited élan. I can see in her eyes that she's pining for adventure and ready to partake of risks. I smile to myself. I can handily arrange those. I can make an actress and adventurer out of this charming ballerina. A true woman of flare. But something will have to be done about her mother's obstinacy, her constant hovering like a Spanish Doña. And I know just what that might be.

_Thursday, February 29, 1872, leap year_

_Chateau Mercier_

_Laura's POV:_

Opening the French doors in the ballroom, I hear birds singing and see a nest in the treetop straight out from the balcony. Occasionally, the croaking of frogs is heard from the water below. Erik comes up and stands behind me, enfolding my waist in his arms. I can feel his heartbeat when I lean back. I sigh.

"You sound content." His hair touches my cheek as he nuzzles softly against my neck.

"I am." Contentment is the perfect word. "Do you think it's because of our child?"

"Partially." He turns me to face him. "But I recall how you felt when you first arrived. You were thrust into a society where women remain in the home. Ladies are considered genteel, delicate creatures that need to be protected. Rather like hot house orchids." The edge of his mouth quirks up in humor. "But that is not what your life was. You need more."

I smile up at him. "You're absolutely right. I don't know if I could ever be just the lady of the manor."

"I trust you will stay at home on occasion when our child is an infant?" The glint in his eye tells me he's teasing me.

I tease back. "I thought a Lady would have servants to raise the children. Shouldn't we hire a wet nurse and a nanny and a…" He stops me with a lingering kiss which leaves me weak in the knees. Finally getting a breath, I plead, "Stop, before someone comes in and catches us."

He grins lasciviously, but guides me over to my favorite rocking chair, pulling it into the sunshine. "Sit and I will play music for you and our child." With another kiss, he goes to the piano and begins playing. Within moments the music wraps around me like a comforting blanket as I let my mind wander, daydreaming of our child. Will our first child be a son with coal black hair like his father? Will he inherit his father's musical genius? I glance at my husband and notice a lock of black hair has fallen across his forehead. Absorbed in his music, his expression is so intense, his eyes far away. There. The crease between his brows deepens, and his eyes narrow. What's he thinking about? Will our son have the same gestures, the same habits? I smile to myself. I hope so.

Or is this child a daughter? Erik wants her to be a small replica of me. For certain, she'll have dark hair and eyes. Will she grow up to be a lawyer? I laugh to myself. Probably not. But she'll be encouraged to accomplish whatever she wants and not let anything stand in her way. There will be many choices for her to help make this a better world.

Erik is playing a soft lullaby. I try not to yawn, but it's impossible. I feel so sleepy these last few weeks. Matt tells me it's quite normal in the first trimester. That and constantly having to go to the bathroom. Thank goodness the modern bathrooms will be done soon. Most of the men, and even Julia and Sue, have been helping. I've seen Antoinette join in from time to time. However, I suspect that's so she can be around Joe. I see how they gaze at each other and wonder if anything will come of it. I'll have to ask Erik and see if he's noticed.

My eyes grow heavy. They have just closed when I hear Mina's voice. Groggy, I pull myself back from the brink of sleep. Standing next to Mina, Jean-Luc bows formally to Erik. "Good day, Monsieur." Anticipation beams from the boy's face. Erik motions for him to sit down at the piano bench, next to him. Soon the two have their heads together, planning today's lesson, their third this week.

Mina turns to me. "Good day, Madame."

I invite her sit on the settee nearby. "Do you have time to visit with me today?"

"Oui, Madame."

"I see you're traveling around quite well now."

"I walk farther every day. But I have to admit the climb to this ballroom seems very long."

I chuckle. "Yes, I agree. But it's good exercise. I'm trying to walk a lot each day, too."

"Oui, Madame. I hope you do not think I am too forward, but I overheard that you are enceinte." Her cheeks turn bright red.

I pat her hand. "That's all right. It's hard to keep news like that secret in a large household."

"Oui. May I offer my sincere congratulations? I hope that you and your husband will have many more." Suddenly, she breaks out in tears and searches for a handkerchief. "Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Mina. Can I help in some way?"

"Non. There is nothing anyone can do."

She keeps fumbling in her pocket unable to find a handkerchief. I take out one of mine with the new initials, "LM." Handing it to her, I suggest gently, "Sometimes it helps to talk."

She dabs at her eyes and starts out hesitantly, "You know how Jean-Luc and I survived in Paris. What I had to do…"

"Yes, I have heard."

She's pale as she begins with a whisper, "What I didn't tell you was, well…Matt has told me that I was having a miscarriage when I was beaten and taken to the hospital." I can barely hear her now. "I did not even know I was…"

"Oh, Mina, I am so sorry."

She nods, unable to say anything for a minute. "Perhaps it was a blessing that the child didn't survive." Tears flow again. "Then, this morning, Matt examined me and said…," she tries to stop crying, but can't, "he said there was too much damage done. I will never be able to bear anymore children." She looks over at Jean-Luc who is playing a piece as Erik listens intently.

I quickly go over and sit next to her on the settee, putting my arms around her in comfort. She buries her face on my shoulder and begins to cry. Erik looks up, over the grand piano, his eyebrows dipping low, his eyes questioning. I shake my head and give him an imploring look. He understands and keeps Jean-Luc occupied on his fingering exercises so he does not see his mother's condition.

Finally she pulls away and whispers again, "I am ashamed. So very ashamed of what I did."

"Mina, you did what you had to. You did it to care for your son, didn't you?" I ask softly.

"Yes. That is true. Elliott was killed at the battle of Sedan. We were put off the farm, so we went to Paris. I thought I could find work as a maid or a cook. But the Siege happened and there were no jobs. We had no money for food. Jean-Luc was so very hungry. He would cry from it." She pauses, thinking. Remembering.

Not able to look me in the eyes, she continues, "Because of my appearance, and well, deportment from having been a dancer, I was able to attract well-to-do businessmen. They paid well, sometimes with food they had horded in their lavish homes. We were able to eat. To rent a room. Sometimes even have a fire." She wrings the handkerchief with her hands, staring at them. "You see it was winter. A very, very cold December. When I could not get firewood, or strip some bark off the trees when no one was looking, Jean-Luc and I would bundle up in the bed to keep warm. Sometimes all day and night. After the Siege, many businessmen left. There were still no jobs, then the fighting and chaos of the Commune broke out. One night when I was returning home, a beggar on the street beat me and stole my money."

She looks up now, her eyes haunted and fearful. "Because of what I have done, because I am barren, no man will ever marry me. I have nothing now. Nothing except Jean-Luc."

I hardly know what to say. My heart is breaking for her. "Mina, you have us. For as long as you wish, even for the rest of your life, you can live here. And you have a very fine son. He is devoted to you. As you are to him. You gave so much of yourself to make sure he survived." I reach out and take her hand, "Please know that we are your family now."

She looks at my hand, then up into my face. A final tear glides down her cheek. "Thank you. I do not know how I will ever repay you."

"Repay? There is no repaying that you ever need to do…" Then a thought comes to me, "Perhaps there is a way you can help, though. There were many other women in your same situation in Paris, weren't there?"

"Oh yes, Madame. Many." She shakes her head sadly.

"Do you think they would like to break free of that life? To have a new life?"

She gasps. "Oh! Yes! I know of others who hate what they are forced to do. They would take any chance to have a different life."

I give her a smile of encouragement. "Well then, in that case, perhaps we can help each other. And them." I squeeze her hand, then release it. "We'll discuss what I am thinking. Soon. Would that be all right with you?"

Her eyes light up, and she smiles through the glittering tears. "Oh yes! I would like to help you! Yes, Madame!"

Mina looks over at her son. Her love and pride for him make her lovely features almost sublime. We listen to Jean-Luc play under Erik's strict, but encouraging instructions for a long time. When the lesson is finished, Erik praises Jean-Luc's progress, and the boy sighs with relief.

When Mina and Jean-Luc leave, Erik walks over to me and leans down, kissing my forehead. His breath warm on my skin, he asks, "What happened? Why was Mina crying?"

Before I can answer, he leads me back to the rocking chair. Sitting down, he gently pulls me into his lap. I snuggle against him, the intoxicating feel of his arms wrapped around my waist, protecting me, loving me. "First, my love, just hold me for a while."


	96. Chapter 96

**A/N: For those of you who checked in on Sunday and didn't find the new chapters, well...this website was experiencing some glitch and writers could not log on to post new chapters...until today! **

**Again, we writers thank each of you who post your thoughts, comments and musings! Your taking time to give us your input and feedback is very, very valued!**

**In fact, our readership is constantly growing, which leaves us puzzled at the fewer reviews being posted! Because I am very busy finishing writing the book, I am considering posting only once a month instead of our very regular (except for holidays) every other Sunday. The decreasing reviews, despite increasing readership, makes it difficult for us to get enthusiastic about taking so much of our time to write and post so often. If you would like us to continue on an every other week basis, we really need to hear from you, through your reviews!! If you aren't able to post on this website, you can click on my name and go to my personal page and email me! We'd love to hear from you!**

At Château Mercier spring is just around the corner, and not only the birds and bees are getting busy!!

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**Chapter 96 Chickens & Dentists & Children, Oh My! by Phanna, KFC & Phanfan**

_Friday, March 8, 1872_

_Château Mercier _

_Sue's POV:_

"Marry me, Sue."

"No, marry _me!"_

I stop hammering and turn my head, keeping my feet firmly planted on the wooden ladder and a tight grip on the roof. Ty and Sam are sitting on a stack of straw with silly grins plastered on their faces. Watching me do all the work. "Funny, guys. How about getting off your duffs and helping."

"Nay, we've got the perfect view from here."

It dawns on me they're staring at my as…uhh, backside as I bend over. It's impossible to work in full skirts, so I've taken off all my petticoats. The March breeze keeps lifting my skirt, giving them a bird's eye view of my thin bloomers. "Ha, ha. Get to work."

They snicker as they get up and grab the pitchforks and get back to scattering dry straw on the floor of the chicken coop. This morning, two of the girls came in after collecting eggs, and said the coop was full of angry wet hens, pecking at them. Sam and Ty aren't that handy with a hammer, Linc was nowhere around and Joe was busy, so I volunteered to fix the hole in the roof where a board broke loose.

Surrounded by clucking hens, Ty lifts a pitchfork of straw and starts for the henhouse. Sam shoos the chickens away from the door and squints up at me. "So, how come you're so handy, Sue?"

I shake my head. "Maybe because I was raised on a farm?"

Still squinting up at me, he twists an invisible handlebar moustache and asks, "So what other talents do you have that we don't know about?"

I just roll my eyes tempted to drop the hammer on his head. He steps out of the way when Ty jabs the pitchfork at the straw and startles the rooster. When he lets out an ear shattering crow, Sam flinches. "Hey, I thought roosters only crowed at dawn."

I yell down, "Nope. They'll crow when another rooster invades their territory. Or if they're startled." The rooster stands his ground, challenging Sam. I snort as Sam gives the irritated cockerel a wide berth. City boy.

When we finish in the chicken yard, we head for the construction area. Ace is talking to the supervisor of the men who are laying the foundation of the four story addition that will house bathrooms on each floor. Joe's not far away, measuring off the size of the pit for the dry wells. The workmen are already digging the pit for the septic system. Ty and Sam grab shovels and pitch right in. Several of the workmen from outside the château turn to stare at me as I approach. I notice they quickly glance away when Joe comes over. He looks down at my skirts and raises an eyebrow over my lack of petticoats. "Yea, I know. It upsets the sensibilities of the men, but I can't work in all those layers!"

"I know." He grins sympathetically. Joe speaks briefly to Ace, then says to me, "Come on, let's get out of here." We take the path toward his shed. "I have more frames for the bee hives. It's going to be less intrusive to collect the honey now."

I smile at him. "That's why I had you make them. Did you look over my ideas on using hydropower for the laundry? Oh, and the water troughs?"

"Yes and yes. You know, the people here either think we're nuts or we're from another planet. I just explain we're Americans."

I laugh. "But they like all the conveniences we're putting in place to make their lives easier. Plus, we're _teaching _them how to make improvements without hurting the environment."

When we enter his workshop, he points to the frames. I'll take them to the apiary later. Joe pulls out the technical drawings for the laundry, dry wells and troughs for us to go over. After we finish making some final adjustments, I roll up the drawings to store them. As I pass the window, I see Antoinette in the garden bending over the cold frames Joe set up several weeks ago. They provide protection for the plants from the colder weather at night and are usually propped open during the heat of the day. Young sprouts are already shooting up. In a few more weeks, when the nights are warmer, the frames will be removed. Antoinette's moving from one to another, inspecting them. Joe sees her too and starts for the door. I stop him with a question. "I haven't had a chance to ask. Did you get to talk to Antoinette?"

"Yes."

I wait. "So?"

"So what?"

I tilt my head. "So, what did you talk about?"

He laughs. "You're awfully nosey."

He usually doesn't hold out on me. Hmmm, something's different. "You really like her, huh?"

"This goes no further, Sue."

"You know I can keep secrets."

"Uh huh, you're good about that. And yes, I do like her." He's standing in the shadows looking toward her, but Antoinette can't see him. He's quiet for a minute, then typical of Joe, changes the subject. "Hey, I heard you went riding with Jeremy a while back. Are things on again between you two?"

How in the world do people find out about these things? "No. He's serious about Terese." I tiptoe, placing the rolled-up plans on the shelf above his worktable.

He touches my arm to get my attention, then searches my face. "Are you okay with that?" We were close growing up, and he was always there if I needed a shoulder to cry on. I'm glad we're here together in this century. We've fallen back into our comfortable relationship.

Concern is written all over his face, so I set his mind at ease. "Actually, I'm fine. There's a time for everything and when it passes, it's gone for good. Our time passed." I shrug, then steer him back to what _I _want to know. "You still didn't tell me what you talked about with Antoinette."

His face softens as he gazes out the door at her. "I asked if I could court her."

"Oh, Joe, you _are _serious about her." I'm so happy for him. I know they're friends, but… "Does she feel the same?"

He hesitates. "She hasn't said anything yet. Hasn't even said I can court her." He faces me and grins. "But she hasn't said no. She's not used to someone moving so fast. I nearly ruined things a few weeks ago, so I need to give her time."

"Sure hope it works out." I can't resist giving him a big hug. "If there's anything I can do, let me know."

"I will." And he's out the door. I stand there and watch as he strides down the path. Antoinette's face lights up when she sees him. They walk up a small hill, stopping near a tree. I study their body language the way Julia taught me, feeling a bit like a Peeping Tom. But I can't help it. I want to see how Antoinette acts around him when they're alone. They laugh at something Joe says. He leans closer and rests his hand on the tree next to her shoulder. She doesn't move away, and looks directly at him when she speaks. Yep. I think the feeling between them is mutual.

Grabbing the frames for the bee hives, I start to leave when I spot Ace come around the corner of the barn and walk over to them. Antoinette stiffens and moves quickly away from Joe. Joe shoots daggers at the unwelcomed intruder, but Ace ignores him. Ace greets Antoinette politely and chats for a minute, then turns to Joe and says something. Joe nods, but he's not happy and turns to speak to Antoinette. She shakes her head 'no', and the men leave. Ace seems to enjoy Antoinette's company a lot lately. Is he serious about her, too? I have an uneasy feeling about this.

Making my way to the apiary, I add the additional frames to the hive. Then I return to the château and change into a riding habit, this time putting my petticoats on. Linc and I made plans to go riding this afternoon. It was uncomfortable using the sidesaddle at first because of the two pommels. The right knee hooks over the higher pommel, and the left thigh tucks under the lower one with the left boot going into the stirrup. It took some practice, but I've finally mastered it.

Wearing my blue velvet riding outfit, I catch up with Linc in the library. He's sitting in a chair, not looking so hot. Matt's standing in front of him. "Good grief, Linc, are you okay?" I ask.

He groans. "One of my fillings fell out, and the nerve's exposed."

Matt has a small piece of cloth rolled up and is dipping it into a small bowl. The scent of clove fills the air as he explains. "Danielle said the oil of clove would soothe an ache, so it should help until the pain pill kicks in." He tucks the cloth into Linc's mouth over the exposed nerve.

Linc makes a disgusted face and talks around the cloth. "Damn, Matt. Thath sstuff 'astes trrble."

"Sorry." Matt grins and starts cleaning up. "I've sent a message, letting STARLab know the situation. It's still another month before the scheduled dentistry visit, but they'll have to send someone for this. We can't have you visit a dentist here. There's no way to explain the modern dental work."

"And, I don't think you'd like how they do things either." I chime in.

"No, dentistry is still in the infant stages." He turns to Linc. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear something."

After Matt leaves, I sit down. "Guess this means we're canceling the ride, huh?" He eyes me with irritation, but I ignore it. "So, what would you like to do to pass the time?" I wiggle my eyebrows at him. "If I shut the door, we could play games."

He removes the piece of cloth from his mouth as he guffaws. "Okay, Sue, shut the door. Then find the cards. Who in the hell taught you to play poker like a pro?"

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_Saturday, March 9, 1872_

_Matt's POV_

"Thanks for the lesson, Danielle." She turns around and hands me the ointment. Something in her quirky smile spikes my heart rate, and I fight the urge to give one of her copper curls a good old-fashioned tug. She has no idea how much I'm paying attention to her lessons, and how much I'm just watching her. I'm cool, calm, professional. Interested in herbs, of course. Just sometimes the herbalist is more interesting than her concoctions. I glance at my watch again. _Better get going._

It's raining outside. Jenna bounds towards me, followed by Jean Luc who no doubt wants to know if he and his mamma can come with me on my walk. I tousle his hair and pat him on the head. "Not today. It's too rainy." Conveniently rainy, since I have to take this walk alone. I chuck Jenna's stick back toward the château, and she takes off after it.

"Maman's smiling today," he grins up at me, grasping at my hands.

"Is she?" I smile back and swing him in a circle. "You shouldn't be out in the rain." I slap him playfully on the backside and he runs off laughing, chasing the dog. Danielle's standing at the back door with her hands on her hips, calling for him to come back to his lessons. When he's gone inside, I turn and head for the gamekeeper's cottage, thinking of Mina's sad eyes the day she and Danielle confided in me, and I gave her the exam. She was frightened. But I was professional and gentle with her, and she seemed to relax. Still, telling her the truth about her condition was extremely difficult. I've given bad news to many traumatized people. Mostly tough, trained army personnel. _"You've lost your leg, but you'll walk again. You'll recover. You're paralyzed, but you're alive."_ I've never had to look in a woman's eyes and tell her she's lost the ability to bear a child. Beneath my calm demeanor, it hit me hard. What does a doctor do when the only comfort for a bereaved woman is to be held? Thankfully Danielle came, and when I left the room I heard Mina crying in her arms. That tore me up. Made me angry for her loss. For her pain. For the suffering that is endured every day in this harsh, brutal world.

Standing outside Mina's door, hearing her cry, I felt like the foreigner that I am. _"A stranger in a strange land."_ We're here to try as much as we can to identify with the people in the past. To understand their fears, their joys and sorrows as we reach out to them. But they can never truly reciprocate. None of them will ever know who we really are. There will always be a barrier. We'll always be unknown. That must be why I love the late nights with Julia. There's no pretending. No walls but those of our own making. And those could come down at any time. We haven't missed a run since the night she cornered me in chess. She even ran with me in the rain. After months of long nights alone in my room, or on the tower, she's an oasis. Still, so much of her stays hidden beneath the surface. She's like a deep well. What she shared about her past sheds a light down that well. Sometimes I want to reach out and touch her. But I'm afraid to disturb the waters.

Just as I catch sight of the cottage through the trees, Jenna runs up to me. I take the stick from her mouth and scratch her head. "Let's go find Melanie, shall we? Who knows, maybe she'll even clean your teeth." I chuck the stick out ahead of us and Jenna takes off after it.

Melanie. I can't wait to see her. Wrap my arms around someone who knows me well. I imagine her sparkling eyes, knowing some joke will come off her lips and still make me want to kiss her. The way I sometimes wanted to, before Laura happened. Banishing thoughts of Laura, I trudge on, keeping Melanie's face in my imagination. Her long auburn hair. Bright, contagious smile. The infectious spark in her laughing eyes. At the cottage, I stand under the eaves while I wait for her to arrive. Strange. I don't even know if she's the fainting type.

Finally, Jenna tires of the stick and leaves to chase a rabbit into the woods. At last there's a flash of light through the rain. I start toward it. Then another flash and Melanie appears in the clearing like the ray of sunshine she always is. Smiling, I race toward her. She looks up just as I catch her swaying body in my arms, her face lighting up as she squeals my name. She drops her bags and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me as tight as she can in her dazed condition. I hold her up, laughing as she chatters somewhat incoherently about how glad she is to see me and how long it's been. "So good to see you too." I hug her to me. "You're as sunny as ever. But can you walk?"

"You mean you'll carry me if I can't?" her eyes sparkle as she dramatizes a swoon. "Then I'm definitely feeling weak."

I laugh and pick her up. She lets her head fall on my shoulder. It feels so good to hold someone. I almost forgot. When we reach the cottage I don't want to put her down. "Here you go. Steady now." I set her feet on the floor so I can open the trapdoor. "Right down here, unless you want to wear a corset and bulky, long dress, and pose as a guest."

"No, Matt. I'd rather be able to breathe. And I can't work in a corset just to be able to appear at the meal table."

"Okay, I'll take you in through the secret passage. You can start working on Linc as soon as you feel ready. He's in a lot of pain." I wrap my arm around her waist and help her down the ladder, then take her hand and lead her through the tunnel. We banter our way to the underground room where Linc is leaning back in a chair and Sue has an ice pack on his jaw. Julia stands next to her, concerned. Linc moans like an animal when he sees Melanie. Seemingly revived, Mel gets right to work and starts ordering me around. I am to assist since I know sterile procedure. When Linc's tooth is repaired, Sue and Julia help him upstairs. Julia tosses over her shoulder that she'll be back with food.

As we're cleaning up, Mel thanks me and wraps her arms around me again, hugging me with enough strength this time to match her enthusiasm. "Matt, it's just _really_ good to see you." She smiles sincerely.

"You still love what you do, and you don't mind the time travel, huh?" I give her shoulders a light massage. I've been curious about how things worked out for her.

"Oh, I'm very happy with this job. I love traveling through time. The places and history. And helping make a difference. When you recommended me to The Program, you knew I'd love this. You must love it, too."

"Actually, my life doesn't make a whole lot of sense right now," I shrug.

She eyes me thoughtfully, "Matt, something's happened to you since I saw you a year ago." She searches my face, trying to figure out what it is.

I try to remain the chum. "Something…like what?"

"I don't know," she hesitates, wrapping her tools and putting them back in the case. "Did someone break your heart?"

I try to mask my feelings, but can't fool her. She looks up knowingly. "Is she here? Because if she is, don't tell me who. I don't want to hate her."

"I don't want you to, either. Because, I don't hate her."

Her green eyes take on a curious gleam. "You still love her?"

I dodge the question. "I'm never loving any woman again, until..."

"I know." Her face softens with understanding. "Until you're in love again."

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_Monday, March 11, 1872_

_Matt's POV:_

Ace is the last on the team to get the dental exam. He needs some heavy work done, so I end up helping Melanie again. While we clean up for the last time, she pulls out several bottles of hydrogen peroxide from her bag. "I brought these along to restock your supply. Is everyone still rinsing their mouths with peroxide everyday?" She puts a hand on her hip. "Do they understand what an important preventative measure it is?"

"Well I try not to micro-manage. But the bottles seem to be emptying regularly."

"And what about you?" she chides playfully. "I hear doctors are notorious for taking care of everyone but themselves."

Suppressing a grin, I turn around and lean against the counter. "Are you saying you don't floss, Ms. White?"

"Of course I floss. I said doctors. Not dentists."

I consider my words, but decide to take the plunge. "_Of course_ I've been using peroxide. You never know when someone might come up and just randomly kiss you. Without explanation."

Her eyes flash with surprise, then slight embarrassment. So I've jogged her memory. She hasn't completely forgotten. I cross my arms, letting the smirk play at my mouth as she walks closer to me. Folding her arms, she stops only inches from my face. "You remember that?" she asks sheepishly.

I resist making an 'elephants never forget' comment.

She lays a hand on my arm. "I'm sorry I never explained." Her eyes go wistful, then sad. "I had just been through…well…an awful lot." She hesitates, looking up apologetically. "I guess I… just really needed to kiss someone."

I look deeper into her eyes. Do I dare?

I do.

Leaning down slowly, I touch my aching lips to hers. Her mouth goes soft under mine. It's been so long…such a foreign sensation. I kiss her slowly, deeply, perusing the curve of her smile. Wondering what shape her lips will take when I pull away. When our eyes meet, her lashes fall gently toward the curve of her cheeks. "Now we're even," I whisper into her hair. Then I kiss her forehead and leave the room.

_Julia's POV:_

"Hang on, Mel. I forgot my coat," Matt calls as he runs back up the hidden stairwell. While Melanie stuffs her things into her bag, Sue and I take advantage of some last minute small talk with her. But I can't say I'm sorry she's leaving. I've missed my late nights with Matt.

Finally she zips her bag shut, just as Matt's footsteps are heard coming down the stairs. She looks up with a glint in her smiling green eyes, tipping her head toward the stairwell. "Just between me and you, girls. That man needs to be kissed more."

After a moment of stunned silence, my eyes go wide. Does that mean Melanie kissed Matt? And it went okay?

Sue's arched gaze shifts my way, followed by a daring smirk from Melanie. When Matt appears, he looks warily at the three of us, standing here suspiciously quiet. Shrugging his coat on over his shoulders, he flashes Mel a smile. "Ready to go, Dr. White?" As he picks up her bag, she glances at Sue and me, punctuating her statement with the gleam in her eyes. Then she and Matt disappear into the tunnel.

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_Saturday, March 16, 1872_

_Erik's POV:_

"Yes, my love, I think this will make a splendid music room!" I smile down into Laura's radiant eyes, so bright and beautiful.

"We can line that long wall over there with mirrors for the dance class. It's across from all these tall windows. That will be very light and cheerful, don't you think?"

"Yes!" I break into a grin. Laura is so excited about our now owning the mansion for the orphanage that she actually gushes as we go from room to room and examine the property, beginning to decide how it will be used. We meet with a local architect and mason next week to design and sign contracts for the refurbishing. As she walks to the far end of what was once the mansion's ballroom, she exuberantly explains how a stage will be built there for the children to present plays.

As we have been walking through our new property and discussing our plans, I have come to realize how much Laura needed a purpose beyond being the lady of the manor. I have never seen her so enthusiastic about her work since she has arrived here in the past. As she goes on about the curtains and bright colors the walls will be painted, I exhale resignedly.

It occurs to me for the first time I will have to share her with others. She will not be just mine. She will be giving herself also to our children and to all the others she helps. I will just have to cherish the moments that belong to me and guard them carefully. Until the child is born, I will spend as much time alone with her as I can and always keep these moments in my memory for times when she is away. And, she will be, I now admit to myself. Watching her talk excitedly about how the children can draw their own murals on the walls, I beam. And, heaven help anyone who gets in her way!

Running footsteps thunder down the hallway. Jean-Luc comes bursting through the door of the ballroom, his face glowing with wonder. "I've found it! I've found it!" He blurts out.

"Whoa," I admonish, "dignity, dignity, young man! What have you found?"

He comes to a screeching halt, pulls back his shoulders and tugs his jacket into place. Now that his feet and legs are healed and his health restored, his energy seems boundless. But his mind is also sharp, and he absorbs the piano lessons like a parched sponge. He is so gifted, he may have a career as a concert pianist. I even find myself looking forward to my tutoring sessions with him.

"My room! I've found my room!" He says with self-satisfaction.

"You have?" Laura returns his enthusiasm. "Which one?"

"The one on the third floor. On the northwest corner!"

"Northwest corner…." I study him thoughtfully. Then it occurs to me. "Is that the corner with the tall oak tree shading it?" I gaze sternly down at him. "Indeed, if I recall correctly, one of the branches touches the building there."

A guilty look crosses his features.

"Ah! So, I am right!" I cross my arms and peer down at him. "The better to climb out at night and get into mischief!"

Mina arrives, slightly out of breath from trying to catch up with Jean-Luc. "Oui, Monsieur Mercier, I do believe that is his plan!" She shakes her head, pretending to disapprove, but the glimmer in her eyes says that she understands her son.

I nod, adding, "Well, then, nothing that a little tree pruning cannot take care of."

The expression on Jean-Luc's face drops into a frown.

I lean over and whisper in his ear, "…or maybe not."

A sly grin returns to his face, and he winks at me.

Laura coughs and looks over at Mina. "Haven't you told him yet?"

"Told me what, Maman?" Jean-Luc is suddenly serious.

"Well, son, I think Madame Mercier is correct. I need to tell you that I am returning to Paris. Madame Mercier is purchasing a property there. It will be opened to give free health care to women and children. It will also assist women who wish to, uh, change their lives. We will help them relocate elsewhere and start new lives."

"You mean I have to leave here?" Instantly Jean-Luc's expression becomes nothing less than horrified. I notice his feelings always seem to be on the surface. I wonder if that is normal for children. That was not my experience. The feelings I had, even as a child, had to be suppressed.

Mina takes Jean-Luc by the shoulders and turns him around. She studies his face for a long time. Tears form at the corner of her eyes. Finally she clears her throat and says, "Jean-Luc, you are a young man now. The man of the family. It is only right for you to choose where you live. Do you wish to stay here?"

"But Maman, would I be able to see you?" His voice is strained, torn between difficult choices.

"Oui," Mina brushes his hair back from his face with the tender touch of a mother, "often."

Jean-Luc looks up at Laura who reassures him. "You can go to Paris and visit your mother, or she can come here, every weekend!"

"Well, then, Maman, if it's all right with you," Jean-Luc turns and looks up at me, "I want to live with Erik."

The boy's words leave me stunned. He did not say he wants to stay _here_. He said he wants to live _with me._ I clench my jaw to hold back my feelings. Putting my hand on his shoulder I say decisively, "Then you shall."


	97. Chapter 97

**A/N: First, we want to thank ALL who posted reviews or expressed their hopes The Epic Case would continue with the biweekly postings! We were very happy to hear from some fans who had not reviewed for awhile. You know, when that happens, we need to hear from you that you are still reading and enjoying the story unfold. When we don't get reviews, we don't know if our story is being well-received or if you find it interesting! So…a pink cupcake for each of you…AND a new chapter…on schedule. And, it's longer than usual because spring is coming…and everything at Château Mercier is heating up…. **

The pleasant, cozy days of the end of winter are coming to an end. Nothing stays the same. Laura and Erik have had their wedding and honeymoon and happy days of togetherness and bliss, settling into their lives together. But their past cannot be escaped. For many, the shadows of the past haunt them, and now the time has come to confront them. For better or worse.

* * *

**Chapter 97 PROMISES TO KEEP by Phanna, KFC and Phanfan**

_Wednesday, March 20, 1872_

_Julia's POV_

I study Matt's face as he contemplates his situation. Gazing at the board, oblivious to Sue and Jeremy's banter, he seems to be taking this next move very seriously. We're down to kings, queens, and his knight. At the moment, I have positional advantage, but it's his move.

Jeremy leans forward and stares at the game board in silence for a few minutes. Then as if he's forseen the outcome, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair. "I think I'll call it a night."

Sue leans back on the couch, very unladylike for this day and age. Her smile follows him across the room. "Sweet dreams, Jer," she teases knowingly. He winks, and tosses her an _'I'm sure they will be'_ look on his way out. I wish I had her comfort level with men. She has such easy camaraderie with them. Completely unlike me.

Suddenly a loud whoop comes from the library, and my hand jolts, knocking over Matt's queen. Linc must've finally beat Joe at blackjack. Hearing the hullabaloo, Sue leaves to congratulate him. I look up at Matt's amused face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to take your queen out quite yet." When I set her back up, Matt moves his knight.

I scrutinize the effects of his move. Not good. Any move I make, I give up my advantage. "Want to quit while you're ahead?" he asks with a charming grin.

I consider the options, then glance up sheepishly. "Sure, unless you want to run around like Alice on a chess board all night, getting nowhere." He gives me the benefit of a laugh, and we clean up the game. On the way upstairs he gives me _the look_. I look away, feeling shy. "Not tonight Matt."

"Why not?"

"I have headache," I tease him sullenly.

He smirks, stopping me outside the door to my room. "You do not. I can spot a headache a mile away. You had one three nights ago. Not tonight."

I catch my breath. "How could you tell I had a headache?" He was with Melanie that night. I thought he wasn't noticing me.

He shrugs. "It's a doctor thing." But his eyes say otherwise. They spark enticingly as he waits for a yes. _Damn it, Matt. Stop pouring on the charm. _I'm fighting my emotions now. _Should I? Shouldn't I?_ I really want to. But I shouldn't. No. It'll only make it worse. _Damn, Julia. Why did you have to be so stupid the other night?_

Once he flashes the _'you know you want out of that dress'_ look, it's time to summon all my resolve. I look up apologetically. "I'm sorry, Matt. I can't run. I hurt my foot."

The blue of his eyes fades from charming to concerned. "What? What'd you do to it?"

I hesitate, dreading the reaction I always got when forced to tell Ms. Stolid at the orphanage where I snuck off to and what I'd been doing. Especially when one of my escapades ended badly. I take a deep breath. "I went running in the dark by myself the other night, and stepped on a sharp root, almost twisted my ankle, then fell down and hit my knee."

"Julia, you should have had me check it out," he chides gently, taking my arm and steering me toward his room. "Just let me have a look okay?" He sits me on his couch and kneels on the floor while I pull my skirts up over my knee. Avoiding the bruise, his warm hands feel my knee for swelling then move carefully down my leg. Gingerly, he removes my shoes. I take off the stockings, and he cradles my leg in his hands, resting my foot on his knee. "Your ankle okay?" he asks, tracing the joints with his fingers.

I nod. "It's mostly my foot, and it only hurts when I stand, from the downward pressure."

His hands massage my feet. "Yeah. This one's definitely inflamed." He looks up, giving me a silly, disappointed frown. "You probably shouldn't run for a while."

"I guess you're on your own tonight then. Unless Sue's in the mood."

He casts an amused look in the other direction. "No, I think I'll stay here and keep you and your foot company." He lifts my legs up onto the sofa, and I lie back, unladylike, propping my bare feet on the arm. He grins at my pose. My skirts must look ridiculous. He turns around and takes a bottle from the table. "Wine?" I look up into his disarming smile. Does he really want to spend the evening with me? Even if we can't run? His manner's so relaxed, I nod and he pours me a glass. Then I watch him start the fire. It's nice being in his room. Almost as if he's opening up to me. Letting me in. But I feel a twinge of anxiety, that I won't be able to reciprocate. We always talk after our runs, but the conversations have never gone below the surface. Even what I've told him about my life, and myself, is all facts…no feelings.

The fire begins to warm me. So does the wine, and Matt's easygoing humor. To hell with it. Feeling guilty will only ruin this. I'm going with the flow. _It's Matt. It's just tonight. It's ok._ He offers me water and a pill. "Here's an aspirin for the inflammation, compliments of Dr. White. Fortunately we still have access to some things from home."

After taking the pill, I wonder out loud, "What is it you miss most about the future?"

He sits down by the hearth, thinking. "I guess just this," he looks up at me lying on the couch. "The openness. Being known for who we are. Not pretending like we're born and bred in the 19th century." He takes a drink. "Late nights after the servants go to bed help make up for some of that."

"And having a dentist visit once in a while doesn't hurt." I add.

A smile quirks behind his wine glass as he takes a sip.

"Sooo, Matt," I venture. "Is she more than a friend?"

He eyes me over the rim of his glass. "Well, that depends how you define 'friend.'"

"You have a range of definitions?" I raise an eyebrow, curious.

"I guess so. When you get along well with women you discover there's quite a spectrum. It depends on how they treat you. Some treat a man like one of their girlfriends. Some think you're their brother. To others you're a 'guy friend.' Or just a 'guy.' Then you've got those on the far end of the spectrum that see you as a man, and treat you like one."

"Hmm. Friends with benefits?"

"No. I don't have that category," he chuckles. "They know you better than any of the rest, but don't have designs on you. You treat each other like a man and woman. You're not lovers, but you relate to each other in some ways friends don't."

"Like maybe she'd kiss you?"

"Maybe."

"So let me get this straight. Your friendly dentist is less than lover, but more than friend. Let's see. What should we call that? 'Friend…_a la mode_'?"

His eyes flash blue above his grin. He loosens his shirt and rubs the back of his neck as if there's pain in his shoulder, then picks up his drink. "I guess that's one way to put it."

"Something wrong with your back? Or you're missing your chiropractor _a la mode_, too?"

He stifles a laugh, trying not to choke on his wine. Swallowing carefully, he sets the glass down. "I think it's from hunching over dental patients for three days, and not running at night to make up for it."

"Well, I'm not a chiropractor, but I'm a pretty good masseuse. Or so I'm told."

"Really?" He looks up with a glint of interest. "Who's telling you that?"

I shrug evasively, then sit up on the sofa. "Judge for yourself."

He gives my inviting smile some thought, then puts another log on the fire and comes over and sits on the floor front of me. I hold my breath as he shrugs his shirt off over his shoulders and it falls to the ground. Exhaling slowly, I touch him lightly at first. Then letting the contour of his shoulders fill my hands, I knead the tension from his muscles. Touching him feels good. I wonder if he can sense the way I feel through my hands. _Damn it Julia. Don't do this to yourself. Again. Take your hands off Matt right now and go back to your room. _Instead, I keep going until he lets his head fall forward. Then I massage the muscles in his neck. My hands reach into the dark waves of his hair, letting it slide between my fingers. He is totally relaxed. Receptive. I move my hands down his neck, and over his shoulders, pressing the trail of my thumbs into the depression between his shoulder blades Finally, when I think he might have fallen asleep, he turns his head to the side and says something to me.

"What?" I rest my hand on his back, coming out of my muse.

"I said, you _are_ good," he sits up, smiling over his shoulder and reaching back to give my hand a squeeze. "Thanks."

I smile, fighting back tears. Tears of frustration. His perceptive blue eyes linger on mine as he pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. "Something wrong?" he asks. I shake my head. He moves to stoke the fire, then comes back and sits on the couch beside me. "It's okay. You can say whatever's bothering you."

"Nothing really. I was just thinking about your…categories."

He picks up his wine glass, smirking sideways at me. "And I'm way off?"

"No. You just missed one. What about the 'rebound girl'?"

His brow furrows as he takes a sip. "That's its own category?"

"It's the one I always find myself in."

He looks at me, contemplative. "Always?"

I sigh. "Every time, I swear not to let it happen again. But I can't help it. I fall for lonely men. For broken hearts. And it always turns out I'm just an interim solution. I give them comfort. Help them forget. And when they're all fixed up, they leave me."

"Ah. They quit coming for pain pills once the heart's mended." He gazes at me sympathetically. "Maybe you need to stop doling them out altogether."

"I've tried. And resolved. Many times. At eighteen, I joined the army trying to dull my emotions. And it works to some degree. Everything's tough and strict. You're so physically isolated. Told to stay out of relationships. Don't feel. Keep professional. I do well most of the time. But every so often it's just all too much. The rest of me starts coming up for air. I get all hormonal. Sensitive. Over-emotional." I look up at Matt, trying to avoid breaking down. "Do you think Danielle has a tea for that?"

"Probably," he laughs. "But I don't think you need it. It's not a hormone problem, Julia."

"It isn't?"

"Your emotions are definitely related to your hormones. But what I'm trying to say is, I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I think you have a very strong compassionate streak, that has nowhere to go. And your natural feminine instincts are surfacing. Maybe not having had family relationships, you don't recognize these feelings as normal. Since you went straight from an orphanage into the military, maybe they're buried to some degree. And whatever tries to surface gets pent up."

"So you think if I develop a new outlet, I'll stop feeling this way?"

"Well, somewhat. But you're a woman, Julia. And by that, I mean human. You need arms around you now and then. Physical touch. Everyone does. My guess is you missed a lot of that growing up, and it's just continued by default." With understanding in his eyes, he wraps his arms around me. I fight the urge to break lose and run to my room, but slowly his warmth permeates my body, and my tension goes away. I relax against him as he holds me tight against his chest, gently rubbing my back and caressing my shoulders. I start to breathe freely and at least one tear escapes the corner of my eye and melts into his shirt.

When I raise my head, he loosens his embrace and looks down at me. "Matt, I can't even remember my last honest-to-goodness hug. Thank you."

"At least that travesty's remedied," he runs his hand over my hair, and I lean back on his arm draped over my shoulders. We relax against each other and watch the fire burn slowly. One by one, the candles go out. Sometimes he takes my hand while he's talking to me. And I rest my feet on his legs, towards the fire. Russ snores in the next room. We dream up ways for him to find Ms. Right, and joke about how to cure my rebound disease.

"Avoid lonely doctors?" I tease. "I hope I'm able. But I don't know."

He sets down his glass with a professional air. "You know what? I'm beginning to think part of your problem is that no one's kissed you in a while." His eyes spark playfully as he leans toward my smile. For some reason I don't shy away. The touch of his kiss is sweet. Light…but deep. The feel of his lips moving against mine is exhilarating. He sets me spinning, then with one last playful nudge leaves my mouth tingling, whetted for more. When our laughing eyes meet I hope mine won't well with tears. I feel open, and light hearted. Alive.

I lay my hand on his shirt. "Matt. I don't know how all this will seem tomorrow. But for tonight…thanks for giving me back my humanity."

His arms tighten around me, pulling me close again. I feel him kiss my hair as he leans to my ear. "Thanks for being real with me. I'm glad you felt free."

_---------------------------------------------------------------------_

_Thursday, March 21, 1872_

_Antoinette's POV:_

"Please tell Comtesse de Chagny that Madame Giry and Mademoiselle Meg are calling." The butler steps aside and invites us in, taking our capes, hats and gloves. An elegant crystal chandelier dominates the foyer. Beneath it, a central grand stairway sweeps upwards and splits at a landing, leading to the east and west wings of the château. The heels of our shoes tap out a rhythm on the black and white marble floor as we follow the butler to the drawing room. He escorts us inside, then with a bow, leaves.

Two expansive windows along the outside wall overlook a garden beyond. Our footsteps become muted when we step onto the Aubusson carpet. Eighteenth century antiques fill the room. Meg and I walk past pedestals with statuary and tables trimmed in gold leaf. Massive framed oil paintings cover the walls between a number of tall doorways. In awe, we look up at the ceiling covered with elegant paintings of scenes from Greek mythology, including semi-clad goddesses. An even larger crystal chandelier is suspended from the center.

We seat ourselves on a moss green settee near a stately marble fireplace. Most of the furnishings are gilded in gold, including the majestic antique mirror above the fireplace. Meg gapes at the ostentatious wealth displayed throughout the room. She's still gawking at the paintings on the ceiling when the door swings open, and Christine sweeps in, a sincere, welcoming smile on her face. Her yellow day dress compliments her dark hair which is pulled high and threaded with matching ribbons and pearls.

I stand as she rushes over to embrace me. "I'm delighted you've called. It's been so long since I've seen a friendly face." She turns swiftly to hug Meg. "I'm glad you're back in France."

Meg takes both of Christine's hands. "Christine, it's good to see you again. I've missed you so much."

"As I have both of you. It's been a long time since we've been together, and so much has happened." Christine slides her arms around our waists and hugs us again. "Let's sit and talk. Would you like me to order tea?"

Meg answers. "That would be nice."

Christine tugs the silk bell pull to summon a servant. A few moments later, the butler appears. "Edgard, please have Alice bring tea for us."

"Oui, Comtesse." He bows and leaves.

"Come. Let me show you the terrace while we wait. If it were a little warmer, we'd have our tea outside." She grabs Megs hand and leads us over to a French door. As we step out onto the stone terrace, Christine says, "The de Chagny château has seven gardens. Can you believe it?" This section of the building juts out, and the terrace extends as far as I can see in either direction. In several places, stairs lead down into a garden where daffodils, tulips and lilacs punctuate small vignettes among tiers of budding greenery. Scattered throughout the garden are benches, arbors and statuary fountains.

I comment, "The garden will be lovely when it's in full bloom."

Christine nods. "I haven't seen it in summer, but Raoul says it's quite lavish. He's especially fond of the formal garden at the back of the estate."

Meg asks, "Will you give us a tour sometime?"

"Of course. There's even a hidden garden I'll show you. I found it quite by accident when I was walking one day. Once the trees and shrubbery fill in, it would be impossible to find if you don't know where to look." We hear the maid in the drawing room and go back inside. Alice sets the tea service on the gilt table in front of the settee. Christine smiles at her. "Thank you, that will be all. I'll serve." The little maid bobs and leaves the room.

I watch Christine as she pours tea into the delicate Limoges cups emblazoned with the de Chagny family crest. She seems comfortable in the role as wife of a nobleman, but then I had no doubt she would be. As if sensing my thoughts, she looks at me. "I enjoy being a Comtesse even though it comes with many duties."

Meg accepts a cup of tea. "Like what, Christine?"

Christine gives a small chuckle. "I'm now the perfect hostess." Her lips curl into a grin. "I'm also quite versed in polite social talk. I was clumsy at first, but Raoul insisted I be groomed for the position as his wife and Comtesse. He had his dear, sweet aunt teach me. She made it so much fun, and now it's become second nature."

"Oh, Christine, your life sounds so exciting."

"It is, Meg. Raoul insists that I have dresses made for every occasion, and they must be especially stylish. We're frequently invited to soirées, and Raoul makes sure I present myself in a manner befitting a Comtesse de Chagny. We hosted one of our own a few weeks ago. It was quite successful. It seems Parisian society has now accepted me since we were married." Abruptly, she sets her cup down and walks over to a table, her back to us. "I am so sorry I wasn't able to send you an invitation to our wedding. Raoul made the final decisions about who was to be invited."

Meg tilts her head and studies Christine, saddened by the pain in her voice. She begins to say something. Catching her attention with a stern glance, I quell her tongue and reply, "We read that your wedding was a private affair with only members of the nobility invited."

The first contact from Christine, a letter, arrived only two days ago. I took it straight to Jeremy. After he discussed it with Ace, we had a meeting. They asked many questions about Christine. Realizing they were trying to understand her character, I answered honestly. Jeremy recalled how she acted the night of the bal masque and was justifiably concerned. He asked me if I thought she planned to expose Erik. I pointed she had not done that yet. Ace asked if I knew why. I couldn't answer that question, so we concluded it was best for me to meet with her and find out. And not tell Erik until after my meeting with her.

She turns and gazes as me, imploringly. Is that a hint of tears in her eyes? I say a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary to guide me through this. Her shoulders slump in resignation. "I wanted both of you to be at my wedding. But, well, Raoul made the final decisions about who was to be invited."

"Please do not worry yourself. We understand." Sympathetically, I add, "And it is only right that we accept the choices we have made."

A tear slides down her cheek, "But your choices have kept Erik in your life, and mine have not."

I inhale sharply. Before I can gather my wits to respond, Christine continues, "It was a shock when I found out he was still alive. Later on the night of the bal masque, I realized you were with him." She turns away. "When I stood on the mezzanine to sing _our_ song, he knew I'd recognized him. He couldn't take his eyes from me. In my heart, I felt he was going to come for me again, and I would make the right decision this time." Tears flood down her cheeks, and she pulls a handkerchief out of her sleeve. "But he didn't." She lowers her head in her hands and sobs.

Meg crosses over to Christine and hugs her. "Oh, Christine." Once again, I give Meg a stern look, not wanting her to make this worse with her sympathy. She says nothing else.

As much as my heart hurts for Christine, she needs to face the reality of the situation. With the tone I always used to admonish her, I say firmly, "You choose Raoul that night at the opera house, not Erik. Surely you knew Erik would go on with his life." I refrain from adding that Erik's now married and incandescently happy. Christine will learn of that soon enough.

Her voice is husky with emotion when she replies, "But," she looks at me, pleading for me to understand, "I still love him."

Meg gasps, but I pay her no mind. This mustn't be allowed to go any further. "_You are married, Christine! _You have a husband who deserves your devotion now. _And if you have any sense, you'll never repeat those words again!"_ Foolish girl! Doesn't she know what danger she can bring down on Erik and all the people around him? The room is silent as I let those words sink in. Meg looks shocked to her core at Christine's revelation. Christine's face has turned pale. I decide to ask a question that Jeremy and Ace wanted me to inquire about. "We didn't have time to exchange addresses at the bal masque. How did you discover where I live?"

Christine wipes her eyes. "I asked the host, Count Delaney."

"But that was three months ago."

"I didn't have a chance to contact you sooner because of the wedding and our honeymoon. Then one night in early February, there was a premier opera, and a ball to be held afterwards at the Hotel de Crillon in Paris. Because Raoul was one of the sponsors, we were required to attend. But we were late and missed the opera, so we went directly to the ball. I didn't see Erik at first. It was your American friend, Mademoiselle Counselor, who I recognized when I overheard her voice. I was stunned to realize Erik was her partner. I feared Raoul might find out Erik was still alive. I feigned a headache, and we left immediately."

_Mon Dieu!_ None of the men suspected Christine was there. Or that she had seen Erik and Laura. My head begins to ache as I realize how that night could have ended. "I see." I take a deep breathe and broach the subject which is of the gravest concern. "Christine, what are you going to do now that you know he's alive?"

"What will I do? Oh." She stares down at her hands. "I would like to see him again."

My head pounds. In vexation, I reach out and grab her hand. I glare at her for a moment, then shake my head, 'no.' She understands and blurts out, "No, no. _I would never betray him! I would never do anything to hurt him. Or you!_ He was my angel all those years after my father died, and you were my mother. Even when I found out that he was using the name of Monsieur Mercier, I did not tell anyone. Even Raoul." She turns pale. "Raoul doesn't allow me to mention Erik's name. If he knew, he…"

Meg finishes her sentence, "…he would turn him over to the authorities." Christine nods her head, confirming our worst fears.

"But Erik would be executed!" Meg cries out, "And Maman and the rest…. Raoul must never know, Christine!"

"Hush, Meg. Christine knows that, don't you?"

"On my father's grave, I swear not to tell." Christine's eyes disclose no deception. Satisfied that she will never reveal this secret, I draw everyone back to the settee, and change the subject. Christine tells us the history of the château and even shows us the coronet of pearls made for the Comte de Chagny in the eighteenth century. When Meg asks about her friends at the opera house, Christine sighs. "Marriage isn't what I thought it would be. Raoul doesn't let me out of his sight. And he doesn't approve of anyone from my past life at the opera house."

Meg blurts out, "Even us, Christine?"

She looks uncomfortable. "I don't know."

As if summoned by our discussing him, Raoul strides into the room. For a fleeting instant, he looks like he's just taken a bite of lemon when he sees Meg and me. Then his façade of politeness descends into place as he bows stiffly. "Bon jour, Madame Giry, Mademoiselle Giry." He steps next to Christine and possessively places his hand on her shoulder. "Please forgive my intrusion. I didn't realize you had company, my dear. I just wanted to remind you of our dinner engagement with Comte Bastion this evening."

"Of course. I didn't forget." She glances at the clock on the side table. "We don't leave for another four hours."

Raoul smiles at her and touches one of the ribbons in her hair. "But you know it will take some time for you to bathe and dress. We mustn't be late." Watching Raoul's expression as he gazes at Christine, and hearing the gentle tone in his voice, I can discern his true affection for her. After a few more minutes of polite conversation, he takes his leave.

Christine explains apologetically, "One time my maid was sick and wasn't able to get me ready in time. We arrived very late at a soirée, and Raoul was upset. Now he always reminds me." Her cheeks flush. "His position in society is very important to him." I briefly close my eyes as my headache worsens. Erik and Laura will soon go to Spain to visit his mother. What will Raoul do when he learns Erik is his brother and the eldest son? How will he deal with the truth that Erik is the rightful Comte and heir to all the de Chagny wealth? Even this mansion Raoul and Christine now reside in?

Christine asks Meg about the dance troupe and where they've travelled. When she inquires if Meg has met anyone special, I wonder if she will speak of that debaucher of young women, Monsieur Blakeney. Tentatively, Meg answers, "There is one gentleman I've recently met who's very interesting."

Christine leans forward. "Who? How did you meet him?"

Meg glances at me, but I say nothing, wanting to hear her response. She continues, "Well, Maman doesn't like him." Christine turns and raises an eyebrow at me.

I wave my hand in dismissal. "We have only seen him a few times. I don't know his true character."

"But he's so handsome, Christine," Meg gushes, "and I like him."

"_Marguerite!_ What has this world come to that you are so bold to state that!"

Meg lowers her head. "Sorry, Maman." The rest of our time is spent in trivial conversation. Meg has multitudes of questions about the life of a Comtesse, and Christine obligingly answers. When we leave, promises are made to visit again. But I make a point of not inviting her to Château Mercier, and she seems to understand.

Meg is quiet on the trip home, and I'm lost in my own thoughts. I am certain Christine won't betray Erik's name or whereabouts. Once Erik has been declared the rightful Comte de Chagny, there still remains the problem of expunging his past. Even though titles don't have the importance they once had in France, paired with vast wealth, they retain power and respect. But, will that be enough?

My thoughts drift to Christine. Sadly, from what I observed today, she doesn't return Raoul's affections. Glancing at Meg, I'm reminded of my own marriage and how much I loved my husband. When I met Henri, I was already living at the opera house. We fell in love and married within three months. I think back on our wedding night… Guiltily, I glance over at Meg, hoping the warmth I feel is not visible. I sigh. She looks so much like him. When Meg was born, Henri doted on her. We had several wonderful years together before he left to fight in the Crimean War. The day I received that horrible notice of his death, I wanted to die myself. But I had Meg, and she kept me from giving up. I know I could never marry without love.

When we arrive home, Meg hurries into the château. It's still early afternoon, and I don't feel like going inside. I set off for the copse of trees behind the stable. I discovered a small clearing next to a pond and go there when I want to think. I spread my cape under a tree and sit on it, placing my hat aside carefully so it doesn't get soiled. Leaning against the tree trunk, I close my eyes, willing my headache to stop. My thoughts carry me away so I'm surprised when I smell fragrant lilac. I open my eyes and see a small nosegay within inches from my face. "Mmmm, they smell so nice."

"I've seen you pick them."

I laugh and take them from his hand. "How did you know I was here? I thought this place was my secret."

His eyes crinkle as he grins down at me. I can see an old scar on his chin. "Actually, I was standing under that tree one day," he points across the pond, "when you walled into the clearing. You looked so deep in thought I didn't want to bother you so I just left. Sometimes we need time to just be by ourselves and think."

"Oui."

We fall silent, but it's not uncomfortable. He sits down next to me and leans back on his elbows. We share the warm sunshine, the fragrant odor of the lilacs he's brought and the gentle hum of dragonfly wings hovering above the water. When it's time to leave, he picks up my cape and shakes it out, then throws it over his arm. It's warm, and I don't need it. I carry my hat by the ribbons, and we take our time walking back to the château. Before we leave the cover of the trees, he stops me. "I could bring a picnic lunch tomorrow if you agree to meet me here."

I smile up at him. "That would be nice."

One of the hired men hales him as we near the château and starts asking questions about the addition. He excuses himself with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders. I watch Ace as he walks away, thinking about our lunch tomorrow.

_Laura's POV:_

Erik's breath is warm in my ear as he sings softly to me. I love these evenings when we're alone in our private sitting room. Although it's the equinox, tonight the chill of winter is winning over the warmth of spring. As soon as we arrived after dinner, I put on my dressing gown, and Erik changed into his night clothes and robe. Then he stoked the fire and moved the rocker next to the fireplace, pulling me into his lap. Now I snuggle closer as he tightens his arms around me. The warmth of the fire, the gentle rocking, his lullaby are making me drowsy, lulling me to sleep.

Abruptly, rapping on the door brings me out of my reverie. I sit up and frown. "Were you expecting someone, Erik?"

"No," he snarls. "Why will they not leave us alone when we are in our rooms?" Then with a wicked smirk he leans forward and kisses me. "Shall we disappear again and go somewhere for a couple days?"

"I think we should give that serious consideration," I reply with another kiss. "But, unfortunately, for now, we have to see who's there." Reluctantly, I slip off his lap.

I follow Erik and stand next to him as he opens the door. When we discover it's Antoinette and Jeremy, we exchange glances. This is not a social visit. We invite them in, and I busy myself with the requisite pouring and serving of tea—a talent I didn't possess before arriving in the 19th century, but now it's as much a part of my life as wearing bustles. And equally as irritating. But, being the hostess and lady of the manor, I go about my duty, listening with anticipation to figure out why they're here.

Our guests settle into arm chairs near the fire. Erik sits opposite them on the settee. Antoinette begins by talking about the weather and her anticipation that spring will soon arrive in full bloom. Erik eyes Jeremy acutely, suspecting this is the prelude to some serious matter. As I'm pouring the tea, I notice Jeremy squirm. His forehead is creased with concern. Yes, this is serious.

Erik replies politely to Antoinette's weather and garden report. Then he turns a lowered eyebrow on Jeremy and observes drolly, "What makes you so cheerful this evening?"

I hand Jeremy his cup of tea, and he takes a sip, stalling. Finally he says, "Well, Erik, Antoinette received a letter from Christine two days ago."

Erik's eyes flame and turn to Antoinette, studying her.

Timely, I hand Antoinette her tea. She takes a sip. Tea comes in handy in a number of ways. Covering one's expression is one of those. After she drinks the tea, Antoinette busies herself looking down at her tea cup. I hold out the sugar bowl. That allows her to delay a little more and gather her courage. She takes three sugar cubes. I suppress a grin. Usually she takes only one.

Erik tires of the stalling, "And just what did this letter say?" he asks bluntly. I hand him his cup of tea. He doesn't drink any. It would interrupt his intense glare.

Antoinette takes a deep breath and answers, "She wanted to know how I was and asked me to come for a visit."

"A visit? When?" Erik demands.

"Today," Antoinette takes a gulp of tea and puts the cup on the side table. I notice her hand shaking. I hold out the sugar bowl for Jeremy. He declines. I _know_ Erik doesn't want any.

"You saw Christine today?" Erik stands, towering over us, his temper beginning to flare.

Antoinette returns his gaze steadily, "Yes. Meg and I went to the de Chagny estate."

While I'm dishing up some tea cakes from the side board, Jeremy blurts out, "Antoinette told me about the letter, and we felt it was best for her to meet with Christine as soon as possible. We needed to ascertain what Christine's intentions are."

"Intentions?" Erik turns and glowers at Jeremy.

"Frankly, we needed to know how much she has learned about you," then he looks sideways toward me, "and whether you are married. Most of all, we needed to find out if she intended to tell anyone else."

Erik studies Antoinette for many breathless moments. "What did you find out?" he finally says, his voice strained. Walking between Erik and our guests, I hold out the plate of teacakes. Jeremy shakes his head, but Antoinette takes one. Good, food helps settle the nerves. I smile as I hand her a napkin. Then I hold out the plate to Erik. He frowns at it, but I've distracted him just enough that he notices me glance at the tea cup in his hand. "Your tea is getting cold, Erik." I put down the plate and pick up my own tea cup. Yep, tea comes in handy for many things. I sit down on the settee and pat the seat next to me, subtly inviting him to join me. And sit down. His gaze goes to my hand on the settee. It breaks the tension. He shrugs and sits down.

"Well?" Erik says to Antoinette, this time with less edge.

"Christine and Raoul have married."

"Good!" Erik smiles for the first time. "What else?"

"She confirmed that she recognized you at the bal masque."

That doesn't come as a surprise. We were all quite certain of that. Erik's face remains impassive, but I detect a twitch at the corner of his eye.

Antoinette continues, "She also realized that I was attending with you. She found out from Count Delaney where we live."

"Has she shared that with…anyone?" Erik hisses out.

"No. No one, not even Raoul. She said she would never do anything that would bring harm to you or to me." Antoinette looks anxiously at Erik, "She said she considered you her dear teacher and mentor. But she was also at the ball in February during your trip to Paris. She saw Laura and you dancing."

Jeremy suddenly interrupts, "But she doesn't know you two are married. She considers Laura to be an American friend of Antoinette. She hasn't made any other connection. And, when she realized Erik was there, Christine pretended to get a headache and had Raoul take her home, so he never found out."

I sigh. For the first time I'm glad Jeremy, Percy and the men had tracked us down and were close by. That night could have gone very, very differently than it did.

Erik glares at Jeremy, "Do you feel there is any imminent danger? That she may disclose my whereabouts?"

"No, from what Antoinette reports, that won't happen." Jeremy sets the teacup down. "My chief concern is that Christine confirmed Raoul would turn you in to the authorities if he knew you were alive." His expression is all business now as he confronts Erik squarely, "Do you really feel it's wise to go to Spain and meet your mother? If you do that, there's no way Raoul won't be told. Anyone in your mother's household could inform him, even if she agrees not to. Erik, you have all the money you could ever need and you can have a happy life with Laura as things are now. And, we can all do the work of The Program with you being known as Monsieur Mercier. Why jeopardize everything to meet with your mother?"

Erik's eyebrow dips low as he snarls, "Let me make myself very clear. Laura and I leave on our trip to Spain within the week to meet with my mother. I will finally know the truth of my birth, and I will hear it from my mother's lips. Whatever happens, I _will _deal with Raoul." Erik's eyes glint dangerously, "And _no one_, and _nothing _will stop me."

Antoinette's face goes ashen. Jeremy's jaw clenches. Clearly, there's nothing left to say. I rise to my feet, and with a sincere smile, say, "Thank you for your visit. Erik and I appreciate your help and your concern." I escort them to the door, giving Antoinette a hug before she leaves.

When I walk back to Erik, he's staring into the fire, deep in thought. I take his hands and tug him out of the settee. Leading him back to the rocker, I have him sit down, as I snuggle back into his lap. Softly, I ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do you agree with them?" Erik lets out a ragged breath, "That I should not meet my mother?"

I unbutton the top buttons of his night shirt and place my cheek on the dark, soft hair of his chest, directly over his heart. "No, you need to meet your mother. Remember the letter she wrote you? She didn't know if her words would ever reach you, but she had to say them. She had to try. I think she wants to meet you as much as you want to meet her."

"But Jeremy was right. You know there are dangers."

"I know." I run my hand across his chest, soothingly. I know very well there are dangers. I have spent many, many hours thinking about all the dangers to Erik if Raoul finds out he's alive. Even if Erik were acknowledged as the rightful Comte de Chagny, his title will not protect him should Raoul identify him as the Phantom of the Opera. The death of Joseph Buquet still hangs over Erik's head. A murder trial in 19th century courts could turn out very differently without modern legal protections. And this time, I cannot defend him. What is even worse, in France, the guillotine is the punishment for murder.

Yes, I have put a lot of thought into this possibility. But then fate handed me the trump, and I knew it. I have my own plans in place now. Erik cannot prevent Raoul from turning him over to the authorities. But I can. I hold Raoul's fate in my hands every bit as much as he holds Erik's. I have the trump card, and if Raoul so much as hints at carrying out his threat, I will not hesitate to play it.

I reach up and gently remove Erik's mask, placing it on the table. Then I kiss his marred cheek, whispering, "I agree we should go, my love. We will do what we must do."


	98. Chapter 98

**A/N: Again…THANK YOU to each of you who take your time to post your thoughts and reviews! I also want to welcome the new readers of the Epic Case who posted! Please, keep posting and letting us know your thoughts!! **

**Now…I do want to announce that the next chapter will post in THREE WEEKS, on Easter Sunday. There are two reasons: I have had a bad flu for the last several weeks and have fallen behind in writing for the book….and it's nearing completion, so I gotta keep on schedule! But, perhaps more importantly, the next chapter is our special Easter chapter for you…and for Erik and all the people in his world. You'll understand when you read this chapter. Then, we'll **_**try**_** to return to our every two week posting schedule after that!!! **

**Also, I will post **_**in the review section**_** my response to the comments by readers TWO weekends from now. As you know, I do that every now and then, and we have been having so many great comments…I felt it was again time…**

On the day…and night…before Erik and Laura leave on their trip, a rain storm and many unexpected currents are swirling at the château.

* * *

**Chapter 98 - MILES TO GO By Phanna, KFC and Phanfan**

_Thursday, March 28, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Ace's POV:_

"There, at the base of the hill. 10 o'clock. See it?" Sam points toward the faint wisp of smoke.

"Yeah." I study the hills to the west as I hold out the steaming cup of coffee for him to take. He's been on duty all night, and it's cold out here on the tower. "There are several caves in that area where someone could hide. I'll alert Jeremy."

I catch up with him, Link and Derek in the workout room and brief them. Most days, I scout the perimeter of the property. On occasion, I'll see signs of poaching, though we haven't had any trouble. Times are hard, and I figure there's enough game around here to share. But this is different. Looks like someone's taken up residence. Jeremy nods toward me. "Take a few men with you and check it out."

Motioning to Linc and Derek, we head for the stable. We ride south until we're out of sight in case anyone's watching from the hill. When we're in position, I give the men instructions. "Linc, circle around to the west. Derek, you come in from the east. I'll head straight into the trees. I want to check out the caves. That's probably where the smoke's coming from."

Derek snorts. "They aren't very smart if they've started a fire."

"Yep. That's why I don't want to rush in. Stupid people do stupid things. Make sure you're not caught off guard. Watch for my signal." We take off in three directions.

When I get closer, I tether my horse to a tree and go on foot. The undergrowth's dense and provides plenty of cover. At the entrance of the large cave, I spot the fire. Suddenly a man steps out. He bends over the fire and pokes at a fish skewered on a stick. I realize he's just a boy. A kid barely in his teens. Next to the fire is a makeshift fishing pole, but no weapon. Then a younger boy comes out of the cave and sits down. The small kid jerks the sides of his hat further down on his head and wraps his arms tightly around himself. He's cold. The older one takes his jacket off and places it around him.

As they eat, they don't glance around. I figure it's just the two of them. Silently, I step closer. "Bon jour." Both boys jump. The taller one steps in front of the younger kid, his eyes defiant. I ask, "What's your business here?"

The lanky kid speaks up, "It's none of your affair, Monsieur."

"Oh, but it is. You're on private property."

Now contrite, the lad says, "Please, Monsieur. We only stopped to have breakfast."

I raise my eyebrow. "Who else is with you?"

"No one. We travel alone."

"You're awfully young for that."

He pulls himself up to his full height which is about four inches shy of my six foot frame. "I'm fourteen!"

"How old's your brother?"

He looks surprised and blurts out, "Seven."

I study both of them. The older boy's at the gangly stage, all arms and legs and not quite filled out yet. Although he has a hint of facial hair, I doubt he needs to shave. They're dressed in worn clothes, but they've attempted to clean up. The tall lad's brown hair is neatly combed and still wet. I wonder how long it's been since they've had a place to stay and regular meals. The younger boy huddles close to the fire, and I can tell he's shivering. I sigh under my breath. "Most landowners don't take kindly to poaching. However, it's your lucky day. The owner of this property isn't like that."

The kid peers down at his hands in embarrassment. "I'm willing to work to repay what we've caught."

Even though he's young, I can tell from his rough hands that he's used to hard labor. "What kind of work?"

His eyes brighten. "I've worked on a farm. I'm good with livestock, and I can use a plow." He maintains eye contact as he speaks. "I'm not afraid of hard work."

He might fit right in. We always need help in the barn and stables. And he can help elsewhere if needed. "Are you in any kind of trouble with the law? Or anyone?"

He flushes slightly as if he's not used to his integrity being questioned. Good. "Non, Monsieur. I am an honest man."

I like this kid already. "You'll get honest pay for an honest day's work then." I smile at him. "What's your name, lad?"

"I'm Edward Founteau. And this is Charles." The young kid glances up at the mention of his name. I motion for them to come with me. I grin when Edward helps Charles up, then stops to grab the remaining fish. I wait until they reach me and fall in step beside them. I don't signal Link or Derek. They'll follow, and I want them at my back. Just in case. We're nearing my horse when Charles starts to sway and begins to keel over. I grab him before he hits the ground and swing him up in my arms. The motion knocks his hat off. Masses of long, dark curly hair tumble across my arm.

I turn and glare at Edward. His face blazes red. "I'm sorry, Monsieur. I felt it better to disguise her while we travel. She's my sister, Charlotte."

I glance down at the young girl in my arms. Her eyes are closed, and she's unconscious. I pass her to Edward and mount my horse. "Hand her up, then get on behind me." As soon as he's in place, I add, "Hold on." I urge the horse into a gallop and head for the château.

When we arrive, I slide off the horse with the child in my arms as Edward follows me to the new infirmary. Danielle is washing her hands when I burst into the room. She sees the child and rushes over. The little girl's eyes flutter open for a second. They're crystal blue! "Oh my God!" I freeze and my arms begin to shake. "_Emily!"_ She looks like Emily, so tiny, so fragile.

Vaguely, I hear Danielle say, "Put her here." But I can't move. Instead, I continue to stare down at the girl, as that horrific day comes back to me. "Ace, are you all right?"

We'd piled in the car to go for ice cream on that hot July afternoon. I never saw the drunk driver run the red light and crash into Nicole's side of the car. With a sense of detachment, I hear Danielle repeating my name, but I can't escape the memories replaying in my mind. After the collision, I was in shock and didn't know what had happened until I saw Nicole. I searched for a pulse, but she was dead. Then I heard Emily whimper from the back seat. I crawled over the seat to get to her. She was dying and there was nothing I could do but hold her. So I brushed the dark curls away from her face, and repeated over and over how much I loved her. She died in my arms.

Suddenly, Matt's standing in front of me. Where did he come from? Is he here to save Emily? "I'll take her, Ace." He tries to lift her out of my arms, but I can't let go. _God, please don't take Emily._ Matt lowers his voice, touching my arm. "It's okay, Ace. Let me have her." His words begin to reach me as he goes on talking, "I need to help her."

Somewhere behind me, Edward speaks. "She's Charlotte, Madame." _Charlotte?_ I examine the little girl's face again. Confused, I look at Matt for confirmation that she isn't Emily.

"_Charlotte_ needs help, Ace." _Charlotte, not Emily._ Finally, I understand. He lifts the small form out of my arms. I turn and leave.

I race into the forest nearby. My chest constricts as I pause inside the wooded area and struggle to take a deep breath. But I can't. My whole body is trembling. It's been ten years. Why now? Tears sting the back of my eyelids. I ram my fist into the tree, trying to get a grip. It doesn't help. All I can think of is the day my world fell apart.

"Are you all right?" A soft voice startles me. I fling myself around and find Antoinette. I'm still shaking, and when I try to speak, the cry of a wounded animal is all that comes out. She steps close and wraps her arms around me, not asking any questions. I cling to her like a drowning man. We say nothing, but I accept her strength until I find my own.

Finally I manage to ask, "How…?

"Matt was bandaging a burn on my hand when you came into the infirmary. I couldn't help but overhear."

Her eyes fill with compassion, and somehow I don't feel uncomfortable that she's witnessed my pain. "Oh."

"Your hand is bleeding. It needs attention. Matt could…"

"No! I don't want to go back yet." I raise my fist to inspect it. "Besides, it's nothing."

"Well, at least you should wash it off." She leads me over to the edge of the riverbank.

Glancing around, I notice we're downstream from where the river runs near the château. I don't even remember coming this way. I kneel and rinse the blood off, then dunk my head in the icy stream to clear it. When I get up, Antoinette says she'll wrap my scraped knuckles with her handkerchief. We sit on the soft grass in the sun, and I hold my hand out. "Is the little girl going to die?"

"They're taking good care of her, Ace. Matt says he thinks she will be all right."

I stare at the river. "I lost it back there." Antoinette finishes the bandage. She doesn't comment, but her eyes are soft and understanding, so I continue, "It felt like my daughter was dying in my arms all over again."

Antoinette looks shocked. "_Emily_ is your daughter's name?" I blink in surprise, and she explains, "You said her name when you were holding the little girl."

I close my eyes. "Yes. Emily." I thought I'd left those memories in my past. I open my eyes and glance at Antoinette. If anyone can understand she would. Maybe it's time to talk to someone about it. Taking a deep breath, I begin, "It happened so fast. A drunk hit the side of our car. One minute we were laughing at a joke Emily was telling. The next, everything went black. When I came to, Nicole was trapped…" I choke out the next words, "…and, she was dead. There were so many things I should have told her."

I press my finger and thumb against the bridge of my nose. "Then I heard Emily. She was still alive when I reached her, but she was dying too." Tears fall as I remember the last few seconds of her life. "She whispered 'daddy,' and then she was gone." I turn away, swallowing hard, trying to stop the tears.

Antoinette once again slides comforting arms around me. When I'm finally able, I turn to face her. Her eyes glisten. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love."

"Your husband? Does the pain ever stop?"

"Time eases it." She smiles sweetly. "I have many wonderful memories of Henri."

"And you have your daughter."

"Oui. Meg was a blessing after Henri's death." She gazes off into the distance. "I wish he could see her now." When she turns back to me, she places her hand on my arm. "I'm sad you lost your wife and daughter." I squeeze her hand. Then she asks, "Haven't you ever found another woman to care about?"

"No. I threw myself into my work."

"We're similar in many ways." She tilts her head. "How did you meet Nicole?"

"We were both in Special Forces, uh, the military. I worked in the field. She was in communications. We met through a mutual friend. It didn't take us long to realize we were head-over-heels in love." I stop, recalling how quickly we decided to get married. "I had a wedding ring on her finger in three months."

Antoinette laughs at that. "Our lives are so…," she searches for the word and waves her hand in the air, "…so similar."

Sharing our pasts somehow helps. I tease her. "You mean Henri was in the Special Forces?"

She laughs again. "Non. I meant that Henri and I were also married within three months."

Maybe talking about Emily did help. It feels so natural to tell Antoinette about her. Then a thought occurs to me. "You know what? They'd be pretty close in age. Emily was six and it's been ten years. Isn't Meg about sixteen?"

"Oui, almost seventeen." We fall quiet again. Suddenly we hear loud crashing noises coming through the trees at us. A brown streak of dog flies out of the dense undergrowth in full pursuit of a rabbit running for its life. We watch as Jenna springs, but misses her prey. The rabbit darts toward the shallow water, Jenna on its tail. Then the terrified rabbit bolts to the left, but Jenna can't stop her forward momentum and lands in the water. She turns and looks around for her prey, but the rabbit's gone. The drenched dog spots us, and I swear she grins. When she lunges toward us, Antoinette and I jump to our feet. But not fast enough to escape. Jenna manages to smear us with wet, muddy paws and fur as she greets us with wild enthusiasm.

"_Jenna. Down!"_ Obediently, she sits and watches as we do our best to remove the mud from our clothes. Fighting a useless battle, I ask Antoinette, "Do you want to take a walk before we go back? Maybe some of this will dry, and we won't look like we've been rolling in mud."

Antoinette smiles. "It sounds like a wonderful idea." Grabbing a long stick, I throw it as far into the trees as I can. Jenna takes off after it. We walk and play with Jenna until some of the mud dries, and we're able to brush it off. Antoinette's dress has a few stains we can't do anything about.

At the chateau, we go our separate ways. I still need to be by myself for a while, so I find a large tree to sit under and just think. Antoinette's gentle compassion touched me today. Since I lost Nicole, Antoinette's the first woman I've really taken the time to know. From the start, I've been drawn to her, and we've developed a comfortable relationship. We enjoy spending time together, but now I'm not sure that's enough for me. I find myself caring about her more each day.

_Julia's POV_

"Knock, knock," I tap lightly on Matt's office door.

"Who's there?"

"Me."

"Me who?" He opens the door with a curious smile that soon turns quirky.

"Me _a la mode_," I wink. "Can I come in?"

"Aww…you're sweet. What's this for?" He locks the door behind me.

"Thought you might need an _a la mode_ break," I hand him the dish of ice cream, and he kisses me on the cheek.

"Mmmm…_a la mode with a cherry on top?_" I ask, sitting myself on his desk.

He gives that charming shrug of his and sits down next to me. "Was it?" he smiles, scooping a spoonful of ice cream.

"Well even though your new infirmary is not quite finished, since you're using it now, I thought we should have a little…'infirmary warming.'"

"Sorry everything's such a mess. I want to finish putting it all together before we leave in the morning."

"Looks like you've got miles to go before we even start for Spain. Can I help you?"

"Sure. It'll be good for you to know where things are." We finish the ice cream and work for the next few hours putting everything in order. We stock the supply closets, stack the linens, make the beds, and I even help Matt sterilize all the instruments for the operating room. Back in his office, he locks the door behind me again. "I'm trying to get my modern medical stuff put away in this closet. It'll be hidden behind a secret panel, but this office still needs to stay locked. It's kind of a pain, but I just feel better having everything right here in case of emergencies."

Something about the way Matt says 'emergencies,' and keeps looking out the windows at the storm is slightly unnerving. "Matt are you worried about something, or just tired?"

He looks up, surprised. "Why?"

"It just seems like something's bothering you."

He exhales and looks outside again.

"Are you worried about the trip?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "I'm just restless, I guess. Maybe with all the work in here, I haven't been getting out enough."

We start on the closet, putting up several boxes of supplies. As we work we fall into easy conversation, so out of curiosity, I pick up where we left off the other night.

"So, Matt. Tell me about Ms. Right. What are you waiting for in a woman?"

He frowns, putting an IV kit on the shelf. "Very hard question. And I don't know the answer. Every time I think I do, turns out I'm wrong. In fact, every time I fall in love, she turns out to be Ms. Wrong."

_Every time?_ "And how many times have you been in love?"

"Well, twice, for sure. I was almost married once. After that I didn't fall in love for a long time. By then I had a much better idea of what I wanted. So when I finally did fall again, I fell very hard. Almost too hard to get up. But if you're going to make me talk about that I might need pain pills."

"You really loved her, didn't you?"

He looks down at the floor, then back at me. "I got up every morning ready to die for her. Yeah. I loved her. And in the end, things turned out right for her, but wrong for me. So to answer your question, I guess I'm waiting for life to start making sense again."

I watch him quietly. "You know who I always fall for. But what do you think I should be waiting for?"

He smiles contemplatively. "I think you need someone to sweep you off your feet, Julia. That's the only reason you should fall."

I laugh. "You mean like a hero or something?"

"Not necessarily," he smirks. "I know it's kind of old-fashioned and cliché. But we are in old-fashioned country. There might still be a few heroes around."

I smile. "Well if the choice is between lacy fops and grubby bastards, I'll take my modern heroes any day."

He has no comeback for that. He gives me an endearing look and goes back to organizing. We work for another hour, getting his office in order. Outside, the storm continues to build, and so does his restless tension. Since we can't go running, we go to the Great Hall and try to play chess, but Matt can't focus. He loses and doesn't care. He keeps glancing out the window, the storm brewing inside him as well as outdoors. Even when he tries to concentrate, his brow furrows farther with every clap of thunder.

When we head upstairs, Matt tells Jeremy, "I'm going out tonight."

Jeremy looks up from his book and frowns. "In that storm? You crazy?" But he doesn't try to change Matt's mind.

Outside my room, I stop him. The storm thunders wildly, worsening by the minute. I look into the deep, troubled blue of his eyes. "Matt what's wrong?" I hold his hands, searching his face.

"Julia," he whispers, his eyes still holding mine, "I don't know what the hell is driving me, but I've got to go out tonight."

_Matt's POV:_

I tear out into the storm. Pounding down the sodden ground beneath my feet I cross the grounds and head for the clearing on the other side of the woods. The wind rips at my coat, opening me to the welcome rain. I let water from the sky pour down my face, down my back, through my clothes, soaking me senseless. Bolts of lightening flash in the distance, then so close I hear the split of a tree. The sky teems with dread, and the wind with flying debris, winter's leaves and dead shards of trees. Clouds tumble across the landscape, while bolts of light shoot through the dark. The sound is deafening. I gasp for breath as the wind drives the torrent through my shirt. I run while firebrands hit the ground, cracking like gun shots. _That wasn't lightning. Was that a gun?_ I stop and spin around, listening for the sound. _That was a gunshot. _It fires again, amid the roar of thunder and successive cracks of lightening. _My God, something hit me_. I run again. Through the trees, toward the road. As if I'm no longer bound to my body. The trees are surreal, there is no path. But I run toward the road as if the bramble of the woods does not exist.

_Julia's POV:_

"He's still out…in this?"

Jeremy nods. "What are you doing up here on the tower, Julia?"

I shrug, pulling my coat tighter around me and peering out into the raging night. Drunken clouds barrel through the sky. Rain and tears sting at my eyes. _Matt, where are you? Why aren't you back?_ Jeremy stares hard into the storm, arms crossed over his chest. His body breaks the force of the wind as I stand beside him at the parapet. "Do you think we'll still leave tomorrow?"

He shakes his head doubtfully. "Depends how long this lasts. How well the roads hold up." We look back out over the grounds, searching the landscape with every strike of lightning. Each flash reveals the scraggy trees lining the perimeter of the grounds like groping, black ghosts. The land is awash in water. Empty. _Why in hell, Matt? Why did you have to go out? _

Then lightning hits a tree at the edge of the grounds, leaving it in gnarled shards. I shudder. "How long has he been gone?"

"Too long," Jeremy says tersely. Something is wrong, and he knows it. I fight back worried tears, haunted by Matt's troubled eyes. A fiery bolt strikes the lightning rod and shoots down mere feet away. I head for the outer stairwell. "Don't you dare," Jeremy catches my arm. "If anyone goes after him, it'll be me." His arm stays around the back of my neck, his firm grip on my shoulder, keeping me put. I try to reason with myself. _Matt's a SEAL…he's trained for this..._ But my foreboding only grows. Matt was restless, like a watchdog, rattled by the storm, and desperate to get out. Like he knew something was out there. All I can think is there's some sort of danger or threat. And in my heart I know Matt's instinct would drive him out to be the lightning rod.

Deafening thunder reverberates directly overhead, and a torrent is released from the outraged sky. We look down and see something moving toward the chateau. Jenna flounders across the yard like a drowned rat. A door opens below, and the barking dog is dragged inside, then the door slams amid another crash of thunder and streak of lighting. Matt is nowhere in sight. Finally, Jeremy turns to me, raising his voice over the din. "Go down and tell Sam to come up and take watch for me. I'm going after Matt."

My gasp of relief is snatched by the wind. I hurry down the stairwell. Reaching the third floorI run down the hall and knock on Sam's door to give him the message. He's still up and heads straight to the tower with me following. Sam beats me up the stairs, so I'm not even near the top when Jeremy starts on his way down. "Matt's back," he shouts. "Go tell Ty to come up here too, then meet me in the infirmary." Panic stabs me, and I charge down the steps. _My God, don't let him be hurt too bad._ _It's okay…he made it back...he has to be okay_. _Get Ty... Meet Matt at the door…go to the infirmary. _

I deliver the message and fly to the ground floor and into the infirmary. Jeremy is already there, and so is Matt. I'm flooded with relief and horror at the same time. "My God, Matt!" He's drenched and pale as a ghost. A woman is in his arms, wrapped in his coat. He moves past me, almost in slow motion. His shirt is drenched in rain and blood. I follow the dripping trail as he carries her into the operating room and lays her down on the table. His face is as white as hers, and the front of him soaked in deep red.

"Matt, are you hurt?" Jeremy demands.

"No." Matt shoves him aside reaching to feel for the woman's pulse. A stricken look comes over him. "She needs blood now, or she's gone. Jeremy, get a transfusion kit from the closet in my office." Matt tears the blood soaked shirt from his body on his way to the sink. I'm relieved to see he doesn't have any wounds on his back or chest. Trying to stay a step ahead of him, I pour water over his hands and arms while he scrubs them with soap. As Matt dips his hands in sterilizing solution, Jeremy opens a yellow packet with tubing that has a drip gauge, syringe in the middle and needles on each end.

Matt swabs the woman's skin, then yanks a tourniquet around his bicep. Deftly, he pushes one needle into his forearm. When his blood runs the length of the tubing, he carefully inserts the other needle of the lifeline into her vein. He breathes deeply, to oxygenate the blood coming from his artery. I watch the red stream flow into her body as he gives clipped orders to Jeremy, and together they tackle her injuries.

"Where did you find her?" Jeremy asks.

"Along the road. Dumped out of a carriage. I heard gun shots and ran toward the sound. Found her at the bottom of the embankment and saw the carriage disappearing down the road. No corset, so she's probably a servant or a slave… I ripped up a lot of her clothes just to control the bleeding."

Matt removes the blood-soaked remains of her clothing. There's so much red, I'm hit with a wave of nausea. As I approach the bed Matt lifts pained eyes to mine. "Go get an IV kit and bring me more sterile rags and a basin. Then make sure no one else comes in here." I run to the secret closet and grab the IV bag. Matt's back is to me as he and Jeremy bend over the woman. As he lifts blood soaked rags into the basin, my stomach turns. I watch the surreal, slow moving flurry…Matt doing surgery where bullets tore through her, treating trauma, saving life. I have never seen him so strong, or so pale. Yet always sure of his movements. It goes on for hours. All night, Matt and Jeremy work trying to save her life. Several times Matt curses, angry that he's going to lose her. But he never quits fighting, and somehow she keeps breathing.

When he finally pulls off his mask, he's as exhausted as I've ever seen him. He sits down and drops his head in his hands. I give Jeremy a questioning glance, and he whispers that she's stable. Then he sends me up to get clean clothes for Matt. When I get back, there are basins of water by the table. Matt is bathing the woman and bandaging the smaller cuts on her face and neck. I watch as he gently sponges her hair and painstakingly washes out dirt and blood. Jeremy and I take all the blood-soaked linens out of the infirmary and begin to clean the operating room. When Matt has finished, we move the woman to one of the beds in the adjacent room. Jeremy starts mopping the floor.

Matt sits beside her bed, staring at her, leaning his elbows on his knees. I sit down beside him, taking his arm. "So this is why you had to go out tonight." He nods. I try to reassure him. "Then you know she's going to live."

He shakes his head "I don't know that. I'm going to have to operate again at least once, maybe twice if she can take it. There's so much damage." I lay my hand on his back as he sits, staring. Then I reach up and pull the scrub cap from his head and run my fingers through his hair, massaging his head. I know it must be pounding. Jeremy brings him water, which he swallows with three aspirin. I massage his shoulders and his back. Finally he goes to take a shower and comes back looking half-alive. After checking the woman's vitals again, he writes his notes and sits back down beside me. He gives me a faint, beleaguered smile and leans toward me. We kiss softly. "Thanks for being here," he takes my hand. I lay my arm across his back. In a few minutes he starts to doze off, so I whisper, "Come lie down."

He gets up and checks her again. Then I tug him to the other bed in the room and push him gently to lie down. He pulls me in with him and wraps his arm around me, burying his face beside mine in the pillow. Lying next to his warm, sleeping body, I listen to the thud of his heart and the sounds of servants beginning to stir about the chateau. When I wake up, he is gone. I hear him talking to Laura and Jeremy in the next room. Getting out of bed reluctantly, I look to see how our patient is doing. She is pale, but breathing.

I hear Jeremy saying we're leaving this morning. Laura assures Matt it's fine for him to stay. That Danielle can accompany her to Spain and everything will be fine. Jeremy says Blakeney will be coming, and Matt should work with him to find out who this woman is. Matt explains he plans to keep her sedated as long as she needs the IV. She will never see it, and none of the servants will be allowed in the infirmary. I open the door when Matt knocks softly. They come in and Laura's dark eyes sadden when she sees the woman lying there so still, almost lifeless. Wiping a tear from her eye, Laura places a comforting hand on Matt's back. His hand goes to her arm as they leave the room. Jeremy confirms to me we're leaving soon and follows them out.

When Matt comes back and stands with me beside the woman's bed, he takes my hand. "I guess I won't see you for a while." Kissing my hair, he takes a long look in my eyes. "Just take care." Assuring him that I will be, I leave to take a shower and dress for the trip. On my way out to the carriage, I stop in the infirmary one more time. The woman lies like a princess in white linens. Matt is lying on the bed, face down, sleeping. Kneeling beside him, I kiss his shoulder. "Take good care of her," I whisper, letting the brush of my fingers say my goodbye.

A grey-blue mist hangs thick in the cold morning air. Two carriages and the baggage wagon stand ready in the driveway. The ground is soft and muddy from last night's storm, but apparently the roads can still be traveled. Sue is already in the first carriage with Erik and Laura. Jean-Luc is sitting in Jeremy's seat, saying his good-byes to Erik.

Jeremy and Ace stand near the other carriage talking to two strange men. Resigned, I head toward that carriage. Both men are tall. One is dark, with dreadlocks, his back to me. The other's long, windblown hair tangles in the breeze, lifting from his shoulders and splaying about his face as he listens intently to Jeremy. His leather coat hangs open revealing a sword at his side. When Jeremy sees me, he smiles and motions me to join them. I wonder if this windblown warrior could be Blakeney, minus his foppish finery? _The real Blakeney?_ Jeremy said he was coming. As I approach, his intense, inquisitive eyes meet mine. Jeremy confirms his identity, and he bows his head graciously.

When I give a demure nod, my eyes fall on the leather boots of Blakeney's darker friend. Slowly my gaze travels upward. He stands like a statue, large solid forearms crossed over his chest. His wrists are wrapped in leather, his brown, sculpted arms bare to the dewy morning. The dreadlocks framing his regal face barely move in the light breeze. Dark, reticent eyes brim with mystery and a hint of mirth.

"Julia, this is Rajan." Then Jeremy adds, "He's going to shadow us during our trip to Spain."

_Friday, March 29, 1872_

_Good Friday_

_Erik's POV:_

The steam whistle shrieks as the train jerks forward. I watch out the window at the mass of people crowding the platform of Gare Montparnasse and the porters sweating and laboring with heavy trunks. The train soon pulls past the railway station, steadily gaining speed. I settle back into the velveteen cushions and inhale deeply. So, finally I am on my way. On a trip that I have both longed for and feared all my life. To meet my mother. Before Zoe brought me my mother's letter, I wanted to find her to vent my anger at her abandonment of me. But that letter changed everything. She was as wronged as I had been. Now I am driven by the desire to let her know I survived. To see her face and touch her hand. To talk and share the missing parts of our lives. And to claim my birth right. Mercier was the name of my foster father. I do not need the wealth, but I long for the name, _my name_, which has always been denied me.

A knock on the door brings me out of my reverie. Jeremy's voice calls out, "Waiter!"

Laura rises with a sigh and unlocks the door. Jeremy steps into our compartment first, followed by a waiter with white, thinning hair, slicked down against his balding pate. The man pulls his formal waiter's jacket down, straightening it over his bony frame. With a nervous break in his voice, he says, "Dinner will be served at six in your private dining car. Would Monsieur and Madame like some wine or tea now? Perhaps some fruit or pastries?"

"I would like some hot water," Laura says sweetly, "and a croissant. Plain."

"Cognac," I add tersely.

He bows and scurries away. Jeremy leans against the door. "I'll stay until he returns."

Laura smiles and invites him to sit opposite us. He settles his large frame wearily into the seat with a slight grunt.

"You assisted Matt last night, didn't you?" Laura says sympathetically.

"Yeah," he runs his hand through his hair, "only got a couple hours sleep."

Laura replies soothingly, "But Matt and you saved the woman's life."

"I sure hope so." Jeremy shakes his head thoughtfully. "She's in bad shape. But if anyone can pull her through, Matt can. I just wonder who she is. Blakeney's going to put his men to work on that."

"And the little girl?" Laura queries, clearly worried.

"Matt says it's just a case of malnutrition and exposure. He says rest and food will take care of it. She and her brother have been given a room in the servants' quarters. When I last saw the little girl, Antoinette was fussing over her," he breaks into a smile, "so she'll be fine."

"It looks like the infirmary got finished just in time." Laura puts her hand on her stomach. I can tell her nausea is returning. She had a long, difficult trip in the carriage. The rain washed out new ruts in the road which the mud hid. We had a long, slow, bumpy ride to the railway station. Now, the motion of the train must be adding to her discomfort.

"Indeed. It is fortunate we finished the infirmary addition first," I observe. "If this keeps up, we may need to expand it before summer is over."

Jeremy and Laura nod in agreement. A knock on the door announces the return of the skeletal waiter. He opens a table that is attached to the wall and serves our drinks along with a basketful of warm croissants wrapped in a pressed linen napkin. Since today is Friday, he explains, dinner will be salmon and oysters. With a formal bow and final nervous glance at my mask, he departs.

"Would you like a croissant, Jeremy?" Laura asks. When he says 'no' and yawns in response, she prompts gently, "Why don't you get some sleep before dinner?"

"Now that you're settled in, I think I'll do just that and put Russ in charge for awhile."

When he leaves, Laura takes the small container from her purse and puts some herbs in her cup of hot water.

"Is your nausea returning?" I ask, concerned.

"Just a little." She takes a sip. "But this should take care of it."

I take a draught of the cognac, then laugh sardonically. Laura studies me, questioning. "What?"

"Well, this trip is so I can meet my mother. That required three weeks of planning, two carriages and a large wagon to hold all the trunks. A long trip through muddy, barely passable roads. Then, the retinue which is following me around required no less than two private train cars. One with sleeping compartments for us, four male bodyguards, two female bodyguards and an herbalist. The second car for private dining and lounging." I look down into her dark eyes, "For a phantom who always lived alone and moved secretly in the shadows," I chuckle wryly, "my life has changed quite…dramatically."

"Do you regret it?"

Laura takes my hand and gazes earnestly into my eyes. Again that feeling floods through me. Of love and acceptance, even joy. I always lose myself in her eyes, the warmth of her touch and her body. "No, as long as you are with me, nothing else matters."

"So, you don't regret being tied to a woman who gets sick at the most inopportune times?" Her pixie grin taunts me.

I place my hand on the slight swell of her stomach and lean down, kissing her tenderly as my response. She snuggles her head on my shoulder, and we watch the verdant countryside rush past.

"Something just occurred to me," Laura whispers.

"What, my love?"

"Well, today is Good Friday. We're traveling tonight and tomorrow. Then we stay at the hotel tomorrow night and reach your mother's home on Sunday. Isn't that right?"

"Indeed."

"Well, it just occurred to me that Sunday is Easter."

I had lost track of time in all the details of preparing for the trip. But now my mind reels. As far as my mother knows, I am lost forever, possibly dead. But I'll be returning to her on Easter. A tear slips out the corner of my eye. Laura reaches up and wipes it gently away.


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N: Happy Easter, everyone!! This chapter is our special Easter gift to each of you!**

**Special Thanks to all who take time and post your thoughts and reviews! And, welcome to you new readers! Please keep letting us know your thoughts! A special pink Easter cupcake to each of our reviewers!**

**And…again, I wanted to let you know the next chapter will post in ****three**** weeks! **

So it's Easter, 1872. But this is a special one. One that will never be forgotten….

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****Chapter 99 Easter Tidings, KFC, Phanna & Phanfan **

_Easter Sunday, March 31, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Matt's POV:_

I wake in the dead of night and listen for the sound of her breathing. The uncanny silencedrives meout of bed and to her side where I lay my hand on her chest. Relieved to feel it rise slightly with her breath, I turn up the flame of the oil lamp and take her wrist in my hand to feel her pulse. _Dear God, did I push her too far with the second surgery? I knew it was borderline, but I also knew she couldn't take a third surgery. When I closed her up it had to be for the last time._ Her wrist lies placid in my hand, barely warm. I touch her forehead. The room is not cold but she's having trouble holding what little heat her body is producing. After covering her blankets with a clean sheet, I take the warm blankets from my bed and lay them over her. Then I warm an IV bag in a pail of heated water before I hang it and start the drip into the central line I put in her before the last surgery. With the IV line in her neck, she won't see it when she wakes up. _If she wakes up._

I sit down by her bed and rehash the scenario, trying to decide what to do. I've nearly lost her too many times to count. With multiple gun shot wounds to the abdomen and thigh, she was a Class Four Hemorrhage by the time I brought her in. I estimate she lost three to four units of blood. Only aggressive IV resuscitation plus two units of my own blood held her through the surgery. I managed to stabilize her, but had to stop short of finishing the repair to keep her stable. Today I pushed her as far as I could just to finish the critical repairs. Possibly too far. Rubbing my forehead with my hands, I run through a long string of mental calculations. I can keep her blood volume up with IV fluids, but her hematocrit is likely too low to sustain and heal her compromised system. It's clear she needs another transfusion. Although I've probably regained my blood volume in the last twenty four hours, I'm past donation levels as far as cell count. But if she doesn't get more whole blood, she's not going to wake up. She took my blood without any sign of allergic reaction. As for me, I can handle a lower hematocrit as long as I compensate for volume loss with IV fluids.

I make my decision. I'm giving her more of my blood. I hang another IV bag and insert the needle into my own arm. Once it's flowing, I take the transfusion apparatus, push the needle into an artery and start the process again. After this, my blood will be too diluted to help her, even if I could give her more. I work the syringe, watching my blood flow and willing my life into her. Praying it's enough.

I am literally drained when the transfusion is finished and remove the life line between us knowing I've given her all I can. After cleaning up the apparatus, I sit on the chair next to her bed and take her hand. _Alright, Sleeping Beauty. I wish a kiss would cure you. But you're going to have to fight. Time to fight. Time to get strong. The world still needs you, even if you don't feel like coming back_. I lay my other hand lightly at her throat and feel her carotid pulse. With my fingers I listen to our blood pulse through her. Her lashes lie quiet against her skin. She has an elegant look about her face, and as pale as she is, there is a slightly darker pigment to her skin. I wonder if she is from a mixed heritage and whether that has anything to do with her misfortunes. She doesn't look as if she has been starved or worked to death. She is not bent or broken with years of hard labor. Instead her body is beautiful and sculpted, almost like a dancer. Whatever has happened to her is recent. But the damage done to her is not entirely the result of being shot and falling down an embankment. She' s been badly beaten over the past several months.

I feel anger and compassion at the same time. _Who did this? A husband, or slave master? Or a captor?_ I have never understood why a man would want to subdue a woman, or why he doesn't realize she is most beautiful when she is strong, and free, and when she loves of her own free will. What's wrong with the men of this day and age? What else but insecurity or conceit could drive a man to brutalize something so beautiful as a woman? Especially this one. I brush the silken waves of her hair away from her face, resting my hand at her forehead, hoping to feel it warm. _God, I can't lose her after what she's been through, _I find myself praying. _Give her another chance. Bring her back from the dead._

I watch her for a long time, fighting the fatigue of blood loss and lack of sleep. Finally exhausted, I wrap her hand in mine and lay my arm against hers so if she moves it will wake me. Then I lower my head to my forearm and surrender to the darkness…

…_I am following her through the dimly lit forest. In a long white gown she moves just out of reach, hurrying through the trees back to the road where I found her. When I get to the embankment she has disappeared. I start to panic. Glimpsing her again, I run after her. I follow for what seems like hours, but even though she is walking and I am running, she moves farther and farther ahead of me. I want to call her name…but I don't know it. Finally she disappears altogether and the world starts to spin. I no longer know which way to go. I fall down on the ground, but instead of the roughness of the road or the forest floor, I am in grass, surrounded by flowers. Looking up, I see her far across a flower filled meadow, making her way up a gentle rolling hill. Her long dark hair lifts on the breeze above her flowing gown. I try to get up and go after her, but I am paralyzed. I call, but she doesn't hear. As the reaches the top of the hill, little children come running from the other side to meet her. I fight my way to a sitting position but can get no farther. She's crossing over, and I can't move. The children take her hands and lead her over the crest of the hill…and she is gone. Exhausted, I fall down among the flowers, feeling the warm sun shining down on me, and tears at my eyes. I try to reach up and wipe them away, but can't move my arm…_

I wake, still grasping her hand. To my surprise, it's no longer cold. The room is lit with the sunrise shining from behind the curtains. With tears from my dream still in my eyes, I reach under the blankets and feel that she's finally warming. But she hasn't stirred. Her hair lays just the way it did last night. I need to reposition her or she's going to have bedsores. I slip my arms underneath her and very gently turn her partway on her side. After warming the room and running another warm IV, I take off the blankets and redress her wounds. Then I bathe her and change her linens. Finally I gently massage her to improve circulation and prevent bedsores. Just as I finish, there's a light knock on the door. I open it to find Antoinette holding a large arrangement of Easter lilies. "Good Easter to you, Matthew," she smiles. "Is she awake?"

I shake my head, "No, but she's finally warm. And she's stronger this morning."

"That is good to hear." She enters and sets the flowers on a table beside the bed.

"I think she might wake up today." I add, hopefully. Antoinette leaves and soon brings a tray with my breakfast. Suddenly ravenous, I sit down and start eating.

Antoinette stands by the bed and gazes down at the still figure. "She is so beautiful. Why would anyone do such a thing to her?"

"I don't know," I reply, studying my patient's face. "I've been trying to figure that out myself."

Antoinette stops at the door as she's leaving. "Would you like me to watch over her so you can have Easter dinner with the others or get some sleep?"

"No, I want to stay close to monitor her condition." I smile, my spirits much improved. "But thanks for the breakfast. That was just what the doctor ordered."

"You're welcome." She blushes slightly. "Is there something else I can do to help?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Once the Princess is conscious, I'm sure she'll appreciate having a woman help take care of her."

Antoinette nods and promises to be back later. When she leaves, the room is as silent as a tomb again. That lavish flower arrangement on the table beside my motionless patient suddenly makes me feel like I'm in a funeral parlor. Going to the window, I pull the drapes farther back and open the panes slightly to let in fresh air. The sunrise is beautiful. Soft, golden light filters through the sheers, filling the room with a warm, vibrant energy. Her skin takes on an earthen glow, and bird songs meander in with the spring air which wafts gently through her hair cascading over the pillow. I watch spellbound as the breath of spring and golden light seem to coalesce around her. It feels magical. Moving back to her bedside, I take her hand again and watch the sunrise play across her face, waiting for the moment when she wakes. I fear that's when the spell will be broken. This room may seem like heaven, but she'll wake to memories of her own private hell.

After what seems like ages, her lashes flutter slightly, like butterflies, and I catch the first glimpse of her eyes. Blue. Or is it green? She focuses on my face, as if she's trying to come out of a dream. At first she seems disoriented, then as she regains consciousness I see the memories flooding back. I lean forward cautiously, looking into her traumatized eyes. "It's alright," I say soothingly, in French. "You're safe. My name's Matthew McBrighton, and I'm your doctor."

With a slight gasp she raises her head and tries to lift herself up. I stop her. "Just lie still." When she struggles to keep her head up I move pillows behind her and prop her partway on her side. She takes me in gradually, assessing my face, but the wild, confused look in her eyes doesn't go away. Warily, she glances around the room, focusing on the walls, the stove, the window, then back at me. She tries to raise herself up again, but lets out a cry of pain. I place a hand on her shoulder. "Please just be still. You took a fall, but you're healing. All you have to do is rest. I'm taking care of you." I've always been told I have an excellent bedside manner. But there's no rapport happening here. She stares at me, like a downed goddess of war, her hair disheveled around her beautiful face. For the first time I realize why whoever shot her felt the need to use three bullets. This is not a woman who can be easily subdued.

I speak softly to her. She doesn't avert her eyes, but I begin to wonder if she understands what I'm saying. Maybe she speaks another language. I take her hand. "Can you understand me?" I ask in French. "Squeeze my hand if you understand my words." Her eyes stay fixed on me, but she doesn't squeeze my hand. I try English. No response. Then Spanish. I say the few words I know in German, and none of those seem to register. Unfortunately I don't know Arabic. No matter what I say in any language, the look on her face doesn't change. She gives no response to anything I say or do. I'm wondering if perhaps she's deaf when a bird begins to sing outside. She glances wistfully toward the window. She had to have heard since the bird can't be seen, probably around the corner in the shrubbery.

I look into her deep, troubled eyes. They refuse to answer the questions in mine, and I can tell being awake appears to be draining her. _Alright, warrior princess. Time for a nap_. I smile into her guarded eyes, speaking in French because it's soothing. "I know you're tired, so go back to sleep. But only beautiful dreams. The nightmare is over now." With my hand out of sight, I inject a small amount of sedative into the IV. Just enough to put her back to sleep. As she calms, her head falls back on the pillow, and her gaze drifts to the flowers beside the bed. When I lift one out of the arrangement and hold it in front of her, her eyes soften. Weakly she opens her hand, and I place the stem in her fingers. As she begins to fade, a nonsensical notion comes over me that if she falls asleep holding a flower to her breast, she'll stay that way and never wake up. Lifting her hand gently, I hold the flower near her face so she can smell its fragrance. She takes a long breath, her eyes lingering on the delicate petals. Finally her eyelids close as she slips under the spell of my sedative. She's Sleeping Beauty again. But her face looks different to me after seeing her awake. Even in her weakened physical condition, her spirit is strong. She'll pull through. Now that I've seen her eyes, I know.

_Antoinette's POV:_

"They're both quite tall and very handsome."

"Mmmm."

"Vigorous and strong, too."

I study the two men in question while they set up tables and chairs on the lawn. With each movement, their physiques are revealed beneath their shirts. I remember the strength of Ace's arms as he caught me when I fell. Then I recall Joseph's powerful arms holding me close as we danced. My heart beats faster. "Oui."

"Which one are you going to choose?"

It takes me a moment for her question to register. _"Jeanette!"_

"Don't 'Jeanette' me. It is time for you to think about yourself. You have two virile men who are interested in you."

"You don't know that!"

"Of course, I do. I see how they look at you."

My cheeks flush as I glance toward Joseph, then Ace. "I hope you don't repeat that to anyone."

"Well, dearie, I'm not the only one who's noticed. It's difficult to miss. If you aren't walking with one of them, you're talking with the other." She pointedly adds, "Even Louis has commented how convenient it is that one is always around."

I groan. "Does everyone know my business?"

"Maybe the Lord and Lady haven't noticed, but anyone who pays attention knows."

I'm mortified and feel my cheeks flush. I glance around, hoping no one notices my embarrassment. Thankfully no one's paying me a bit of mind. Except Ace. When our eyes meet, he gives me a warm smile.

Whenever Ace is near, I feel safe. It's amazing how he senses my moods. He's not above teasing me into a better disposition or encouraging me to talk when I'm troubled. I admire his honesty, and we share many of the same beliefs. I find myself enjoying his company more each day. The way he sometimes looks at me reminds me that I'm still a woman and…

Jeanette breaks into my thoughts with a nudge to my arm. "They're preparing for the egg race." I glance around and notice everyone in the household gathered on the lawn for the Easter festivities. Exchanging French and American Easter customs today has been a unique experience for all of us. It began during the noon meal of savory lamb stew with spring vegetables from our garden. They told us about their Easter traditions in America, many similar to our own

Leaning toward me, Jeanette points to the hill where the children stand. "I hope Ethan wins." We watch as the children line up and, place their egg on the ground, giving them a push. As the eggs careen down the hill, the children run behind. Jeannette shrieks her support for Ethan while I shout encouragements to Charlotte. At the end, however, the son of one of the housekeepers is declared the winner and presented with a large medal.

Not long afterwards, Joseph announces he's going to teach everyone the 'bunny hop'.' I watch in amazement as he demonstrates how to hop up and down while he sings an American song entitled, _"Here Comes Peter Cottontail."_ I burst into laughter, realizing some of the words must be lost in translation because they don't make much sense. The adults look at him as if he's lost his mind, but the children are jubilant as they hop along behind him. In the midst of their 'bunny hop,' Jenna comes running into the yard. Excitedly joining the children amidst gales of laughter and squeals of delight, the dog weaves in and out between their feet. When Jenna accidentally trips Charlotte, Edward runs to her to make certain she's not hurt.

I smile at his protectiveness. Edward and Charlotte are welcomed additions to the château. Joseph has Edward working in the barn with the livestock. On a walk yesterday, Joseph told me that Edward has a knack for settling the animals when they're agitated. Joseph took me to the vineyard to show me how it is coming along. The weeds have all been cleared, the vines pruned and retied. I can see the work he's putting into its restoration. He hopes that under his care, the vineyard will produce a crop this year.

I'd been shocked and quite speechless when Joseph asked to court me. In truth, I still don't know how to respond. He has all the right answers for our age difference. But it's not just the years between us. He's different. So gregarious, so _young_ in his manner. Whenever I'm with him, his words and actions make me feel beautiful. His ardor draws me to him like the preverbal moth to the flame. But would I perish in that flame?

"Grandmère." Ethan rushes over to Jeanette. Joseph, Sam and Ace hid treats earlier and now the children are hunting for them. Ethan holds his prize out for Jeanette to see. A chocolate.

"Well done, Ethan." She gives him a hug. "Can you find another?" He takes off, scrambling to find more. She turns to me. "He misses Danielle so much."

"But he has you. He'll be fine."

When the men declare that all of the treats have been found, Ethan runs over to Mina who's walking toward us. Ethan has a chocolate in his mouth and starts to unwrap another when Mina says, "You cannot eat all the chocolate you found or you'll get a bellyache. Save some for later." Jeanette agrees and has him hand over the treats to her, then takes off to play. Mina sits in the empty chair near us.

I glance around. "Where's Jean-Luc?" Usually he stays near Mina when she's home from her duties in Paris.

"He's mopping around like he's lost his best friend." She smiles and adds, "Well, I suppose he has. I'm sure he'll cheer up when Monsieur Mercier returns."

"The whole château misses them. It's been so quiet around here for the last two days." I return her smile and ask, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please." She accepts the cup and takes a sip. "It was very nice for the men to buy all the gifts for the children."

I chuckle. "I can assure you, the pleasure was all theirs. I had to put my foot down finally or they would have purchased the whole candy shop!"

We all laugh. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see Charlotte approaching and turn to her. Her small fist is wrapped around something. "What do you have, Charlotte?"

She opens her fist, revealing a blue ribbon which matches her dress. "Monsieur Ace gave it to me." Her blue eyes sparkle as she turns to where Ace is standing about fifty feet away and waves to him. "He said he had 'two left thumbs,' and that you would tie it in my hair." I've kept Charlotte close to me the last few days. She's an endearing child and reminds me of Meg when she was small. When Matt examined her this morning, he said she was getting better, but told me to make sure she was eating well. She's still very thin.

I pull her long hair back and secure the mass of curls with the ribbon. "It looks beautiful, Charlotte." She hugs me, and I feel the sting of tears at her gesture. Over her shoulder, I notice Ace watching us, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then Charlotte runs off to join her new friends to play.

Two of the kitchen maids join us. We happily chat about anything and everything. When I glance around, Joseph is coming from the barn with a huge box in his arms. I recognize it as the one full of kites. On the shopping trip to Paris, he'd made sure to purchase enough kites so that everyone would have one. I'd laughed when he added a 'few extra.' Earlier, he'd mentioned that the 'upper currents' today are perfect for kite flying. For the next hour, the children scatter all over the lawn and fields trying to fly their kites higher than the person next to them. Even the adults join in. I love watching the kites dance in the air, reminding me of huge colorful butterflies, hopping from cloud to cloud.

Edward and Joseph help Charlotte fly her kite. But she looks exhausted from the full day of activities when she comes over. She yawns. I smile and ask, "Would you like to climb into my lap?"

"Oui." I help her up and wrap my arms around her. The afternoon is waning. All the kites have been put away for another day. Meg and Sam have joined our group. Matt's been inside the infirmary all day with his patient and hasn't had a chance to join us. I look around for Joseph and see him talking with Edward and a few of the other men. One of the new foals is in the near pasture, and they walk over to the fence, obviously discussing her attributes. Near the edge of the lawn, three boys are taking turns throwing a stick for Jenna to retrieve. Ace is leaning against a tree with a rope in his hands, showing the young men surrounding him how to make different knots. Several families are lounging on blankets. Louis is sitting with two of his grandsons. They're so enrapt, he must be t4elling them a story. On a large quilt, two younger girls are playing with cloth dolls, the mothers next to them, participating in the fantasy the children are weaving. Several men are off to the side smoking pipes, the bluish smoke carried up into the sky by the breeze. This has been a very special Easter. I sigh with contentment.

The sun is setting and parents begin returning to the château, many carrying the children. When I peer down, Charlotte is asleep in my arms. I wonder if I can get her inside without waking her. Then Ace is beside me. "I'll carry her." I smile my thanks as he lifts her out of my arms.

When we reach her room, Ace places her on the bed. I remove her shoes, put on her night clothes and pull the covers up. When I turn, Ace is standing inside the door, a soft expression on his face. I move toward the door, but he steps closer and raises his hand to touch my cheek. Expressive brown eyes study my face as if searching for something. I notice small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the crease between his brows, thick dark eyelashes. Without taking his hand away from my cheek, he moves his thumb across my lips, setting butterflies loose to flutter wildly in my stomach. He brings his face closer to mine, and I lean into him.

Then we hear footsteps in the hallway. Hastily, we separate. We don't say anything, but continue to stare into each other's eyes for many moments. His eyes reflect his inner turmoil, and I see when he makes his decision. Heaving a deep sigh, he turns and leaves without another word. I lean against the doorframe, trying to compose myself. But it is impossible for now because all I long for is his embrace.

_Burgos, Spain_

_Laura's POV: _

Erik's lips linger on my neck. Sensations of soft kisses and warm breath send shivers down my spine. "We're late, and you're getting side-tracked again," I chide him, but can't hide my smile. "All you're supposed to be doing is buttoning my dress."

"Temptress!" He hisses out as he continues, undeterred.

With mock disbelief, I reply, "Are you calling your wife a temptress?"

"Indeed I am. Whenever you are near, all I can think about are your eyes, your lips, your ears," his lips graze my ear, "your neck, your shoulders, your…"

"Yes, I understand where you're going with this!" I chuckle, "But haven't you given your special attention to each of those already this morning?" I reach back and try to fasten the remaining buttons. He exhales with resignation. Moving my hands aside, he finishes buttoning my bodice. I turn around and take his face in my hands. "Or is this about stalling?"

"Stalling?" He puts on an expression of innocence. Which means, of course, he knows I've gotten to the heart of the matter.

"Today is the day you finally meet your mother. I know you've wanted that all your life," I speak gently as I gaze into his eyes, discerning in them the turmoil he's trying to hide. "Perhaps now that it's within reach, imminent, you're having second thoughts. Perhaps have doubts that the meeting may not be all that you hoped."

He leans down and kisses my nose. "Did I mention your nose? I think I left it out of the list."

"Now you're definitely stalling." I smooth my thumb over his scarred cheek. "Are you having second thoughts about meeting your mother? You don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

He pulls me against him and rests his head on my shoulder. I can sense his mind racing, and his emotions broiling off him. Finally he says with a husky, strained voice, "I cannot lie to you. You always see through me. Yes, Laura, I am worried. How will she receive me? After all, she wrote that letter to me almost thirty years ago. Those years have left their mark on me, and surely she has also been changed, molded by the events of her life. Perhaps she no longer welcomes a son she did not raise and does not know. Perhaps she will be traumatized by my sudden appearance. I have longed to meet her, but if she rejects me…" His voice chokes off.

I stroke my hand soothingly down his back. "And I will not lie to you, Erik. Those are possibilities. We don't know what these intervening years have done to her. How they've affected her. But, I know how I feel about the life I am carrying. Nothing could ever change my love for this child. No matter what happens. And that is the kind of love that I perceived in your mother's letter. No doubt she'll be shocked to learn you're alive. She probably has given up that hope. But when she realizes you are her son, I think those years will fall away." I pull back and look into his eyes. "I sincerely believe that."

His features soften. "You always think the best of people. Expect that they will do the right thing."

"Well, not always…," I give him my pixie grin. "But regarding your mother. Let's just say, it's a feeling I have."

Erik nods with acceptance, then leans down and plants a smoldering kiss. When I come up for air, I breathe out, "Staller."

"Temptress!" He hurtles back. But he chuckles and seems to relax.

Without too many more delays due to Erik's ardor, we finally leave our suite. Jeremy, Russ and Sue are waiting for us in the hallway. We're fifteen minutes late, and Jeremy frowns disapprovingly. "We need to leave within an hour if we're going to reach your mother's estate by mid-afternoon."

"I'm sorry, Jeremy," I smile apologetically, "I had trouble with my dress."

He glances at Erik. Jeremy's expression discloses that he can guess what the trouble was.

We quickly go down the hotel's grand staircase, through the elegantly furnished lobby and onto an outdoor terrace. Spring has fully arrived and flowers are blooming from terra cotta pots and raised flower beds. We're seated next to a mosaic tiled fountain which sends a mist of water through the air. The rest of our entourage is already seated at the adjacent table. Linc, Ty and Derek are laughing to the distinct embarrassment of Danielle and Julia. I wonder what that's about?

Jeremy didn't need to worry about breakfast taking long. The waiters quickly serve us with the simple, but flavorful meal. When the waiter places a platter full of bread, dipped in egg and fried, he explains they are torrijas. "In America we call these French toast," Jeremy chuckles as he dishes two onto his plate.

"But here they use honey on them, not maple syrup," Sue adds, taking a bite. "And, they're delicious."

Slices of pork are also served, along with rich coffee. We're nearly finished with breakfast when a distinguished gentleman with graying hair and a pointed goatee approaches our table. Jeremy and the men stop eating, on guard. The man bows to Jeremy and says in heavily accented English, "You are Americanos?"

Jeremy stands and returns the formal bow. "Yes, we are."

"Do I understand correctly you have hired several carriages to take your party to the estate of the Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny?"

"How might you have heard about that?" His voice contains a slight challenge.

"Oh, Señor! Take no offense! My name is Señor Mendoza. I am the premiere wine merchant of Burgos! The carriages and wagon you hired often transport my merchandise. The drivers informed me they are taking you and your companions to the Contessa's estate. I have a case of wine which she ordered. I was hoping you might be so kind as to deliver it to her."

"Yes," Jeremy relaxes and smiles, "I think that would be possible."

"Thank you, Señor!" He breaks into a toothy smile. For the first time, he glances around the table. His eyes widen when he spots Erik's mask. He bows again, trying to cover his reaction.

Erik notices and is not going to let it go. In his impeccable English, Erik speaks up, "Señor Mendoza, we are new to Burgos."

"I see. You knew the Contessa in France?"

"No, we are acquainted with her son," Erik replies with an enigmatic half smile.

"Ah! Raoul! Very like his father!" His ingratiating smile freezes in place, not quite certain where this conversation is going. Frankly, neither do I. Erik rarely engages in conversation with people he doesn't know.

"You knew the Comte de Chagny well? And his wife?"

"Sí! I have known the Contessa all my life. My father was the wine merchant to her father! It is a family tradition!"

"We heard the sad news of the Comte's passing recently," Erik continues to prompt the man.

"Yes, so very sad. A heart attack. The trip from Paris, fleeing from the Commune, was too much for him. Sadly, he died here in Burgos shortly after arriving."

Erik nods his head in acknowledgement of the sad story. Perhaps only I notice Erik's jaw clench. "So the Contessa lives with her brother on the estate?"

"No, Señor. Her brother died several years ago. His sainted wife died in childbirth, and he never remarried. So, the Contessa has no other family on the estate."

"We hope we will find the Contessa in good health." Erik smiles as he fishes for more information.

"Excellent! The Contessa has always had a very strong constitution. She was born and raised on the estate. She is renowned for her skill riding side saddle and manages the estate herself. It is one of the largest and finest in northern Spain. But it is her land. It is in her blood!"

A glimmer in Erik's eyes discloses his pride in learning this about his mother. So, she is a strong, independent woman. "She must have missed it when she resided for so many years in France," Erik comments offhandedly.

"Surely she must have! The Comte de Chagny met her when he came to the estate to purchase horses. She was born a Contessa. And a great beauty, you see. Black hair and dark, stunning eyes. The Comte proposed to her before he returned to France. Her father, the old Count de Velasco, did not like his daughter being so far away, but, well, the marriage did unite two noble and very powerful families. The old Count reconciled himself that his son would inherit the estate and carry on the family traditions. How strange it is the way life unfolds. The son has died, and the Contessa has returned from her life in France. Now her son will inherit the combined wealth of the de Velasco's and the de Chagny's."

"Indeed." Erik stands and bows formally to the man. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We will gladly deliver your wine to the Contessa."

As Erik delivers his parting words, I note that the man studies him thoughtfully. Is there something about Erik, his height or features or bearing that reminds him of the Comte de Chagny? But surely Raoul got his blonde hair from his father. That means Erik's dark hair and eyes came from his mother. Does this man notice a family resemblance to the Contessa? With professions of gratitude and more deep bows, the wine merchant takes his leave.

Erik remains standing. "It is time to begin our journey. You are right, Jeremy, I want to arrive at the estate by mid-afternoon. Today is Easter. There will be a special supper prepared for the occasion." Erik leaves unspoken what I know is in his heart. He hopes to share it with his mother.

Soon we're in the carriage and meandering through the ancient streets of Burgos, past grand, ornate buildings. The birthplace of the fabled medieval warrior, El Cid, the city has a long, rich history of the kings of Castile and Leon. When we pass the magnificent Burgos Cathedral, I stare in amazement. Its two towers are topped with circular spires that seem otherworldly. I heard that the cathedral took five hundred years to build and surpasses even Notre Dame in Paris in intricate design and detail. I squeeze Erik's hand in silent communion with him. "Perhaps we can stop there on our return trip," I whisper. He nods solemnly in agreement as his eyes drink in the awe-inspiring cathedral.

We head straight north from Burgos into the countryside. The driver said our trip would take six hours. As the carriage sways and jolts over the road, I place my hand on my stomach. I took some of Danielle's tea with breakfast. I hope my stomach's testiness doesn't cause delays in the trip.

Jeremy and Russ apparently are familiar with this part of Spain, known as Las Marindades. They begin to tell about participating in the running of the bulls in Pamplona which is just north of here. Their tales are harrowing, and from the skeptical expression on Erik's face, perhaps slightly embellished. But I'm glad they're occupying Erik's attention. Perhaps Jeremy is doing that intentionally. He continues to spin yarns about his hitchhiking through Spain, France and Germany when he was a student.

As we slowly jostle over the ruts, I think back, too, on my many trips in my beloved Corvette. I miss it. In a hundred years there will be paved roads here and this journey would probably take less than an hour. Perhaps in my 'Vette, I could make it in half an hour. Cruising smoothly along with music streaming from surround speakers. I sigh. Once. Just once more, I wish I could drive my 'Vette.

We travel for hours on roads that wind through valleys between rolling mountains. The country reminds me of the gentle rolling hills of southern California, except more forested. Then, juxtaposed above the hills are occasional flat-topped mesas like the ones I've seen in Arizona. We follow rivers and occasionally spot waterfalls. A truly beautiful, almost magical country.

Small villages with red-roofed houses are scattered along the way, surrounded by their neatly cultivated fields. But this is also cattle country, and we pass herds being tended by mounted riders. At the village of Merindad de Rio Ubierno, while the horses are being watered, we go into a small inn. The delicious aroma of lamb stew permeates the air. I cannot resist it and consume a small bowlful.

When we continue our trip, Erik wraps his arm around my waist, and I snuggle happily, resting my head on his shoulder. He begins to hum softly near my ear. I can feel the melody vibrating in this throat. Soon sleep embraces me.

I am jolted awake. The carriage lurches several times as the horses struggle to free us from some nasty ruts in the road. My stomach lurches with the carriage. I wipe my hand across my forehead and discover it's clammy. The world begins to swirl around me. My hand lowers to my mouth, holding it closed, trying to keep down my lunch.

Erik yells out, "Stop the carriage. Now!" The carriage halts, and I'm in Erik's arms, flying out the door. None too soon. The food begins to come up just as Erik is putting me on my feet. He keeps his hands gently around my waist, holding me as I bend over. My stomach insistently empties everything. When it's over, he carries me back to the carriage and holds me on his lap. Then he takes out his handkerchief and wipes my face. "Are you all right?" He asks gently.

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. It is not much farther. You slept a couple hours." Erik orders the carriage to proceed and continues to hold me in his arms. Together we watch the beautiful countryside pass by. Listening to his heart beat lulls me into a sense of peace. I begin to wish this would never end. But it does. At the village of Humada, the drivers again stop for the horses to be watered. We wait on the flower-covered patio of a small inn and have some tea. Just down the street, people begin to flood into the streets from a church. Afternoon Easter mass must have just concluded.

This time when we get into the carriage, Erik is noticeably tense. His mother's manor house and estate are not much farther. He stares distractedly out the window, preoccupied with his thoughts. I reach over and take his hand. As his fingers lace with mine, he looks back at me and smiles. But then he turns away, gazing expectantly out the window.

We travel for twenty minutes before turning off the main road. After going only a short distance, the pounding of horse's hooves can be heard behind us. Almost a dozen riders approach, calling out something in Spanish. The drivers immediately halt the carriages. Suddenly we're surrounded by menacing men, all with rifles in their scabbards. I hear one of the drivers referring to us as "Americanos." I hope he's a good diplomat and can explain our presence so they'll let us pass. The riders are all dressed in festive jackets and hats, like they're coming back from Easter mass in the village. Definitely not the attire highwaymen would bother to wear.

Jeremy silently nods at Sue and Russ to arm themselves. Sue's hand goes into her purse, ready, and Russ takes his gun from his shoulder holster. Then Jeremy opens the carriage door and gets out, his hands held up to show he's not armed. No doubt all four bodyguards in the other carriage have their guns ready. Tensed like a panther, Erik takes in everything, ready for whatever is about to happen.

"Does anyone speak English?" Jeremy asks. "Or French?"

One of the riders spurs his horse over to Jeremy. He pulls it to a stop and glares down at him, responding in French, "What is your business here? This is a private estate."

"We have come to visit Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny. We have a letter for her concerning her son."

"Raoul? You have a letter regarding Raoul?" He asks, surpised.

"No, not Raoul."

"Well, then you are a fraud. The other son, Philippe died last year!" He sneers back.

"No, not Philippe."

"Then you are a madman, Monsieur. There is no other son."

"Yes. There is," Jeremy insists. It had been agreed in advance that he would announce Erik's presence. "And I think the Contessa would want to meet him."

The air is pierced by a shriek. Another rider appears from behind an ancient, gnarled oak tree just off the road. But this rider is mounted side-saddle, a deeply gathered black skirt draped elegantly over the horse's hindquarters. Exquisite lace trims the woman's ebony jacket and dainty tassels dangle from broad cuffs. Jet black hair, streaked with grey, is pulled back into a chignon. A veil drapes down from a broad-brimmed hat, entirely covering her face. She masterfully trots her mount over to Jeremy and pulls back on the reins, trying to calm the prancing, dark horse. With imperious dignity, she challenges Jeremy, "I am the Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny. What proof do you have of your claim, Monsieur?"

"The letter I referred to. May I show it to you?" Jeremy is still holding his hands open and in front of him. Clearly he doesn't want to reach into his pocket without their consent. They may shoot first and figure out their mistake later.

She nods her head and motions to the man who spoke first. He orders Jeremy, "Do not reach into your jacket. I will procure it."

The man dismounts, and Jeremy tells him the envelope is in his right pocket. He pulls out the letter that Erik's mother had written so many years before. When he walks over and hands it up to the Contessa, she takes it hesitantly. Because of the veil, I can't see the expression on her face. But when she removes the letter from the envelope, her hand is shaking. She takes only a moment to scan it. "How did you obtain this, Monsieur?" Her voice is strained with emotion, "Is this some trick? Are you claiming to be my son?"

My total focus has been riveted on the drama between the Contessa and Jeremy. Now, in a flash of black cloak, Erik descends from the coach and stands next to Jeremy. "No, Contessa. _I_ claim to be your son."


	100. Chapter 100

**A/N: This is our Mother's Day gift to each of you who are moms!! It is a week early, but, then, as moms, we writers want to take that weekend off and spend it with our families! We hope you will be doing that, too!**

**We'll be posting the next chapter in three week! Gee…if we got some more reviews, maybe that would inspire us to return to the every two week schedule!? LOL! But in the meantime, I am intensely working on the final chapters of the book! It will be over 700 pages, and as I have said before, is much more focused on Erik's personal story which it set in **_**real**_** history. Oh yes, and of course, Laura's search for the truth about him… **

Now Erik has met his mother. And, like son, like mother… Will only sparks fly? Or will she accept him?

**Chapter 100, Realizations, by Phanfan, Phanna & KFC **

_Easter Sunday, March 31, 1872_

_Spain_

_Erik's POV:_

The carriage turns down the road to the de Velasco manor house. My heart begins pumping so fiercely I can feel it. Feel the blood coursing in my veins. _So close, so very close. _I look out the carriage window, at the country where my mother grew up. What did the wine broker say? "It is her land. It is in her blood." The words he spoke were the first I had ever heard about my mother. It was a struggle not to reveal the emotions his words ignited. Feelings of relief that she was alive and well. Pride when he talked about her beauty and ability as a horsewoman. Admiration at her strength and fearlessness in managing this estate.

The sound of horses approaching from behind our carriages jars me out of my thoughts. I release Laura's hand and pull back the curtain to look out the carriage window. Riders dressed in festive jackets are rapidly gaining on us. Surely not highwaymen. Probably caballeros who work on the estate are returning from Easter services. They call out to the drivers who stop the carriages. Jeremy signals Russ and Sue to ready their guns, then climbs out of the carriage and confronts the men who surround us menacingly. I feel impatient, angry, at being relegated to waiting. Watching while other men step forward and deal with situations which are mine to handle, not theirs.

Tensed, I listen as Jeremy asks if anyone speaks French or English. One of the riders, a man with dignity and self-assured authority, probably the foreman, comes forward and peers down at him. In French heavily accented with Spanish, he demands to know our business. Jeremy explains we are here to see the Contessa and have a letter concerning her son. The man is taken off guard and asks if this refers to Raoul. When Jeremy clarifies it is not Raoul, the rider sneers and calls him a fraud since the other son, Philippe, is dead. Jeremy courageously asserts there is another son, which gains him only derision and being called a madman. That confirms what I suspected. No one is aware of my existence. Except, of course, my mother.

Then I hear Jeremy's blunt and risky response. "Yes. There is. And I think the Contessa would want to meet him."

A woman's cry shatters the air, and my heart skips a beat. I watch, spellbound as a woman, mounted side-saddle trots her horse commandingly into the middle of the caballeros. She is magnificent. Dressed in an elegant black dress, her ebony hair has only a few strands of grey. But I cannot see her face which is covered in a black veil. She effortlessly constrains the large, black horse which prances with pent-up energy. My breath catches when she glares down at Jeremy and announces, "I am the Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny. What proof do you have of your claim, Monsieur?"

I watch, expectant, as Jeremy replies, "The letter I referred to. May I show it to you?" Jeremy continues holding his hands in front of him to prove he is not armed. The Contessa nods to the foreman, and he dismounts and gets the envelope from Jeremy's pocket. It is the very envelope that my mother addressed to me. It has the name of "Erik Philippe de Chagny" written on it in her beautiful, flowing handwriting. The man's eyes widen as he reads the words, but he says nothing and holds the letter up to the Contessa. She hesitates. Does she recognize the envelope? Does she remember what it contains? Does she fear what this may portend? The return of a third son. A son long taken from her. As good as dead. She finally takes the envelope and pulls out the letter. Her hand shakes as she reads, but I cannot see her face, her expression. And more than anything else, I want to see that. To know if she will accept me. Or deny me. She takes only seconds to scan the letter, seeming to know what it says. Yes. I am certain now. She remembers writing it. "How did you obtain this, Monsieur?" Her voice is charged with emotion, "Is this some trick? Are you claiming to be my son?"

I explode out of the carriage. "No, Contessa. _I_ claim to be your son."

Her horse rears and paws the air not far in front of me. Masterfully, she brings it under control and reins the horse in, turning it sideways so that she can look at me, unobstructed. I hold my ground and gaze back, unflinching. No one else speaks or moves. After the veiled face has stared down at me for some time, she says, "And just who do you say you are, Monsieur?"

"I am Erik Philippe de Chagny."

Her voice turns icy. "Well, so you say. We shall see." She turns to the man standing next to Jeremy. "Escort the carriages to the manor." She points at Jeremy and me, "Bring these two men to my father's study. Keep the others in the carriage until we are done." Then she spurs her horse. I watch as her skirt and veils billow behind her, riding at a full gallop. Jeremy and I exchange glances. His eyebrows furrow with surprise. We climb back into the coach and it takes off hastily, as if the driver dare not be in disobedience of the Contessa's orders.

I look into Laura's eyes. A fire burns in them. "Don't worry, Erik. Your mother needs a few moments alone to digest what has happened. She just needs to collect her thoughts and feelings before meeting with you."

"She is indeed collecting her thoughts and feelings," I say wryly, "but it is by no means clear what they will be. She did not seem pleased."

Laura takes my hand between hers. "Erik, surely, she will recognize you. Surely she will accept you." She places my hand on her cheek as she speaks.

But her eyes tell the truth. They are no longer serene. "You are a very bad liar," I whisper for her ears only." I lean down and kiss her forehead. "But that is one of the reasons I love you." She lays her head on my shoulder, and we ride the rest of the way in silence. I glance over at Jeremy. He looks out the windows at the riders surrounding the coach. The watchful frown on his face tells what he thinks of our situation. He is not much of a liar, either.

The carriage slows and turns onto a long driveway leading to the manor house. The three-story, rambling mansion looms ahead, flanked by many outbuildings. Behind it are corrals, stables and large fenced pastures, full of regal Andalusian horses. Several foals frisk playfully while mares with beautiful, arched necks protectively watch nearby. The carriage pulls in front of an arched gateway leading to an entrance courtyard. As soon as we stop, the man who confronted Jeremy leaps from his horse and opens the carriage door. There is only time to give Laura a kiss and quickly follow Jeremy down the steps. The man waves for us to precede him into the courtyard when Laura sweeps down behind us and follows.

"No, Seňiorita! You must wait in the coach." The foreman is polite, but firm.

Laura replies, equally firm, and taking my arm, "I am his wife."

"The Contessa gave permission to receive only these two men," he insists.

"Where my husband goes, I go."

A white-haired, formally dressed servant who has been standing in the courtyard now comes forward and bows to Laura, "I am sorry, _Seňora,_ but we must abide by the Contessa's orders."

"Well, then, you need to communicate to the Contessa that I wish for my wife to accompany me," I reply definitively and plant my feet apart, unmoving. "We will wait here for her _permission._"

The ancient servant studies me for the first time. His eyebrow dips, as if with recognition, but all he says is, "I will relay your request." He walks with slow dignity through the immense, carved wood doors and disappears into the mansion. We wait for many minutes. Then I spot a hand pull back the drapes of a second floor window. A figure stands in the shadows, looking down at us. So, one strong, determined woman taking the measure of another strong, determined woman. But in this matter, I hope Laura wins. Whatever happens next, I want her by my side.

The servant arrives with the news that the Contessa will receive Laura. Accompanied by the foreman, we follow the servant through the huge doors into a soaring, three-story foyer. Broad, open staircases soar up all three levels on both sides of the cavernous room. Skylights in the ceiling of the foyer flood the stark white walls with sunlight, illuminating colorful tapestries covering the walls. We follow the bony figure of the old servant up the right-hand stairwell. On the second floor he leads us down a hallway to large, double doors. Then he opens the door and steps aside for the four of us to enter, but he does not follow.

Large, carved beams crisscross the room's high ceiling. Bookshelves cover the walls, filled with leather-bound books, and a heavy oak table stands at one end of the room, piled with papers. At the other end of the room, a stone fireplace blazes with a warming fire. The room is darkened by the velvet drapes hanging over the windows, so standing candelabras around the room give off eerie, flickering light in the middle of day. A woman rises from a settee in front of the fireplace and turns around, facing us. With her back to the fire, her features are in shadow, and I cannot make them out. She does not move toward us, and we advance only a few steps when her voice stops us in our tracks. "That will be close enough." We halt, half the length of the room away. Even though I cannot see them, I can feel her eyes boring into me, examining my face. With a force of will, I remain still and calm, letting her study me.

"So, Monsieur, you claim to be _Erik _Philippe de Chagny?" Her tone is acid, unbelieving. "Just what do you know about him?"

"I know he is the first son of Vicomte Edmond Raoul de Chagny and Vicomtesse Bernice Louis de Chagny née Contessa de Velasco, born on Saturday, the 13th of November 1836."

"I see you found the birth certificate at the church of Sainte Marie Madeleine in Paris. You are very thorough. But how did you come into possession of the letter?"

"I received it through a family member of the maid servant you entrusted it to."

She inhales sharply. I wonder now if only she knows to whom she entrusted the letter. As for me, I recited the exact wording which Laura and I prepared to explain how the letter came to me. And, it is true. I just left out the detail that the family member was many generations removed.

"You are a very fine actor and know your lines well. You even have the nerve to present yourself with a mask which covers the side of the face where _my_ son was scarred. But what does your mask cover, Monsieur? Or is it nothing more than part of a costume?" She is unrelenting. My stomach tightens, sickens. The Contessa will not believe until she sees. I must do the very thing which I hate the most. Remove my mask. Expose my deformity. Laura is the only person who ever looked on it without shock or horror. Slowly my hand goes to my mask and touches the edge. Laura gasps. I look away from the Contessa. Laura's eyes brim with tears. I murmur, "I must." She nods and gives me her smile of love. And understanding.

My fingers curl under the mask and pull it from my cheek. Then I lower the mask and hand it to Laura. The foreman crosses himself, but Jeremy does not flinch. I turn and look directly into the eyes of the Contessa. She cries out, "That is no battle scar, Monsieur." She walks slowly around the corner of the settee and approaches me. When she is several feet away, she stops. The candlelight reflects on her face. Only faint wrinkles edge her large, dark eyes and strong, full mouth. Her nose is long and straight, and cheekbones high and carved. How could such beauty have birthed a monster? What quirk of fate befell both of us? Will she now deny me out of horror? I watch her eyes, which fill with disbelief, then pain, then gradually soften. With recognition.

"The scars…" her voice breaks, "…the scars you bear are in the same place as the birth marks. I know. I held you for many hours and studied your beautiful, little face. I loved it. Every perfect and imperfect part of it."

Suddenly I realize she said "you." She said, "I held you." I clench my teeth, fighting back tears. Transfixed, she does not move.

"There is one other proof, of course." I remove my pin and cravat, handing them to Laura. Then I unbutton my shirt and pull it aside, showing the other mark. The small crescent moon shaped mole on my left shoulder."

She cries out, "My son!"

I pull my shirt back over my shoulder and button it. "Yes, I am your son," then with barred teeth, I hiss out, "but if you do not want to acknowledge me, speak now. I will leave. And never bother you again."

For endless moments she gazes at me, tears flowing unchecked down her face. "I hardly dared believe it possible. But you are surely my son. My firstborn son. And I will gladly tell the world." She opens her arms. "Welcome home." I cross the space between us and am enfolded in her arms. Her first kiss is placed gently on my scarred cheek. I moan softly. At peace. At last.

_Tuesday, April 2, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Jeanette's POV:_

"Come on, Jeanette, you know you want to do this." Joe's teasing eyes and seductive voice works to his advantage.

"You are quite sure of yourself!"

He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward him. "Oui, Madame, I am."

The scoundrel is practicing his wiles on me. And wins. "Very well then." Smiling from ear to ear, he hands me two bags of almonds. One sweet, the other, bitter. They're the main ingredients in macarons, Antoinette's favorite treat.

"In my expert opinion, Jeanette, your macarons are even better than the ones from that religious community in St. Emilion. I tasted a few when we were in Paris."

Now he's plying me with flattery. I can understand why Antoinette enjoys his company. He's a rogue, but even I have to admit, a charming one. Sometimes he even reduces me to girlish reactions at his compliments. "Yes," I do my best to keep the blush from my cheeks, "but my recipe is even better since Danielle helped me work out the right combination of almonds."

"Just make sure no one eats them." Joe knows I'm aware he's keeping company with Antoinette and has now enlisted my help whenever he can. Even though he believes my assistance may tip the scales to his side, I silently disagree. Antoinette will choose the man _she _wants.

"I will set them aside for you, but I cannot make them until after the luncheon meal."

"That works perfectly into my plans. Merci, Jeanette." When he leaves, I glance around the bustling kitchen. Everyone's busy with their various jobs preparing for today's meals. I tuck the almonds behind a large jar in the pantry and gather all the ingredients to make bread.

I've just placed everything on my work table when Ace walks over. "Good morning, Jeanette. How are you today?" I like that his friendly smile extends to his eyes. From my experience, he'll listen closely and remember what I say. It is a trait I find most admirable.

"I'm well, thank you." He clears his throat, and I know he's going to ask a favor, most likely related to Antoinette. I wait for him to continue.

"Would you kindly prepare a basket of food for two?" He lowers his voice "I've asked Antoinette to go on a picnic with me."

"I would be delighted to do that for you." Once again his smile reaches his eyes and crinkles the corners. Ace reminds me of my own dear Robert who died five years ago. Robert was always sincere with his words and actions. He made you feel special when he focused his attention on you, and Ace does the same. I can also understand why Antoinette enjoys his company.

He thanks me, and I turn the dough out onto the floured work surface. My thoughts drift to Antoinette and the two men who pursue her. Both have excellent qualities. Which one would _I_ choose in her position? Antoinette has a difficult choice.

As if I've bidden her with my very thoughts, Antoinette walks into the kitchen. She pours a cup of tea and sits across from me. I glance over. "Are you finished with the children's morning lessons all ready?"

She puts her elbows on the table and sighs. "Oui. But I'm afraid the children don't like me as well as Russ. My lessons aren't as interesting. Or fun. I'm sure they'll be happy when he returns."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, dearie." I push a small plate with a freshly baked croissant toward her. "I heard music playing before. More dancing lessons, too?"

"Oui." She takes a bite of the pastry, then brightens. "I cured Jean-Luc of his doldrums."

I stop kneading the dough. "Oh?"

"It truly didn't take much. I asked if he would play the piano during the dance lessons, and he agreed. When I added that Monsieur Mercier would know how he helped me, that did the trick."

I laugh. "I hope so. Ethan keeps grumbling that Jean-Luc doesn't want to play."

"Put your mind at ease." Her eyes twinkle. "The two boys took off together right after the lessons. Everything's fine now."

"Good." I lean forward. "I hear you have an assignation with Joe _and_ Ace today."

"How…?" She rolls her eyes. "That's right. Everyone knows my business."

"I'm afraid so. What are your plans?"

"I'm having lunch with Ace." She looks at me. "But you already know, don't you?" I nod my head. We look at each other, then break into laughter at the absurdity of her situation. We sound like two school girls. Everyone turns and stares, but we pay them no mind. She continues, "So after lunch with Ace, I'm meeting Joe late this afternoon near his work shed. He says he has a special gift for me."

"How nice." I know full well what it is as I'll be baking them.

But she frowns and lowers her voice. "Jeanette, I'm afraid he may propose."

Oh dear. Hopefully, the gift is just the macarons. But Joe does seem bent on winning her affections and may feel this is the proper way to go about it. "Have you given him any encouragement?"

She shakes her head. "Non. I've not even agreed to his courtship." She closes her eyes in frustration. "I'm just not sure of anything right now. There are so many…"

Jean-Luc and Ethan put an end to our conversation when they fly around the corner. I look at them. "What are you boys up to?"

Ethan's quick with an answer. "Nothing, Grandmère." But he gives Jean-Luc a conspiratorial glance. "We want to, uh, feed the ducks in the pond. Do you have any bread?"

I study them, wondering what they are really up to. "I can manage some." I put a few pieces of bread in a small basket for them. "You make sure you boys are careful around the pond." I turn to Ethan and shake my finger at him for emphasis. "I don't want you falling in. You can't swim." He gives me a quick peck on the cheek and grabs the basket. Both boys take off out the door, slamming it behind them.

Antoinette looks at her watch. "I must go. I've promised to play croquet with Meg. We're gathering as many people as we can. Would you like to join us?"

"Goodness no, dearie. But I'll sit outside and watch."

Meg, Sam, Joe and Antoinette have already started the game when I sit down with a bowl in my lap to snap green beans. I can also see Ethan and Jean-Luc near the pond. They're throwing bread on the ground to coax the ducks out of the water. Several brave ducks are waddling behind the boys and the trail of bread crumbs when Jenna comes running across the lawn, barking. The ducks squawk in alarm, spread their wings and take off for the safety of the pond. The boys howl with laughter. I just shake my head.

Meg encourages Sam to knock Joe's croquet ball away from the wicket. Joe's paying more attention to Antoinette than the game. And Antoinette's distracted. Meg's flirting with Sam, and Antoinette keeps glaring at her. When that strategy doesn't work, she begins to glare at Sam. He gets the message and does his best not to respond to Meg.

Jean-Luc and Ethan are at the edge of the pond, trying to catch frogs. Jenna keeps her eyes on the small frogs, barking whenever one leaps and hops away. Suddenly, I see Ethan leaning too far forward, and he tumbles into the pond. Jean-Luc jumps in after him. I stand. Screaming, "_Ethan!" _I race to the pond. But Joe and Sam are there before me, already in the water. When I get nearer, I see Ethan clinging tightly to Joe's neck. Sam's helping Jean-Luc out of the water. Ethan's coughing and spitting out water. Joe lifts Ethan onto the bank, and I rush over to make sure he's all right.

"He'll be okay. Give him a minute. He swallowed half the pond."

I sit next to Ethan and pull him into my lap. Tears run down my cheek, thinking about what might have happened had we not all been here. Suddenly Ethan turns and heaves on the ground.

"Matt needs to check him out." Joe must see my panic, so he reassures me, "It's just to be on the safe side."

I follow closely behind as Joe carries him to the infirmary. Matt examines him and says comfortingly, "His lungs sound clear. We'll just keep an eye on him for the next few days." Matt stares at Ethan. Then he turns to looks at Jean-Luc, standing next to me. "I hope you boys know how close Ethan came to dying." They lower their heads.

"I'll be having a serious talk to both of them, Matt." Joe turns to me. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be giving lessons to anyone who doesn't know how to swim."

"An excellent idea." I take Ethan and Jean-Luc back to their rooms to change. Then I give them a piece of my mind. They're fortunate that all they get is a tongue lashing. They'll be doing extra chores around the chateau for the next two weeks, along with attending swimming lessons. In the meantime, they're forbidden to go near the pond without supervision.

The day passes quickly. I cannot help but keep a constant eye on the boys. But they're subdued and play indoors. When Joe comes later in the afternoon to pick up the macarons, I hand him a box that's been lavishly decorated. I place my hand on his arm. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did this morning."

"You don't need to. I'm just glad I was there." He pats my hand, then picks up the box. "Thanks for making these." As he leaves, I watch him, thinking about how he saved Ethan. He does have his serious side. He's a good man. I pick up the wooden spoon and stir the pot. I'm glad I don't have to make a choice between the two men. I'm not sure if I could.

_Sleeping Beauty's POV:_

_I seem to float about the garden wrapped in a symphony of birdsongs. Gliding like a spirit, I move toward a blooming thicket of honeysuckle where a pure, sweet strain of the song weaves it's way through the branches. _

_Peering between the boughs I spy the little singer on its hidden perch. I reach toward it slowly and the small bird flits onto my hand, wrapping its tiny feet around my finger. It perches for a moment between the tangled shrubbery and the sky, then with a little warbling sound flies away. Free…_

_I drift along the ground, wishing I could fly. My bare feet hardly touch the grass but no matter how I try, I cannot lift myself any higher. Growing tired, I sink to the warm earth and lay my head on the delicate carpet of spring green. While a nearby stream gurgles contentedly and birds continue their warbling, I watch flowers spring from between tender blades of fresh grass. A breeze blows over me, speaking to me as I drift toward sleep. It says things I cannot understand. I do not know its language, but the wind's voice is soothing. The sound caresses me, calling me back to life… _

I open my eyes. _So it's his voice. _His blue eyes are tired, but smiling. Lines of weariness crease his face, and his hair looks as if he's just run his hands through it. He's speaking French. I don't recognize many of the words, but I love the sound of him speaking it.

As he pours something into a glass, I recognize the word for water. His hand slides behind my shoulders, and I feel an ache in my belly when I try to lift myself. He speaks again and by his gentle tone I know he's asking to let him lift me. After bolstering me with pillows he brings the cup to my lips, and I let the cool liquid flow over my parched tongue. When I've taken half the glass, he tries again to communicate with me in different languages.

_Breathe_…I tell myself. _Gather yourself. Do not say anything._

I cannot risk letting him know I understood the few words he did speak in my language,

but there are many things I want to ask this man who says he is my doctor. How badly was I wounded? Did he find me out in the storm, or did someone bring me to him? How long have I slept, and how much longer do I have to lie here?

I thought my nightmare was finally over when Devonier fired his gun. Those merciful, merciful shots. I even hoped the whole ordeal was a horrible dream and with those shots, I would finally wake up. But when I woke, I found myself still so far away from home.

I breathe deeply, trying to avert the rush of memories. Remembering the white lilies in the vase, I turn my head, seeking them, and focus on their delicate leaves and petals. They're still so beautiful even though they are fading. I feel the doctor's hand on my arm as he speaks again in a low, gentle voice. Soon the sound of his words has calmed me. My gaze drifts from the flowers, and I watch him instead. When he catches my eyes he smiles, then looks out the window.

He said I was safe. But if he discovers who I am and why I'm here, that will end. So I will not speak until I've devised a new identity. For now I am just a servant girl and a foreigner. I will pretend to understand nothing he speaks, or has spoken. If he will not allow me leave once I've recovered, I will escape. But when I do, where will I go? Now that my entire world is gone I must begin all over again, with no past and no future. Only the present.

I close my eyes and listen to the birds. Feeling the breeze on my face, I try to drift back to the place where I lay on the ground watched the flowers spring out of the earth…and I summon my strength.

_Matt's POV:_

She's drifted to sleep again. There's a light knock at the door, then Antoinette steps inside. Her light, graceful step makes no sound as she crosses the floor. "How is she?" Antoinette whispers.

"Good news," I smile. "She took some water by mouth just a while ago, so I'm going to remove her IV. She'll be sleeping and waking on her own now, and hopefully be eating within a few days. I'm sure she'll appreciate your help taking care of her."

I am surprised when Antoinette's brow furrows.

"It's alright. I can handle it on my own if you're not comfortable."

"It's not that. It's just that I will not be able to help you with her tomorrow. I am withdrawing Meg from the corps de ballet. We are going into Paris to meet with her director to make it official, and retrieve the remainder of her belongings. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but this business must be finalized tomorrow. Perhaps you can have your patient sleep until we return?"

I shake my head. "There are problems with keeping people in an unnatural state of sleep, and I'm not willing to do it any longer than necessary. Now that she can take liquids by mouth, I'm ending the sleep medication. It's alright, Antoinette. Once her IV's are gone I can have one of the maids help if I need to. But I do have a favor to ask since you're going into Paris. Would you be willing to deliver a letter for me?"

"Of course, I would be happy to. Who is it for?"

"Sir Percival Blakeney."

Antoinette's spine goes rigid as she pushes her long braid behind her shoulder.

"It's simply a request that he come to the château as soon as possible. I want him to meet this woman. I need his help finding out who she is and tracking down whoever assaulted her." I try to unruffle Antoinette's feathers. "Blakeney's a good man, you know."

"We do not know that for certain." she replies stiffly. "How long have you known him, and how well?"

"Not very long, granted."

"I sense there is more to him than meets the eye. And I am not certain he is altogether upright."

I consider how to best to counter this. _Diversion._

"You're right. There's always more to a person than meets the eye. But surely Sir Blakeney can't be as evil as the miscreant who did this…." I gesture toward my wounded patient. "This woman has been brutally beaten and abused. I have a suspicion that she was a captive, and I want to find out if she has any well-meaning family looking for her. Blakeney's broad connections might help unearth the clues needed to solve this mystery. Will you deliver the message? You would not have to visit his cousin's château or even set eyes on him. Any cab driver would be happy to deliver it for a price."

Antoinette sighs, resigned. "If it does not involve meeting up with Sir Blakeney or any of his companions, I have no objection. But when do you expect him to come in response to your note? I want to have Meg out of the château when he arrives."

"Well, if it's delivered tomorrow morning, I hope he will come in the afternoon, or on Friday."

"Very well then. Meg and I will stay in Paris tomorrow night, spend Friday shopping, and return home very late. You will not be inviting him to dine here for the Friday evening meal, will you?"

I conceal a smirk. "With all the interesting people gone, I don't think he'll be disappointed if I don't invite him."

She looks doubtful.

"If he stalls for an invite, I'll give him my regrets that our best cook is on leave while the Monsieur and Madame are away. How's that?"

"Fine," she relaxes and gives me a pleased smile. Then she moves closer and lays her hand on my shoulder. Gazing at the sleeping lady, she whispers, "I am so glad she is recovering. It's remarkable, all you've done to save her. I have never seen a doctor care so well for a patient."

"Standard procedure where I'm from," I wink. "Well most of it. And by the way, thank you again for bringing the flowers. She likes them."

"Does she?" Antoinette flashes a quizzical but perceptive smile. Walking over to the vase beside the bed, she examines them critically. "They are beginning to fade. I suppose I should take them away."

"No, leave them," I say quietly. "But would you mind bringing more back with you from Paris? There don't seem to be any flowers ready outside yet."

Antoinette's eyes soften as she glances my way. "I planned to purchase flowers for the château. It would be no trouble at all to pick some up for you. What variety would you like?" She lowers her voice. "Flowers have meanings, you know?"

"I don't know, Antoinette. Just get whatever's most beautiful. I don't understand flowers or their meanings."

"It's not hard," she assures me. "There is a word or phrase corresponding to each flower. Just choose the flower based on the sentiment you feel or wish to convey." She watches me with interest as I consider this.

Finally I look up. "What if it's something you can't quite put into words?" I smile. "You know…_Je ne sais quoi." _

After a thoughtful pause, she nods conciliatorily. "Well perhaps there is no flower that says exactly that."

"It doesn't matter. Just bring me a beautiful flower." I look down at my fragile, sleeping patient. "Any kind will do, since a flower itself can't quite be put into words."


	101. Chapter 101

**A/N: This episode is being posted over the Memorial Day weekend, here in the U.S. I hope everyone is having a special weekend with their families and friends. And, this is our gift to you, hopefully to make it even more enjoyable. **

**We thank each of you loyal readers who post your reviews! A pink cupcake and cognac especially for you! Your comments are truly valued! But, some of you are no longer posting, and others are regular readers who have never stepped forward to let us know your thoughts. So, please do! We love to hear from you. In the meantime, we'll again be posting three weeks from today. But, I'd like to announce a special treat. One of our fans is writing a humorous Intermezzo for the Epic Case. That will be posted next Sunday, and you can find it by going to my personal page and checking out my stories. The site for the Intermezzos for the Epic Case is listed there! Hopefully that will help tide you over!**

As we have been learning of late, moms are _not_ to be messed with!

* * *

**CHAPTER 101 OF MOMS AND MEN by KFC and Phanna**

_Thursday, April 4, 1872_

_Paris_

_Sir Blakeney's POV:_

"This letter is from Monsieur McBrighton. He requests I visit the château as soon as possible." I toss the letter on the table in front of us. "Good! It gives me an opportunity to visit with Marguerite. I'll leave right now. "

St. Just clears his throat. "You may be interested to learn that the driver who delivered this note to my château said it was handed to him outside a hotel by a stately woman with a young blonde mademoiselle in her company. He believed them to be mother and daughter, and overheard their plans to spend tonight in Paris and return home tomorrow evening. It appears Madame Giry is trying to avoid you, Sir."

"_Merde!_ She does not trust me with Marguerite. For some reason she has it in her head that a devious, underhanded schemer has designs on her daughter."

"Well how do you plan to convince her otherwise when it's the truth?" St. Just shakes his head.

"Through a devious, underhanded scheme," I smile devilishly. "It's time to settle this issue of _trust _with the maman, once and for all. And in trying to avoid me, she has given me the perfect opportunity. The only challenge will be getting volunteers from the weary men of my league."

It proves to be as difficult as I anticipated.

"This is merely a two act play. A short swashbuckling escapade between our more serious adventures. DePere, I need your seedy pirate routine for sure." I glance around the room at my exhausted, bedraggled men still attired in their costumes. Some of them wounded from our most recent exploit. "Who wants to play my other sidekick for Act One?"

"I'd love a chance ta try," the fat little master of the house volunteers eagerly.

His wife wrinkles her warty nose. "I could play a pirate better than you," she cackles.

I look down and consider the squat little man who stands half as tall as DePere. It's just comedy. And he wouldn't have to wield a sword. "Alright, Crapaud. This is your chance to show what you can do." He pulls his lips back in a wide smile and bobs his head up and down eagerly. "Very good!" I raise my pint in the air. "I've got my sidekicks. Now all I need is a stand-in for Act Two. How about it, DeTournay?"

_Antoinette's POV: _

"Mademoiselle Giry! It's such a _pleasure_ to see you again." Meg turns at the sound of the deep male voice. The man smiles at her, but doesn't notice me. As he gets closer, I realize it's Monsieur Dubunier. Or Monsieur _Debaucher of young women, _as I think of him. I'm horrified that he's paying his attentions to Meg. Giving him a contemptuous look, I grab Meg firmly by the arm and tug her down the hall toward the director's office.

"Why is that man talking to you?" Meg peers at me, stunned at my behavior. But the wealthy Monsieur _Debaucher _frequented the opera house, and I remember him well. He sullied the reputations of several young women. One of my most gifted dancers left in disgrace when she found out she was with child. I angrily confronted him and shamed him into bestowing her with a small stipend. At the time, I'd kept the incident from Meg. Now I regret that.

She blinks in surprise. "Maman, why are you so angry?"

"We will talk later." My tone tells her to drop the subject for now.

After we conclude our business at Meg's dance company, we spend several hours shopping. Afterwards our driver takes us to the hotel and carries the packages to our room. Then Pierre reminds us he's visiting his family and will return for us tomorrow evening.

Once we've refreshed ourselves, we set out for a small outdoor café only a block away. As we exit the hotel, the cab driver who'd delivered Matt's note to Sir Blakeney this morning asks if we need his service. I smile politely. "Non, merci. We're having dinner just over there." I point to the small café. He tips his hat and smiles. I'd compensated him _generously_ for his services earlier, relieved I didn't have to deliver the note myself.

Meg and I sit outside at a small table while we eat, watching the sun set in an explosion of yellows and oranges. Carriages pass by with their passengers, many elegantly dressed for dinner or perhaps the opera. I enjoyed the bustling life in Paris while I was here, but don't miss it. I'm grateful to Erik for inviting me to live at the château. Meg, however, misses the flurry of activity in the city.

On the stroll back to our hotel, we take our time. Meg is commenting on a stylishly dressed couple when I get the sensation that someone's watching us. I glance around, but see no one. Not wanting to alarm Meg, I complain of a sudden chill and hurry us along. We've just passed a small alleyway very near the hotel when I hear a noise behind us. Before I can turn, a cloth hood is thrown over my head, and I'm lifted off my feet and carried away.

_Sacre bleu!_ What's happening? Meg lets out the beginning of a scream before someone muffles it. I struggle with my captor, trying to break free, but he grips me tighter and increases his pace. Then I remember Joseph's instructions in self defense for gentlewomen. The man is holding me from behind with his arms around my waist. I kick backwards fast and hard with the heel of my boot, aiming between his legs. I'm exceedingly pleased at his loud "oohhh," and the subsequent string of curses. Regrettably, he doesn't let go, and we're unceremoniously shoved into a carriage. Our captors warn us to remain quiet. I'm afraid for Meg and bide my time. The journey is long, and when the carriage finally stops, we're lead indoors and up the stairs. We're warned not to turn around, then the door closes behind us. We remove the hoods and find ourselves in a large, dilapidated room. "Meg, are you all right?"

She's shaking, on the verge of tears. "I'm frightened."

"I know ma petite." I hug her to me. "Everything will be all right." But I'm not so sure. I survey the room, looking for any means of escape. It's clear we're in an old château made of stone. I try the heavy door, but it's locked. It takes both Meg and me to pry the window open, only to find we're high above the ground.

The creak of unused hinges echoes through the chamber as someone starts to enter. We rush away from the window. A short, squat man clothed in green enters. I cannot help but stare. He resembles a fat toad! Another man with long unkempt hair covered in a black bandana guards the door. Monsieur Toad sets a tray on the table. "Here's sum hot tea. Don't want ya ta freeze now," his voice croaks, reminding me of Carlotta that night at the opera house.

"What's the meaning of this?" I demand. "Why have you brought us here?"

"Don't worry yer pretty li'l head 'bout that. Soon yous'll know." He makes a squawking noise, then snorts wetly.

I look at him in distaste while I formulate a plan. "Come Meg, let's have a cup of tea." I make sure she's at my side as I approach the table. Monsieur Toad's eyes swivel in his head as he ogles Meg. His tongue darts out, licking his lips. Furious, I visualize frog's legs served up on a platter! I lift the tea pot and throw it at him. While it's arcing through the air, I grab Meg's hand. The pot falls short, but Monsieur Toad issues a croak and hops back as the boiling water splashes on his green trousers. Leaping around, he holds the fabric away from his skin. While the tall man rushes over to help, I jerk Meg toward the door. I make it through, but Meg's hand is pulled from my grasp. When I turn, the tall man has his arm around her waist, peering down at Meg's décolletage. She's wide-eyed and paralyzed with fear.

I step forward, but he draws his lips back to speak, revealing a gold tooth. "Get back in 'ere. If ya try that agin, we'll separate the two of ya." He punctuates his words by running his hand along Meg's waist. I see panic in her eyes. I have no choice but to do as Monsieur Goldtooth says. While they quickly exit, he tells us to remain on the other side of the room. I rush to the door and try to open it, but it's locked.

I hear their voices and put my ear against the panel to listen. "Ya donkey's ass. I told ya she nearly unmanned me when we nabb'd 'em. Why'd ya let her get that close ta ya?"

Monsieur Toad lets out a large belch_. Ribbit._ "How's I ta know the ol' bat would try ta boil me?" The words fade as they get farther away.

Meg's voice quivers when she asks, "What do they want?" I truly regret not talking with her before now and explaining, _in detail,_ how men can be ruled by lascivious behavior. Belatedly, I realize she's been too coddled. I vow to remedy that when we get out of here. We comb the chamber, searching for anything to help us escape. I spy a candlestick which might be useful. Meg finds a small letter opener. I barely have time to slip them into my pockets before the door creaks open again.

Monsieur Toad steps in while Monsieur Goldtooth orders, "Come with us."

This might work to our advantage. If we can get close to an outside door, I can use my weapons on them. They take us down a large, expansive stairway to the main floor and into an unkempt parlor. Then they leave us with an imposing man who stands by a brisk fire. When he moves into the firelight, I can see he's dark-haired. His face is clean shaven, contrary to modern styles, though he does have long sideburns. But most unusual, his hair is pulled back into a queue. He reminds me of Meg's description of a nefarious adventurer she admires in her favorite story. "Please be seated, Madame, Mademoiselle." He indicates the two chairs in front of the fireplace, eyeing us keenly.

I refuse to sit and instead challenge him, "Who are you, and why did you bring us here?"

"So you wish to get right to the matter?" he says with a droll smirk. "Very well. You have information that I want, Madame Giry."

How does Monsieur 'Queue' know my name? My skin crawls with gooseflesh. "And what would that be?"

He lights a cheroot without bothering to ask permission. The smoke rises, filling the air with the aroma. He lifts his foot onto a low table and leans his elbow on his knee. Behind the smokescreen, his cunning eyes narrow. "My uncle had a pirate's heart and a knack for uncovering lost treasures. He became a very wealthy man." He rolls the cheroot between his fingers and watches it while he speaks, "According to him, there was a treasure hidden in the opera house." He looks sideways and pins me with his stare.

"I assure you, _Monsieur_, I know nothing of a treasure."

"Oh, but I think you do. It was rumored that you helped…" he waves the cheroot in the air dismissively, "well, let's not mention his name. I'm sure you know to whom I refer." My stomach lurches. _He's referring to Erik! This man knows Erik is the Phantom. And he knows of our connection! _I swallow hard, trying to stay calm. When I remain silent he goes on. "It was common knowledge this…person blackmailed the managers. And that he hid all of his money somewhere in the opera house."

I just gape. He's a madman! One who could topple everything Erik, Laura and all the others have worked for. "I repeat. I know nothing of what you seek."

He stands upright and moves toward us. Meg's eyes follow him as they have since we entered the room. When he stops in front of her, she smiles up at him. Dear Heaven, has she forgotten this man is responsible for our capture? I groan inwardly, but then notice he's distracted. Meg always has that effect on men. Another one of Joseph's lessons comes to mind. "Surprise is an effective weapon." Easing the candlestick from my pocket, I throw it with all my might at Monsieur Queue. The heavy candlestick hits the back of his head, and to my surprise, he falls to the floor.

Not stopping to see how badly I've injured him, I roughly grab Meg's arm and shake the silly girl out of her stupor. "Run!" The door we came in is locked, but there's another one near the window. Thankfully, it's unlocked, and we flee into the yard, the moon lighting our way. Behind us, an angry voice yells for our capture. We run toward a garden, but there's no place to hide. We need a horse. We make for the stable, but to my dismay, it's empty. Suddenly, I hear horses neighing. They're in a clearing across an open field. We race for them.

Messieurs Toad and Goldtooth hurry to intercept us. I pull Meg faster and manage to shove her onto one of the horses just as they reach us. Toad clutches Meg none too gently and pulls her off the horse. "Well, li'l missy, didn't get far now did ya?"

I'm trying to draw Meg away from him when Goldtooth seizes my left arm. I fumble for the letter opener in my pocket and unleash my fury on him. I try to stab him, but he deflects my blow by lifting his arm, then grabs the tiny weapon. His black eyes squint down at me. "Yer lucky I've got me orders from the gov'ner," he snarls, scowling at the small spot of blood on his arm. "Otherwise I'd bring ya down a peg er two."

We're swiftly hauled back upstairs and locked in once more. Within minutes, the door opens and Monsieur Queue walks in. He looks furious but seems to be holding his temper under control. Toad and Goldtooth stand guard, not taking their eyes off me. "I've come to offer you another opportunity to change your mind about giving me that information."

I don't bother to answer. He'll not get any information about Erik from me. He stares at me for a long moment. "Still unwilling to talk." He waves his hand in the air, indicating the room. "Maybe you won't feel that way tomorrow after you've spent a night here. But be forewarned, Madame, my patience is not my best virtue. I _will _have your answer on the morrow."

He leaves as quickly as he entered. The door shuts with finality, and I hear him order Toad to stay and guard us. My heart sinks. What will he do if I don't reveal where a treasure is hidden? What will happen to Meg? There must be a way out. I walk to the window to gauge the distance to the ground. Wondering if I can fashion a rope, I pull the spread off the bed. There are no sheets. And the thin spread won't work. The drop is too far. I sit on the bed and gather Meg in my arms. The moon hangs aloof in the sky, lighting the chamber. Meg finally falls asleep, but I dare not. Loud snoring begins on the other side of the door. I ignore it, trying to think of a solution to our problem.

Suddenly, I become aware of a faint sound outside the window. What on earth? Is someone scaling the wall? It wouldn't be the men who abducted us. They've only to enter the room through the door. A rescue? Ace or Joseph? My hopes soar before I realize that no one would miss us yet since we're not expected home until tomorrow evening. I shake Meg gently and whisper, "Wake up. Something's happening. We need to be alert in case we can find a way to escape."

The noise seems closer to the window now. I look around, frantically searching for a weapon, no matter what it is! But all I find is the tea tray. It's too heavy, but I grab the cups and saucers, planning to hurl them at anyone coming through the window. I shove Meg behind me and feel her tremble. As we wait, I wonder if it might be wiser to try to send the intruder tumbling to his death. But what if, by some miracle, it is a rescue?

We listen, but the sound seems to stop. Perhaps it was nothing after all. We continue to wait for what feels like hours. The only sound we hear comes from the hallway--Toad's disgusting wet snorts and rattles. Finally Meg sighs and goes back to the bed, but the uncanny feeling will not leave me. I must be sure no one's there. Moving closer to the window, I peer through it cautiously, but cannot see far. Gathering my resolve, I open the window and look out over the sill. With my hand poised to use a teacup as a weapon, I examine the outside wall, listening intently. A slight noise to the right startles me. My eyes dart sideways. It's only a bird fluttering in the ivy on the wall. I exhale slowly, with relief. Chiding myself, I begin to lower my hand.

"Good evening, Madame Giry." Quickly I turn my gaze in the other direction. There, hugging the stone wall is a fair-haired man. I blink. Surely this isn't… I look more closely. "Sir Blakeney!" I say in surprise. He's not dressed in the usual foppery he wears.

He eyes the cup I'm still holding in readiness, and for an instant, I swear he cringes. Then he lifts an eyebrow over a sly smirk. "Am I in time for tea then?"

I lower the cup and apologize. "No offense taken," he whispers, "I assumed you'd be on your guard. That you'd crush my head with the window or pry my fingers from the sill if I tried to climb in uninvited." He maneuvers deftly along the wall and lets himself in through the window. His hair is only half tied back and windblown, as if he's ridden for miles on horseback. He wears no cloak or jacket of any kind. Just a soiled white shirt, hanging open from the neckline. Meg's eyes widen when she sees Sir Blakeney devoid of his usual finery and looking far more, hmmm, vigorous. He bows and kisses her hand, then turns back to me, "I do trust no harm has befallen either of you."

"No, so far I've been able to fend them off." I assure him.

"With teacups, Madame?" He glances around the barren room. Outside the door we hear Toad wheeze and gargle, followed by a sharp snort. "I see china is truly the only weapon at your disposal. Clever fellows they must be to have left you without even a chair, or so much as a candlestick."

Meg whispers. "There was a candlestick, but Maman used it on one of them downstairs. We left it when we fled."

"Well I suppose that's lucky for me that you lost the candlestick." The corner of his lips curls up. "I trust the blow was well placed."

"Not well enough, we're still prisoners." Then I ask, "Your timing is good, but how did you know we were abducted?"

"Ahh. The cab driver you sent to deliver Monsieur McBrighton's message saw you and your daughter being thrown into a carriage earlier this evening. He suspected foul play and hurried to inform me what was happening. I left immediately but it took several hours to track you here. But now, let's get you out of here. My friends are waiting with horses. Do you know how many men are in the house?"

"We have only seen three." We can hear Toad snort on the other side of the door. Nodding toward the hallway, I add wryly, "That one is guarding us."

"Ahh, we will soon be on our merry way then." He casts a look of annoyance in the direction of the door and draws his sword. "But first I must put an end to this abominable snoring." Seeing the hefty lock, he turns to Meg. "A favor, Marguerite. Will you wake him up and ask for some water?"

Meg knocks firmly on the door. Startled, the Toad snuffles and chokes as the chair groans beneath him. Once he seems to have caught his breath, Meg proceeds with a simpering request for water. After another near-death choking episode, the Toad croaks hoarsely that he will go and 'fetch sum.' He patters away hacking and gagging as if he's choked on a fly. A few moments later returns and drops what sounds like a pail of water on the floor. A small puddle of water runs under the door while we listen to his slippery fingers fumbling with the lock. Sir Blakeney motions for us to stand back and positions himself. When the door begins to open, he thrusts the thin blade of his sword through the narrow crack. There's a dreadful squish and a gasp. Then Toad lets out horrible croak.

Sir Blakeney turns to us with a grimace. "I apologize, ladies. Please look away while I remove this mess." I hide Meg's face against my shoulder, but don't turn my back. Sir Blakeney draws his sword back into the room, and we hear a wet splat as the fat little Toad hits the floor. Sir Blakeney opens the door a judicious distance and steps outside to clear the way. Meg and I glance in the other direction as we pass the heap on the floor. Meg has a tight grip on my hand as Sir Blakeney leads us along the balustrade and down the dark stairwell.

When we reach the landing above the main floor, we hear a voice. Goldtooth stands inside the parlor door with his back to us. A haze drifts through the room beyond him where Monsieur Queue is most likely smoking his cheroot. "Well, gov'ner she's quite a bit o' fluff, that one is," says Goldtooth. "Wouldn't mind makin' her acquaintance without her maman."

At these words Meg suppresses a gasp, and I clamp my jaw shut to hold back my rage. Blakeney's eyes flash like a maddened bull's, and his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. "Go back upstairs," he hisses, before he runs down the remaining steps toward the parlor.

"You filthy maggot!" He spits, drawing his sword. At the sound of sharpened steel slicing the air, Goldtooth spins around and draws his own sword. Meg and I race up the stairs. Soon the swords are clashing, and it sounds like more than two men fighting. At the top we look down, straining to see in the dim light coming from the parlor. Monsieur Queue has joined the fray. We watch as Sir Blakeney fearlessly takes on both men. Meg grips the rail, white-knuckled, her eyes glued to the scene. She's never witnessed an actual swordfight before, much less one being fought over her.

All are expert swordsmen and none of them seem to be tiring. Sir Blakeney strategically draws them onto the stairs and fights with that advantage for some time. Suddenly, he takes a deep gash to the shoulder. Meg lets out a cry as blood stains his shirt. Having lost the advantage momentarily, they force Sir Blakeney up the stairs. But at the top, he deftly tosses his sword to his other hand, and within moments, Goldtooth lies on the landing, unmoving. The battle continues between Sir Blakeney and Monsieur Queue, and then Queue is up against the wall. Sir Blakeney shifts his weight, intending to dispatch him. Meg lets out a shriek that halts his sword in mid-air. After a moment of consideration, Blakeney steps back, then raises the sword to Monsieur Queue's throat.

Sir Blakeney issues an ear-piercing whistle. Monsieurs Moreaux and St. Just appear in moments. "St. Just, please escort Mademoiselle and Madame Giry to the horses. They have endured quite enough. I will join you shortly." Sir Blakeney forces Monsieur Queue to the other side of the landing, giving us room to pass. "Moreaux, drag this maggot over to the refuse pile I've already started." He indicates Goldtooth, then the spot where Toad's motionless body lies.

As we're about to step outside, I hear Sir Blakeney's voice, "And now, Sir, it is time to meet your maker." I rush Meg forward, hoping she didn't hear.

St. Just takes us to the waiting horses and helps us mount. "We'll take you back to Paris and stop at your hotel. Blakeney has arranged for a carriage. We will escort you home."

I glance over at Meg. Even in the moonlight, I can see she's exhausted and pale. I will have her rest on the journey home in the carriage. We were extremely fortunate that Sir Blakeney found out about our situation and came to rescue us. My head throbs considering how this could have ended. Matt was correct. I should not have judged Sir Blakeney so harshly. He turned out to be an honorable man and most valiant.

_Monsieur Crapaud aka Monsieur Toad's POV:_

"Get yer bloody arse out of my face!" I shove at DePere, trying to roll the pirate off me. He's twice my height and weighs a ton.

"Quit yer shovin', Crapaud. Yer goin' ta break me leg." He scowls, revealing his phony gold tooth, then tries to extract himself. The problem is that his leg is dangling between two balustrades.

"There's yer problem." I point to the lacing on his boot caught on the balustrade holding him prisoner.

With some heaving and shoving, we finally get ourselves free. DeTournay and Moreaux just stand there, laughing. Since the women left hastily, Moreaux didn't have to throw DeTournay on the heap with us. I turn to Moreaux. "Yer lucky you didn't sign up fer this part o' the plan. I wuzn't sure we were goin' ta get out o' it with our skins intact!"

"Damn right," DePere rubs the cut made with the letter opener and mutters, "the old bat." He looks over at Blakeney. "I'm not lettin' you talk me into something like this again."

Blakeney tears a strip off his shirt and ties it around the bloody gash on his arm.

DeTournay grimaces. "Sorry about that, Blakeney. I didn't mean to gouge you so badly."

"Nonsense," Blakeney slaps DeTournay on the shoulder. "I said I wanted a bloody good wound, and I got it.

"Damn the shoulder wound," DePere interjects. "How's your head?"

Now it's Blakeney who grimaces. "Well she scrambled my brains with that damn candlestick. I'm glad we wore the wigs. It's the only thing that saved me from a split skull. That would have been a bit hard to conceal."

DePere grunts, "Was this worth all the trouble we went to?"

"I hope it drove the point home," Blakeney says with a wily grin and taps on his wounded shoulder.

Moreaux chuffs. "By the look on Madame Giry's face, I'd say there's a good chance it worked."

Everyone laughs. Blakeney starts toward the door. "St. Just and I will accompany the women to the Mercier château. Wait for a while, then get out of here before someone notices all the activity in this deserted château. Might think we're ghosts or something. Besides, we have a lot of preparation before our next exploit."

DePere grins and calls out sarcastically as Blakeney turns to leave, "When you tried to be an honest gentleman, Madame Giry doubted you. Now you've lied to her, it appears you've won her trust."

"When your life is a complete charade," Blakeney smirks, "sometimes lying is the only way to be honest."

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**Postscript by Phanfan**: I know all of you are expectantly waiting to learn about Erik and his mother and their visit! That will be in the next chapter! Stay tuned and buckle those seat belts…soon Raoul and Christine will be making a visit to Spain as well!


	102. Chapter 102

**A/N: It was GREAT to have some of our readers post for the first time!! So glad to hear from you!! You inspired me to reply to everyone who's posted reviews, as I do from time to time. So, please check the review section for my responses to each of you who have thoughtfully taken the time to give us your comments! We so value our regular, loyal reviewers, but always delight in hearing from new ones! **

**I also want to flag that one of our fans, Youalone, wrote a hilarious story which is posted on the Epic Case Intermezzo. Her vivid imagination was set off by the thought of Christine and Raoul getting ready to go to Spain to visit a long lost, previously thought to be dead, brother!! So, just click on my name and the Intermezzo stories are listed in my stories list. If you are needing some laughter in your day, check it out! But, remember, Intermezzo stories are in an alternate universe…and are not meant to be part of the Epic Case story line! Just enjoy!!**

And now, as they say…back at the ranch…..

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****Chapter 102 A NEW BEGINNING by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Thursday, April 4, 1872_

_Burgos, Spain_

_Russ' POV:_

Señor Guarna has bent my ear the last twenty minutes. He spotted me on my morning walk and asked if he could join me. I couldn't very well refuse. Besides, I like the old man. We stop along the fence of the lower pasture and watch two foals romp and play while a mare grazes nearby. "Andalusians are _Pura Raza Espa__ñ__ola_," as he speaks, leathery hands punctuate the air in front of him, "pure Spanish blood, and one of the oldest breeds in the entire world." His affection for the horses is evident in his voice. He continues, "They are a proud breed. But, Señor Carpenter, they are most intelligent."

The grey mare ambles over and nudges the old man's arm. "What did I tell you? Esmeralda knows we talk of her." He pats her long neck affectionately. The mare pushes her velvety nose inside his jacket. "Sí, sí, I've brought you a fine carrot this **mañana****."** He reaches inside, then offers her the treat. As the mare crunches, Señor Guarna glances sideways at me. "The Contessa is very gracious to part with some of her 'children.'"

I peer down at the old Spaniard who takes his job as senior horse master seriously. From what I understand, he's been with the Contessa's family since he was a young boy. "Yes, Joe will be surprised when they arrive at the château. Our stables aren't quite as expansive as yours, but they're still excellent. They'll have a fine home."

"Bueno, that is good." His head nods up and down. "With the two mares and the stallion the Contessa is sending, your stables will expand in no time. But remember, Señor, you must treat them with respect," his hands once again emphasize his words, "and care for them as if they are your family."

His voice is raspy with his passion for this breed, but I understand where his heart is and reply, "Rest assured. I will personally take on this responsibility. I'll guarantee they will be well cared for."

Señor Guarna pins me with his stare, then abruptly executes a bow and starts back to the stable. Over his shoulder, I hear him say, "I will hold you to that, Señor."

I don't follow him. I need some time to myself. The day is already getting humid. Rays from the early morning sun flicker through the tree above. A breeze causes the branches to sway, and I'm showered with droplets from the leaves. It rained last night. The mare saunters over to the fence and bumps me, looking for another treat. "Sorry, Esmeralda, I don't have any carrots." She snorts like she understands and trots away.

Glancing round, I recognize this as the place where Danielle and I stopped yesterday. She was telling me how much she misses Ethan and home. When I turned to comment, the late afternoon sun set fire to the copper and cinnabar shades of her red hair. She went on talking, not noticing that I just watched her. A gentle breeze blew a few wisps of fiery hair across her face. She pushed the errant strands behind her ears, then realized I didn't answer her question.

That's when I lifted a lock of her hair between my fingers. So soft. This woman has fascinated me from the moment Antoinette introduced us. How was I to know how much she would come to mean to me? As my fingers strayed to the side of her cheek, she held my gaze. My thumb caressed her face, then down to her mouth. She put her hand over mine and smiled up at me. Taking my time, I pulled her into my arms, knowing what her reaction would be, knowing how much we both enjoyed these moments together. It's getting harder to let her go each time.

I lean against the fence, thinking how a few months can totally change one's life. One of the reasons I was selected for the Program was my military background. I trained at West Point and eventually was recruited for the Army's Special Forces. A couple years back Admiral Brooks approached me. He said he heard 'good things' about my military prowess and offered a deal I couldn't refuse if I'd transfer to the Navy SEALs. It seems he had me in mind for this assignment all along. Before the team left to accompany Erik back to 1871 Brooks met with me again. He made it clear I was to follow orders from Horatio. _Any orders_. Brooks knew damn well there was only a slim chance of finding a way to send Laura back to 1871. And Erik was a loose cannon. If he didn't cooperate, he was to be eliminated. I had no compunction about killing him if it came to that. And it did. Horatio gave the order that day while we waited for Laura, and I was ready. Erik was going to make a break for it, so I aimed my weapon and began to squeeze the trigger for the kill. His reprieve came mere seconds before he was to die.

I massage the back of neck, trying to ease the tension. I'm not sure I could do that now. The time I've spent in this century has changed me. What happened that day in the clearing seems like a million years ago. Was I really so conditioned and cold that I could kill a man? But I know the answer already. Of course I was.

But now I've lived all these months with Erik…and the others. I snort out loud. Erik, Laura and the team have become like my family. And I don't hurt family. The longer I'm here, the more I realize that participating in this project to alter the future will always be challenging. But how better to face those challenges than with the people I've come to care about.

Just like I've come to care about Danielle. I savor every moment we spend together, especially our talks. I smile, recalling how she always asks me about my day and wants me to relate anything endearing the kids do. It's funny. I had to travel over a hundred years into the past to find my calling: being a teacher. Me! A dyed-in-the-wool military man, figuring on retirement from the military one day unless I got myself killed. Teaching has turned out to be the most fulfilling job I've ever had. When Laura returns and gets the orphanage up and running, we've already talked about expanding the school and moving it there. And Danielle will also be there, helping.

One of the stable boys leads four more horses into the pasture, then turns to leave. Before the lad shuts the gate, a big brown dog wanders in. Reminds me a little of Jenna. Esmeralda and the other horses ignore the dog. I can't help but think that if Ethan and Jean-Luc were here, they'd be clamoring to go pet the dog. Sighing, I admit that Danielle isn't the only one who misses home and the boys. I do too.

So, is there really a decision to make? After my five years are up, I'm free to return to the future, but I have no ties there. That was one of the reasons I signed up for this stint. What could I do with my life there that would be more meaningful? I still have four and a half years here. Could I even leave Danielle? Or do I want to spend the rest of my life here, in the past? With her? Besides, I scoff to myself, didn't I just promise Señor Guarna I would be responsible for the Andalusian horses?

I glance up at the sun, then take out my watch. It's time to go. Danielle and I plan to spend a few hours together. Before I head for the stable, I return to the kitchen. Rosita hands me two baskets and blushes when I give her the bouquet of wildflowers I picked along the way. She reminds me of Jeanette, and she's just as nice. She found out I was spending time with Danielle and prepared lunch for us. I thank her and take off for the stable.

_Danielle's POV:_

"I wish the city wasn't so far away." Sue sighs dramatically. "We didn't get to see much when we passed through on our way here. Someone told me the Cathedral is magnificent! And there's the gateway of _Santa __María_and arch of _Fem__án_ _González_. On the outskirts of Burgos is _Monasterio de las…" _Sue snaps her fingers, "…_Huelgas! _Yes, that's it! It's a monastery founded in 1180 by Alfonso VIII." Julia and I just stare at her, our eyes wide and mouths open in astonishment. She's speaking Spanish and spouting history lessons? This isn't like her at all. When we pointedly don't comment, she rolls her eyes and admits, "Okay, Linc told me about some of the local history. He asked Russ. And you know Russ, he knows something about everything."

The three of us dissolve into laughter. Yes, I know Russ. And his knowledge of history is one of the things I love about him. There, I've admitted it to myself. I love him. I didn't intend to. It just happened. I never thought I would fall in love again after Eliott died. But I did. Does Russ feel the same? When we're together I can believe so, but he hasn't said anything.

"Sue, you don't even like history." Julia grins slyly over at her. "Are you practicing on us so you can impress one of the nice lookin' _vaqueros_ with your Spanish?"

Sue huffs. "No!" But there's a telltale blush on her cheeks. She turns to me. "So what are you and Russ going to do today?"

"We haven't decided yet. In fact, I'm on my way to meet him now."

"Have fun then." Julia grabs Sue's arm. "We're having lunch with Ty and Linc in the dining room."

Since we arrived in Spain the days have been busy. I attend Laura whenever she needs me and make sure she has a pot of her special tea each morning. Her sickness is not as bad as it was on our journey here. Between the train and the carriage ride from the station, she was thankful to be on solid ground this week. The Contessa has fussed over Laura, clearly pleased at the prospect of becoming a Grandmère in the fall. She won't permit Laura to ride on horseback. But secretly, I believe Laura is relieved.

The morning is already turning warm, and by the time I reach the stable my clothing is sticking to me. Russ is waiting, and I study him as I approach. He's a tall, handsome man. His blue eyes study me in return, and my stomach flutters. I stare at his mouth, recalling our passionate embraces last evening and wonder when we will kiss again. I stop as close to him as I dare. He smells of warm sunshine and leather.

A groom appears next to me, startling me out of my reverie. Russ waits while the groom helps me mount, then we turn our horses toward the main road. "It's going to be hot today." Russ smiles over at me. "I found something special here on the property. Would you like to see?"

"I would love to."

At an ancient chestnut tree, Russ veers our horses down an embankment and into a wooded area. We follow a narrow path which leads us along a river. The forest opens up occasionally into clearings. Small animals hover on the fringe, but they scurry off as we draw closer. The ground gradually turns rocky, and then I hear rushing water as we descend through another forested area. We stop, and Russ helps me dismount. I glance around, but can't see where the booming sound of water comes from. Russ smiles and takes my hand, leading me around a huge boulder. I gasp.

In front of us is a magnificent waterfall. From this vantage point I see that the rock juts out, and there's a large cave behind the rushing downpour of water. A wet mist hangs in the air. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the cool, damp air. We continue around to the front of the falls and stand on a large grassy area, mottled with golden light. Dancing sunbeams glisten on the surface of a crystal blue pool. The plunging water creates ripples that lap against the edge of the grass. "It's breathtaking, Russ. I've seen pictures, but I've never seen a waterfall in person."

"I thought you'd enjoy it. The first time I saw Niagara Falls in America, I had the same reaction."

While I stand and take in this wondrous sight, Russ attends to the horses and returns with several items. He unrolls a blanket and spreads it on the thick grass near the edge of the pool. A tree provides shade. He sets two baskets down. Curious, I peer over and ask, "What did you bring?"

"One's filled with our lunch. The other is for you to use when you start gathering your plants."

I smile at him. He knows my habits so well. But that's the kind of man he is. We spend hours talking, and he listens attentively to every word. And remembers. "You're very considerate."

"Just practical." He grins at me. "The last time we went out, I ended up with your plants stuck in every pocket."

I laugh. "Well, I didn't set out to hunt for them, but…"

"Yes, I know, I know." He shakes his head in exaggerated suffering. "You just can't help yourself." He holds his hand out. "Would you like to go for a walk and look around?"

I put my hand in his. "Yes." He bends down and grabs the empty basket. I glance around me again, still unable to believe such a marvelous creation of nature. As we begin our walk I keep thinking about his comment. He mentioned America. He hasn't told me much about his background and family. In fact, I've found that most of the Americans say little about the country they came from across the Atlantic. We haven't gone far before my curiosity gets the best of me. "Did you grow up near Niagara Falls?"

"No, I was raised in Maine. It's a northern state and colder than here. Winters are pretty rough. Lots of snow. But the country's lush and green, with forests and lakes everywhere." He glances over, asking his own question, "Did you grow up near the château?"

"Not too far from there. My father was a carpenter and had a modest business making furniture. What did your father do?

"He was a fisherman. We lived on the coast."

"But you're so educated."

He looks a bit surprised and hesitates before he answers. "I was about eight when a retired history professor moved into town. We became friends. He whet my appetite for knowledge and encouraged me to go to college."

"So, you went to college? I thought so. You are so well read. What did you study there?"

Again there is a long pause. How strange. Why does he have to think about what he studied?

"I, uh, went to a military academy. It's called West Point."

"Military?" This is surprising news. "You don't act like a military person. Were you in the war?"

Again he hesitates. "Yes, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Of course." Like so many men who came back from the war, he's wounded inside and doesn't want to think about it. "I understand, Russ."

Trying to get his mind off what must be tragic memories, I begin to search for plants. I spot several herbs that aren't often found in France and excitedly begin to gather them. All the while I chatter, telling Russ what they're for. He smiles and carries the basket, tucking the plants inside that I hand to him.

The path follows a small stream flowing from the waterfall's pool. When I ask him about America, he responds to most of my questions, but never elaborates. Eventually he says we need to start back. Before long, we again hear the roar of the waterfall.

When he leans over to set the basket on the blanket, I notice how his shirt tightens across his back. Several times, I've seen him watching me in the same way. When he turns, he's aware that I was looking at him and walks over. The soft shape of his mouth intrigues me. I inhale his scent, willing him to touch me, to love me. He reaches up and little by little removes my hairpins, all the while holding my gaze. I feel my hair fall to my waist.

My heart pounds in anticipation. "Danielle." His voice is soft, and I close my eyes. Then his lips touch mine in a sweet caress. I'm mindless with wanting when he leans back and strokes my face with his large hands. His blue eyes darken, and he starts to say something, but stops. He heaves a deep sigh and declares, "I love you, Danielle."

He loves me? My heart sings. "Russ, I…"

Before I can say more, he places his finger on my lips. Then he adds, "Will you marry me?" I'm stunned and cannot speak. All I can manage to do is cry. But through my tears I see him smile. "Does this mean yes?"

I quickly bob my head up and down. He lifts me and swings me around. Not letting go, he kisses me thoroughly. Deeply and passionately. I'm senseless with longing when he breaks away and steps back. "We only have a few hours. Would you like to explore the cave behind the falls?"

Has he gone mad? Explore? Now? When I want so much for him to continue his kisses, to make love to me? "Yes."

I start to rearrange my hair, but he stops me. "No, please leave it down."

"All right." We walk around the boulder where the horses are tied. I see a narrow path along a stone wall, but the other side is a steep drop into the pool below. "Russ, I don't know if I can do this. I can't even swim."

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you. Just hold tight."

He leads the way, his hand holding firmly to mine. As we pass behind the sheet of water, the noise is almost deafening. But at the same time, exhilarating. The sheer power of the moving wall of water is enthralling. A fine mist permeates the cave. Every surface is wet, and the cave is cool. We face the barrier of water and can barely make out the green grass and forest beyond. He steps behind me and enfolds me in his arms. We stand and watch the timeless fall of water, feel the thundering rumble through our bodies. His breath is warm, and I shiver in delight as he kisses my ear. He lifts my hair, and his lips move down my neck. I moan, but the roaring echo around us drowns it out.

I turn in his arms to face him. We smile at each other. We have a few hours to ourselves, and no one will bother us here. I close my eyes and feel the vibration of the waterfall shuddering through me. And when his hand touches me, I feel his promise of a passionate future together.

_Erik's POV:_

The snake slithers like a lightning bolt out of the bush, straight toward us. Startled, the Contessa's black mare rears up. She's riding side saddle, but somehow manages to stay mounted. She clings to the mane as the horse repeatedly stomps until the snake lies motionless. I ride over and grab the bridle, bringing the mare under control. "Are you all right?" I call out, over my shoulder.

"Sí!" But the strain in her voice tells me otherwise. When her horse becomes calm, I turn mine around to face her. The Contessa's hand rests on the pommel as she gets her breath back. I reach out and place mine over hers, asking soothingly, "Shall we rest for awhile?" I quickly survey the clearing on the other side of the road. "That tree looks like a good place. We can find out what Rosita packed in the satchel she handed me as we were leaving. And I brought some wine in my bota."

The Contessa smiles with gratitude. I have come to love her smile. Only Laura's is more beautiful. We trot our horses over to a gnarled old tree with spreading branches. I dismount quickly and walk over to her. I reach up, grasping her around the waist to help her down. She has a small waist like Laura, but is much taller, at least four inches. And, whereas Laura is light as a feather, the Contessa is solid, strong from a life of riding.

She has told me that even in France she rode daily and often went hunting with Empress Eugenie. I was amazed to learn this. That meant my mother was accepted into the pinnacle of French society. The Empress was also born in Spain, and they had a common bond: their Spanish heritage and love of fine horses and riding. I was spellbound listening to the Contessa's stories about their outings. She laughed as she told me about one trip up steep mountain trails. After riding all day, everyone else in the party sat and complained about their aching backsides. But the Empress and my mother enjoyed the wine and danced the flamenco around the campfire. As she told this story, she had a wistful tone in her voice. She is saddened by the plight of the Emperor and Empress. They live in exile now, in England, having abdicated during the Franco-Prussian War.

I tie the reins to a low hanging branch so the horses can graze. Taking the rolled blanket from my saddle, I spread it out on a cushion of leaves. The Contessa breathes a sigh of relief when she sits down. I think she is still unsettled by her horse's rearing frenzy. Indeed, I realize I am a bit shaken. Had she been thrown, it could have been fatal.

I settle on the blanket next to her and open the satchel. Linen napkins enfold a variety of postres. We make our choices and eat in silence, enjoying the coolness of the shade. Then we share the bota and relax as the wine spreads through our veins. When I finish my postres I lean on the trunk of the tree, indulging in the beauty of this place and the luxury of having this time, alone, with my mother. My eyes settle on the Andalusian horses as they graze. The black mare is still acting a little skittish, but my steel grey stallion seems to be unbothered by the incident.

"Contessa, I do not have words to thank you for the gift of the stallion. I have never seen such a magnificent horse. Are you sure your estate can part with him? He is a valuable sire."

She laughs. "He has already sired many foals. His bloodline will continue through them. But you are right. He is our finest stallion and one of the finest I have ever seen. But for you, only the best. And, my gift comes from my heart. I want you always to remember that when you ride him." She turns sad. "When you first came, I had hoped you were here to stay. But since you must make your life in France, I want you to have him. To remind you of the home of your ancestors. And with the mares I am sending, perhaps you will raise your own stable of Andalusians."

"I am honored. More than I can express. I will always cherish your gift." Then with some hesitation, I add, "But I hope you know you are welcome at our château. Laura and I hope you will visit often. And, there will soon be your grandchild."

"Thank you, mi hijo. You need not worry. I will come often. I was not allowed to be there for you, but I will certainly be there for your children. May I be present when the child is born?"

"Of course, Contessa."

"Mi hijo, why do you always call me Contessa? Do you realize that in the five days you have been here, you have never called me 'mother'?"

I swallow hard. "Yes, I am aware of that. But I was waiting."

"Waiting? For what?"

"For permission."

"I give it to you now."

"Well, then, _mother_, we would be honored for you to be present."

She lifts her hand up to my face and cups her palm on my uncovered cheek. With tears in her eyes, she says, "I am so sorry, mi hijo."

"Sorry?"

"That I required you to remove your mask. I had to be certain. But I feel it caused you pain."

I grit my teeth. How can I ever tell her how much pain removing my mask in front of others has caused? "I only remove my mask in front of Laura."

"I see. Then forgive me for making you take it off."

"Of course."

She lowers her hand and rests it on my forearm. "Laura is a very special lady. I can tell she's very devoted to you."

I study my mother's expression. Her mouth is set with determination, not unlike my own when I am set on my course. I sense she is trying to broach the subject of my past. I have avoided it successfully until now. But time is running out. She sent a wire to Raoul last Sunday, and he will arrive any day now from France. I cannot let him be the one who reveals who I am.

"And I am devoted to her. She is an extraordinary woman."

"Yes. I can tell. Very intelligent, and I suspect quite strong-willed."

I smile at my mother and nod. "Perhaps you recognize a kindred spirit."

She laughs, not offended my boldness. "She is also a kindred spirit in being an heiress. Did you meet her when you traveled to America?"

"Truth be told, mother, I never crossed the ocean to America."

"So the story about your gaining wealth in America is not true?"

"No. That story was created to protect my real identity."

Her eyes search my face, questioningly. "I suspected as much. All week you have plied me with questions about your family, your ancestors. Always avoiding any talk about your own history. So, are you ready to tell me now?"

I take a deep breath. There is no way out. "It is a very long story. It begins when I was a boy. With what happened to me when my foster father died. My foster mother indentured me to a carnival. I was displayed in a cage, and my mask ripped off for the amusement of the crowd."

She gasps. "¡Dios mío!" Her hand tightens on my arm.

"Shall I continue?" She nods her head. "One day I escaped. I overpowered the man at the carnival who beat me." Tears begin to flow down her cheeks. "But a young woman witnessed this. She took me by the hand and led me to the opera house where she was a dancer. She hid me and nursed me back to health. And that was the beginning of who I am." Time stands still as I share with my mother the story of my life. Speaking of the pain and isolation and loneliness, I choose the words carefully. And, I tell her of my music, how it became both my salvation and my curse. Always, her face turns up to mine, reflecting only love and compassion. When I finish, we sit in silence, together, for many minutes. I can feel her mind and emotions trying to grasp, to accept, all that she has heard.

Finally she asks, "But what of Laura? How did you meet her?"

"That is something I cannot share."

"So you still have secrets?"

"Yes, I am afraid so."

"I feel these secrets of yours are weighty, indeed. These men who accompany you. They are not just bodyguards. I can tell from their bearing and behavior they are military men. Even the two women who always accompany Laura are not just friends or retainers. You are involved in something very serious, I think."

"You perceive correctly. But I cannot tell you more."

"Well, then, at least tell me this, mi hijo. Is what you are involved in—with these people—for good or ill?"

"You may rest assured, it is for good. These are all honorable people."

"I take you at your word. Then in all your endeavors, _vaya con Dios_." With that she leans forward and kisses my cheek and wraps her arms around me, hugging me gently. An embrace of acceptance and healing.

As the sun begins to set, we know our special time together is over, and we mount our horses for the return trip. I watch my mother masterfully ride down the mountain path. Something alchemical has passed between us. Before we were mother and son in name only. Now we are truly bonded in tears and laughter, love and compassion, heart and soul.

We leave our horses at the stable and go in the back entrance. Needing to wash up and change for dinner, we head for the back stairwell to go up to our rooms. The old butler, Carlos, accosts us just as we reach the stairs.

"Contessa, your son," he glances nervously at me and adds, "your _other_ son, and his wife have just arrived. They await you in the foyer."

"Thank you, Carlos. We will require privacy for the rest of the evening. Serve dinner for the five of us in my father's library." He bows and hurries off to carry out the Contessa's orders.

My mother looks up at me, her mouth again set with determination. "Well, Erik, Raoul arrived sooner than we anticipated. Are you ready to meet him now? Or would you prefer later tonight?"

"Now. Let's not put this off."

"Very well." She holds out her arm for me to take. As I escort her down the long hallway toward the entrance foyer, my heart begins to hammer. How will Raoul respond to discovering that I am his older brother? What will he tell our mother about me?

As we enter the foyer, Raoul's back is to us, but Christine sees me immediately. Her eyes go wide in shock. Raoul swivels around and when he spots me, his face turns red.

The Contessa smiles at Raoul. "Did you have a pleasant journey?" She releases my arm and gives Raoul a hug and kiss. The Contessa turns to Christine and gives her a welcoming hug, but Raoul does not respond. He just stands there, staring at me and seething with rage.

The Contessa steps between us. "Raoul, I would like you to meet your elder brother, Erik Philippe de Chagny."

Raoul's voice suddenly returns, "You cannot be serious, mother."

Just then a gentle voice comes from behind. "Good evening, everyone." All eyes turn to Laura. With calm assuredness, she walks to my side and takes my arm.

"Didn't we meet at the masque ball?" Christine's strained voice squeaks out, "Aren't you Mademoiselle Counselor?"

"Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting you there, Comtesse," Laura smiles serenely.

"Just what are you doing _here_?" Christine's confused eyes go from Laura to me.

"Laura is my wife," I say with unparalleled pleasure.

Christine gasps. Raoul can no longer contain himself. He points accusingly at me and blurts out, "I know who this man is, mother. And if he has somehow persuaded you to believe he is my brother, then he's a fraud as well as a kidnapper and murderer!"


	103. Chapter 103

**A/N: Again, thanks to each of our reviewers for posting your comments—even in the middle of busy summer vacations and activities! We hope all of you are enjoying those! And, we are SO happy to hear from readers for the first time! Welcome! Please continue letting us know your thoughts about The Epic Case!**

Well…Raoul and Erik are about to have their showdown….

* * *

**Chapter 103 NEVER FLINCH by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Thursday, April 4, 1872_

_Burgos, Spain_

_Raoul's POV:_

"Raoul, I would like you to meet your elder brother, Erik Philippe de Chagny."

For a moment all I can do is stand there, stunned and stare at the ghost in front of me. This cannot be possible! I remember the article in the Paris newspaper. It said the Communards had captured and executed him. Can't he even stay dead? As mother's words penetrate my shock, I gape at her, dumbfounded. "You cannot be serious, mother."

I await her answer, aware of the loathsome man standing but a few steps in front of me. An unfamiliar woman's voice comes from behind, "Good evening, everyone." I watch as she approaches and places her hand on _his _arm. Another innocent mademoiselle lured by this…this madman?

Next to me, Christine addresses the dark-haired woman. "Didn't we meet at the masque ball?" I notice my wife is staring at the woman's hand. There's an edge in her voice when she pointedly asks, "Aren't you Mademoiselle Counselor?"

"Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting you there, Comtesse." I study the petite woman. Vaguely, I recall introductions being made when we met Madame Giry at the bal masque.

"Just what are you doing _here_?" Christine demands. I turn my gaze on Christine, amazed. What difference would that make?

The charlatan opens his mouth and speaks. "Laura is my wife." Christine gasps, and her body goes rigid. My fist clenches. Does she still have feelings for this interloper? Thrusting that issue aside for the moment, I try to sort out what is happening. I will deal with Christine…later.

Mother has been thoroughly duped. Without doubt, we've been thrust into a nightmare. Trembling with rage at the audacity of this…this imposter. "I know who this man is, mother." I point accusingly at him. "And if he has somehow persuaded you to believe he is my brother, then he's a fraud as well as a kidnapper and murderer!"

The words hang in the air several moments. Then mother smiles up at me. "I see you all know each other."

Did she not hear what I said? Has she lost her senses? I glare at her, imploring her to heed my words. She merely pats my hand and says, "There's time to discuss this later. _En privado._ You and Christine must be exhausted from the long journey. I've had Carlos tell the servants to prepare rooms for you in the north wing."

North wing? My mother's suite is in the south wing, and she usually has us stay in the suite next to hers. She takes Christine's arm and starts leading her toward the stairs. Christine looks over her shoulder at me. Reluctantly, I follow. I aim a scathing glance at _him_. This is not settled yet!

As Christine begins to sweep up the staircase, I turn to mother trying once more to convince her of the truth. "I must speak to you of this matter. This man cannot…"

"Raoul, don't fret." She pats my hand again in reassurance as she's done since I was a child. "Everything will be fine. Let's wait until you and Christine have refreshed yourselves before we talk further. We'll have dinner in abuelo's study in an hour and discuss matters then. Take this time to compose yourself." She leans over and kisses me on the cheek, dismissing me. I grunt my displeasure and follow Christine.

Near the top of the stairs I look back and notice mother is still talking with that fiend. I scrutinize his face…the part that's human…and see that his expression is unperturbed. _Damn him. _Is he to forever be my curse? I had thought him safely dead.

When I reach our suite, Christine is already in the bedroom. I halt in the doorway and watch her stand in front of the armoire trying to choose a frock for dinner. She pulls out dress after dress, holds each one up and looks in the mirror. One after the other she rejects them and throws them across the bed. I watch as the pile gets higher. "Having a bit of trouble deciding, my dear?"

Christine stops in the middle of tossing another dress on the stack. "I just want to look my best." She smiles wanly.

I glower at her and spit back, "For my _mother_, of course." Christine peers at me and blushes, but she doesn't respond. I need a drink. I go back into the sitting room and grab the decanter, pouring a generous amount of cognac into a goblet, then fling myself into the chair. How could this have happened? How could that monster convince my mother he's her son? The eldest son, at that? What hold does he have over her?

I bolt out of the chair. _Is he blackmailing her?_ But that makes no sense. I know my mother well, and there's nothing she's done that he could exploit. I begin pacing in front of the open doors which lead out to a terraza. A hot, humid breeze carries the scent of flowers into the room. I peel my waistcoat off, throw it over the chair and continue walking back and forth, deep in thought.

How has mother kept this secret from me all these years? Philippe was the oldest! Surely she gave birth to only _two _sons! If there was another, that means that father knew, but never hinted at this little matter either! A chill runs down my back. It has to be a lie! Furious, I stride over to the table and pour more cognac, then take a large gulp. It goes down the wrong way, and I choke.

Behind me I hear the swish of a gown, then Christine asking, "Do you like this dress?" I'm still choking on the cognac and wave her away. But instead she rushes over and takes my hand, concerned. When my coughing spell is almost over, she asks, "Is this all about Erik?" I nod, still catching my breath. "Do you think it's true? Is Erik your older brother?"

I turn on her. "Of course not! You know damn well that Philippe was my older brother. And he's dead."

"But the Contessa said…"

"I heard every word. You do not have to repeat them to me." My gaze warns her not to say anything more. She takes a few steps backwards. I know I'm being unreasonable. It's not her fault this impossible situation is happening. But she has no idea of the far-reaching consequences for us.

"I'm sorry, Raoul."

Suddenly I recall her reaction downstairs to the news that _he_ is married. I pounce. "Why were you so upset upon learning that woman is _his _wife?"

Christine pales. She knows she's never to discuss Erik in my presence. It has always stung that she wavered between us—even to the very end. I hoped she would love me and forget him. Which is now impossible since he's turned up like a cat with nine lives! I regret my harsh words just now, but cannot undo them. Defiantly, she tosses her beautiful head and juts her chin forward. _That's my Christine. Stand up to me. I'll respect you more for it._ "It just took me by surprise, Raoul. I thought that after I…"

"You thought he would wither up and die when you left him?" I laugh. "Christine, you are so naïve. Men seldom die of broken hearts, especially one as cunning as he!"

Her hand smoothes the front of her dress. "If he's really the eldest son, Raoul, that means he's the Comte de Chagny."

I close my eyes. She does have a penchant for irritating me at times. "Really, Christine, how perceptive of you."

"I just meant that…"

"That perhaps you will no longer be able to purchase new dresses each month?"

She pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin with indignation. "Raoul, you can be so insufferable! At times you don't understand me at all."

I marvel at the way her eyes flash when she's upset. I jerk my head toward the cognac and hold out my glass. She doesn't comment, just grabs the decanter and slams it down on the table beside the chair. I look up at her. She's angry, but I'm enjoying her unintentional performance for me. I pour more of the amber liquid into the glass. "I need to think, Christine. Please leave me for awhile." I grimace as she slams the bedroom door behind her.

Thirty minutes later, I step into the bedroom to change for dinner. Christine is dabbing at her swollen eyes. Feeling the cad, I cross the room and take her in my arms. "Please forgive me, Christine. I know how terrible I can be. It's just that this situation has me…"

She leans against my chest. "It's all right, Raoul. I understand."

"Do you?" I pull back and look deeply into her eyes, wanting the truth from her. "Will you leave me if I am no longer the Comte?"

She doesn't hesitate. "No, no, Raoul." She throws her arms around my neck. "I love you."

I sigh inwardly. Yes, she does love me. Possibly because of the lavish lifestyle she's now accustomed to. Perhaps because she now has a place in Parisian society. Or maybe it's more basic than that. Because she doesn't have to worry about living on the streets. Whatever the reason, I cannot let her go. I'm deeply in love with her. I change for dinner, then offer my arm to escort her downstairs. It is time to fight for what is mine.

_Erik's POV:_

Mother's eyes follow Raoul and Christine as they walk up the stairs. Then she turns to me and takes my hand. "Mi hijo, this is quite a blow to Raoul. You must give him time."

"I doubt seriously if he will accept this turn of events no matter how much time I give him."

She pats my hand reassuringly. "Raoul can be very, well, emotional, but once he thinks about it, he will come around."

I smile at her, but I am not as confident of the outcome. The three of us walk up the stairs to the south wing where our rooms are located. Mother was wise to assign Raoul and me rooms on separate sides of the house.

When we enter the sitting room in our suite, I walk over to a table and grab the decanter of cognac and pour a generous glassful. When I take a large gulp, Laura asks, worried, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." But I do not say anything more until my glass is empty. I refill it and start pacing. "I just did not expect him to arrive so quickly."

Laura is standing at the terrace doors, basking in the warmth of the sun. "Your mother commented just this morning that she didn't expect them until Saturday or Sunday."

"He must have dropped everything as soon as he got her letter."

"Erik, come and sit down before you wear a path in the beautiful carpet. Let me massage your neck." I take a few more turns before walking over to the chair. Laura steps behind me and begins to knead the tight muscles along my neck and shoulders. Her hands work their magic, and gradually I feel myself relax. "Did you have a nice time on your ride this afternoon?"

"Yes, most enjoyable. And I am glad mother and I talked before Raoul arrived."

"Your mother's very curious about your past." Laura chuckles. "She keeps asking you questions in a roundabout way, but you have cleverly sidestepped them."

"I believe she enjoys the game of cat and mouse as much as I do. I did not want to spoil her fun."

"So did you finally tell her a few things?"

"A few."

She steps around the chair and peers down at me. "Ah, I see." I open my arms, inviting her to sit on my lap. She does, and I pull her close to me as she murmurs, "Now I understand why your mother wasn't shocked when Raoul made his accusations."

I laugh. "It was most fortunate I chose today to begin to tell her of my past."

"I agree." She cuddles against my chest. "Erik, I know you're worried. Trust me, things will all work out." She yawns. "I really should go pick out my dress for dinner." But instead of getting up, she burrows closer and her breathing slows. I gaze at the top of her lovely head and smile. My lap is one of her favorite places for her small naps which are becoming more frequent.

I reach around her and pick up the glass of cognac to take a sip. Regardless of the outcome of our meeting tonight, I have Laura. But I will not back down from the upcoming confrontation and will take what is mine. Raoul and Christine be damned! Both were shocked at the news my mother so casually announced. I have to admit, it did give me satisfaction to see the horror in Raoul's eyes. And for a moment, I felt vindicated when Christine gasped at the fact that Laura is now my wife.

It is a shame my father is not here to face me now as well. What would he say to the child he had so callously cast aside? Would there have been regrets? Or would I see the revulsion in his eyes that has followed me through the years?

Laura stirs in my arms. Suddenly she sits straight up, a strange expression on her face as her hand flies to her stomach. Alarmed, I ask, "Are you going to be sick?"

"No! Erik, the baby…"

"_Mon Dieu_, Laura, what…?"

Her eyes bore into mine as she grabs my hand and places it on her stomach. I feel a soft movement. _Non_, not really a movement, more like a flutter. It is the first time we have felt the baby moving. She cups her hand on mine, a soft smile on her lips. We wait for the next flutter, marveling at the miracle we have created. Our child.

_Laura's POV:_

"Do not move, Laura. I am almost done."

Breathlessly, I implore him. "Faster, Erik. We're going to be late."

"Well, I am being careful. I do not want to hurt the babe."

He tugs gently at the last corset tie and begins fastening the back of my dress. But as usual when he gets to the top, he kisses my neck before closing the last button. I take a last quick look in the mirror. Thank goodness the seamstress let out the seams in my dresses before this trip. My waist is definitely growing. And I'm wearing my undergarments much looser. Erik now takes extra care when he tightens my corset.

When we step out into the hallway, I place my hand on his arm and feel the muscles beneath coiled and tense, ready for battle with Raoul. I'll bet Raoul is just as wound up. The Contessa meets us at the foot of the stairwell and accompanies us to the study. Raoul and Christine are nowhere in sight. The Contessa leads us to settees in front of the fireplace. At the other end of the room, the table is already set for dinner with lace tablecloth, napkins and exquisite crystal goblets. Several bouquets of fresh lilies are placed around the room. Peace lilies, I believe. I hope they're a good omen.

The Contessa asks Erik to pour the wine. He hands a glass to the Contessa and me, then takes his and leans against the fireplace. He's trying to appear casual, but I sense his turmoil beneath the calm façade. He keeps staring toward the door, waiting. The Contessa maintains a pleasant chatter about a promising foal, clearly trying to avoid _the _subject before Raoul gets here. As for me, I've decided that I need some wine. A little will not hurt the baby and may do some good for my own nerves.

Then Raoul and Christine arrive and greet the Contessa. Christine sits on the settee across from me while Raoul walks over and pours two glasses of wine. He hands one to Christine, then stands behind her. No one says anything until the Contessa ventures, "I hope you are all rested." Glancing from one brother to the other, she asks, "Shall we have dinner, then?"

Top of Form

Erik steps over and extends his arm for me to take. When I stand, I feel a little tipsy. The wine seems to be going to my head already. The Contessa has Erik and me sit to her right and places Raoul and Christine on her left. Awkwardly, the two brothers face each other across the table. Raoul's eyes shoot daggers at Erik. What's that phrase? Oh, yes. _If looks could kill._

Christine doesn't say a word, but I catch her staring at me occasionally. She avoids looking at Erik, though. The tension in the room is palpable. Once again the Contessa breaks the heavy silence, "We will serve ourselves tonight. I instructed the servants not to interrupt us."

Cold silence descends as the serving dishes are passed around the table, and everyone begins to eat. Well, I wouldn't exactly say "eating." Erik is cutting his food into small pieces. When I glance over at Raoul, I notice he's doing the same. Seems the two men have some things in common. I try a few bites, but the food seems to stick in my throat. Christine looks like she's feeling the same and isn't eating much either.

Finally, Raoul speaks up, "Mother, this is ridiculous. We need to clear this up. This fiend has duped you. He actually kidnapped Christine—among other hideous crimes he's committed."

Erik jumps to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor behind him. "You pathetic fool. I let you go once, but I will not step aside this time! _I will take what is mine." _

Raoul bolts out of his chair and races around the table. The Contessa, Christine and I gape in astonishment as Raoul pulls out a glove and slaps Erik's face. "I challenge you to a duel!"

I guess it's time for me to put a stop to this. I stand, wobbling slightly, as I tap my crystal goblet several times with the knife. "No, gentlemen, there will be no duelsh." Both men look at me, aghast. "Please be sheated. We need to have a little chat."


	104. Chapter 104

**A/N: Well, first our thanks for all the wonderful comments! In addition to our loyal reviewers, many of you posted for the first time, as well as others who had not posted for awhile! We enjoyed and valued each of your comments. In appreciation, we are posting this chapter after only two weeks, instead of the recent pattern of three weeks! You see, we DO notice and respond to your enthusiasm. Now, we hope that each of you who posted comments last time about this crucial confrontation will share with us your thoughts and feelings about what happens next!!! **

The table is set…with a lot more than dinner! Erik and Raoul are at each other's throats and the three women, the Contessa, Laura and Christine, are watching—aghast! But, are these women going to remain passive? What will the Contessa do about this feud between her only sons? How does Christine feel about this? And just what is that trump card Laura is holding? As seen from the points of view of Christine and Erik—On with the confrontation and catharsis!

* * *

**Chapter 104 TIES THAT BIND by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Thursday, April 4, 1872_

_Burgos, Spain_

_Christine's POV:_

"_You pathetic fool. I let you go once, but I will not step aside this time! __I will take what is mine." _My heart skips a beat at Erik's forcefulness as he throws those words at Raoul. His resonant voice evokes memories, sending thrills through me. Dear Lord, he must be talking about me! He still wants me!

I barely have time to absorb this exciting news when Raoul jumps up from the table and rushes at Erik. Before any of us can stop him, he's challenged Erik to a duel! A duel! Over me! Thoughts churn through my mind. Erik must still care for me! I knew it! The night of the bal masque he was entranced as ever when I sang for him. But why didn't he come for me then? I ponder on this for a few seconds, but dismiss it. Something must have waylaid him.

I glance at Erik's wife, wondering if she's caught the meaning of what he said. She appears dismayed, but doesn't move or utter a sound. Just stares at the two men standing face to face. I feel a pang of pity for her. It's obvious she didn't comprehend what Erik means.

Studying her as she watches Raoul and Erik, I realize Ms. Counselor, no I guess that would be Madame Mercier, is much older than me, probably in her thirties. Then it dawns on me. She was an old maid and most likely played on Erik's sympathy to get him to wed her!

Even though some would consider her a beauty, she has nothing compared to me. Her skin isn't as creamy as mine. In fact, when I peer closer, I can tell from the golden tone of her complexion she's been in the sun! Doesn't she use a hat or umbrella to protect her skin? And her hair is short, not nearly the glorious length of mine. And something else. At the Hotel de Crillon in Paris I saw her dancing with Erik and observed that she's much shorter than me. Why, she barely comes up to Erik's shoulder. Taking my eyes away from my perusal of her, I gaze at Erik. I recall how close we are in height. And how perfectly we fit together when I'd kissed him. He probably gets a backache every time he leans over to… Oh goodness, I don't even want to think about _that._

How does Erik plan for us to reconcile? There will be many obstacles to overcome. Oh, dear! An unpleasant thought jumps into my head. Madame Giry isn't going to be happy with me at all. She expressly forbade me to ever reveal my feelings about Erik. What am I going to do? And there's still Raoul to consider. And also Erik's wife, but… The ringing of crystal draws my attention back to Madame Mercier. I blink in disbelief. She's standing there, swaying! My goodness! Does she often overindulge in wine?

My suspicion is confirmed with the pronunciation of her words. _"No, gentlemen, there will be no duelsh."_ Everyone gapes at her. Incredibly she has interfered in the men's business. What audacity! Doesn't she know her place? Then she adds,_ "Please be sheated. We need to have a little chat."_

My mouth drops open. Raoul and Erik just eye her, not moving. Finally, the Contessa's firm voice echoes through the room. "Quite correct. Sit down, _mi hijos_." When they don't move, her voice grows louder. _"Now!"_ Reluctantly, both men sit. The Contessa moves her gaze from one to the other. Erik is seething. Raoul's face is rigid with anger. I recognize _that_ look. "I think it's time that you all know the whole story. I intended to speak to Raoul and Erik separately. Perhaps it is better this way."

The Contessa takes a deep breath and begins. "Erik was born late in the evening. When he was placed in my arms, he stole my heart." She reaches out and places her hand on top of Erik's. "Edmond, err, your father, tried to hide his feelings, but I could tell he was upset when he saw the birthmark on your tiny, precious face."

Raoul interrupts. "Birthmark? The one time I saw it uncovered, I did not get a clear look, but it appeared worse than a birthmark. Christine told me his face was so distorted and deformed that it was hardly a face at all!"

The Contessa gives Raoul a withering glare. I am horrified. Erik's eyes narrow, fury turning them darkest green. _Please don't focus your ire at me!_ I gaze down at my hands, clutching the napkin. Why did Raoul have to repeat those awful words? The Contessa says gently, "You must have been very distressed when you said that." Looking up, I discover she is giving me an indulgent smile. But when I glimpse Erik, his eyes bore through me. My cheeks turn red, and I bow my head again, ashamed at hurting him.

"But mother," Raoul presses his point, "there's no proof that he's who he claims! He can't be the only one with a facial deform…birthmark!"

"The babe also carried the distinctive de Chagny birthmark," the Contessa leans forward, sounding exasperated, "which only shows up every other generation. But it made no matter to me, he was my son." She lifts her glass of wine and takes several sips. I wonder, does she also have a fondness of the drink?

Sneering, Raoul asks, "And, you've seen this birthmark?" He is relentless.

"_Sí, Raoul, I have seen it! There's no doubt he is your brother!_ Now, may I continue with the story?"

Raoul is ready to explode. The Contessa sits patiently and waits for his answer. Fighting some internal battle, Raoul remains silent. I must remember this. There may be a time when I can use this tactic to my advantage. Erik and Madame Mercier also wait to hear his answer. Suddenly, Raoul jumps out of his chair and heads over to the cabinet. After pouring a goblet of cognac, he returns to the table and throws himself into the chair. He waves his goblet in the air. "Yes, mother. _Please_ proceed." His words drip with sarcasm, but the Contessa ignores it and resumes where she left off.

"They took Erik from me so that I could rest. When I woke the following morning, the nurse told me the child had died and already been removed. My heart had been ripped from me." Tears glisten in her eyes. Sympathy rises within me for the pain she must have gone through. After all, I hope one day I will have children. The Contessa falls back in her chair. "I was inconsolable for months and no longer wanted to live. But I knew my beautiful son was now an angel in Heaven."

An angel? I called Erik my _Angel of Music_. And for so long, I assumed he was actually an angel since I'd never seen him, only heard his voice. Often times, I had wondered if he existed only in my mind.

The room remains quiet as each of us absorbs her words. However, the spell is broken when the Contessa pushes her chair back and stands. "It was almost two years later that I happened to overhear a heated argument between Edmond and his father. I was passing Edmond's study, and the door wasn't completely shut." She begins to pace back and forth, then stops and addresses her next words directly to Raoul and Erik. "I was heavy with child. Philippe would be born within the next six weeks. Your grandfather was telling Edmond that if this child had the same affliction as the first, he expected Edmond to once again 'do the right thing' and get rid of it."

Raoul interrupts with a mocking question, "Do the right thing?" Despite his words, his face has gone a shade paler.

Conversely, the Contessa's face flushes, and her eyes spark with passion. She walks back to the head of the table. "The old Comte told Edmond that a deformed child would not be tolerated in society, and that he had no intention of letting Edmond even consider keeping such an…" her voice rises, "_I refuse to utter the word he used!"_ She swings around angrily, her hand yanking her skirts behind her and rushes over to the cabinet. She pours a generous amount of cognac, and I watch as she swiftly empties the glass. This trait must run in the family.

"I waited until Edmond came to our rooms that night and demanded that he tell me the truth. Suffice it to say, there was an ugly argument. Reluctantly, he admitted that he'd arranged for our child to be taken away secretly. He ranted, swearing the de Chagny name would never be tainted. Even though I pleaded with him, he vowed that he would never reveal the details. I knew Edmond was following his father's instructions. In the end, Edmond forbade me to pursue the matter in any way and threatened dire consequences if I ever brought the subject up again." The Contessa swivels around, trying to compose herself. Erik turns his eyes to his wife. Her eyes are full of tears. It is truly a sad story, but it bothers me to see Erik seek her support rather than mine.

Raoul leans forward and glowers menacingly at Erik. "Father just had the best interests of the de Chagny family reputation in mind. Think of the scandal you would have caused!" His rancor radiates through the room.

The Contessa returns to the table and lets out a deep sigh. "Perhaps one day you'll realize that it's _people_ who are important." Raoul looks surprised, but doesn't venture a response. She sits down in her chair and faces Erik. "Edmond never suspected that I went behind his back and searched heaven and earth for you. Over the next few years, I hired numerous investigators, but none ever turned up even a clue about your whereabouts. Edmond had covered the trail quite thoroughly."

"It was better that you never found him," Raoul snarls.

Erik has been quiet through all of this. But I notice he watches Raoul with penetrating scrutiny as the story unfolds, gauging his reaction. The Contessa frowns at Raoul. "Out of all my children, Raoul, you are the most like your father and grandfather. You're so worried about your title and wealth that you're willing to defend it above all else. I hoped you would find compassion over the years. But you have a hard streak in you."

Raoul slaps his hands on the table and jumps to his feet. He strides across the room and grabs the decanter of cognac. Returning to the table, he splashes the amber liquid into his goblet, then slams the decanter on the table. "And I suppose _he_ is like _you_, mother. Open. Honest. Nothing to hide." His face is contorted in rage. I blink at Raoul. I've never heard him speak to the Contessa in this manner. Is this turning into a battle of wills between Raoul and his mother? They act as though it's of no consequence that the rest of us are in the room.

"I know you are upset, Raoul, but I cannot change what your father was. Edmond was a weak man and could often be cruel. I thought he married me for love, but soon realized he married me only for the prestige of uniting two titled families." Unexpectedly, the Contessa smiles. "But there is hope for you. I remember the many unpleasant fights you had with your father and how you stood up to him about marrying Christine. I am especially pleased that you married for love. Even though you are quite like Edmond, you've inherited many de Velasco qualities."

Raoul fought with his father over me? I'm astonished at this news. Why didn't he tell me that when the wedding was delayed? From what the Contessa has been saying, Raoul's father must have been a formidable adversary. I never saw that side of the Comte, but thinking back, Raoul always seemed to keep me away from him. Regarding Raoul with new respect, I notice a hint of embarrassment in the set of his mouth. And the Contessa was glad Raoul married me? That's a surprise. I always thought she didn't approve of me because I'm not on Raoul's social level.

With a slight tilt to her head, Madame Mercier studies Raoul for a moment, then shifts her glance to Erik. Is she comparing the two brothers? Does she fathom how this catastrophic news is tearing Raoul apart?

The Contessa returns to her story. "My personal maid had been with me since I was a child. Raoul, do you remember how Serena loved to sneak treats to you when she thought I couldn't see?" Raoul nods. I remember her, too. She was always so nice to me whenever I visited. "Serena came with me when I married and moved to France. She was the only one I could talk to, the only one in the de Chagny household who knew the truth about what Edmond had done, and my search for Erik. She stayed by my side during those years and comforted me when I lost all hope. After six years of searching and not finding you, mi hijo, I wrote you that letter, hoping it would somehow find you. My prayers were answered." She pauses, then says to Erik, "We haven't talked about how that letter came to be in your possession."

Madame Mercier reaches out and takes Erik's hand. When I catch the look he bestows on her, I almost cry out. It's the look of a man in love. I know, because Raoul gazes at me in the same manner. My thoughts jumble together, trying to figure out this new development. _He couldn't love her! _I peer at Erik. He seems so comfortable beside her, an ease befitting intimacy. _Could he really love her?_ Before my mind can grasp this concept, Erik takes a deep breath. His wife gives him a nod of encouragement, and he begins, "By providence, I found out I was the rightful de Chagny heir and..."

Jumping to his feet, Raoul snarls, _"You lie!"_

The Contessa orders, "Sit down, Raoul and let him speak!" The pulse on the side of Raoul's neck throbs as he glares at his mother. I know he's terrified of losing the title of Comte as well as the family wealth that's at his disposal. My heart swells with compassion and concern. I reach out to take his hand, hoping my gesture will reassure him—like Madame Mercier's gesture did for Erik. He glances down at my touch and then at me. I attempt to smile. He stands frozen for another moment, then sits back down.

"When I discovered who my family was, I went to the de Chagny château to confront my parents." No one dares breathe, waiting for his next words. Erik spears Raoul with an unrelenting gaze and doesn't look away as he casually adds, "I also wanted to see some of the property I was to inherit as the heir to the de Chagny title and wealth." Although he's talking to the room at large, it's apparent the words are meant to inflame Raoul. Madame Mercier coughs lightly and brings her hand to her mouth. Is she…

"_You…"_ Raoul starts to jump up again, but the Contessa grabs his arm and stops him. She also sends a warning glance to Erik.

A faint smile plays on Erik's lips. I'm taken aback that he's enjoying Raoul's pain! Erik has known he was a de Chagny for some time, but Raoul is still reeling from having just learned this. As Erik begins to speak, I study him, wondering if I ever really knew him.

"But when I arrived," Erik continues, "only a few servants remained. Serena told me the family had fled to Spain to avoid the Communard uprising. She kept staring at my mask and asked why I wore it. I told her it covered a birthmark. She stopped me as I was leaving and boldly asked if I was related to the family. I was shocked. But I was also angry enough to reveal that I was."

Erik smiles genuinely at the Contessa. "I liked Serena, mother. She actually stood up to me when I tried to ignore her and leave. Then she caught me off guard by demanding to see the birthmark on my shoulder. No one had ever asked me about that before. Indeed, I had never told anyone. Once she was satisfied, she handed me your letter."

The Contessa's face lights up. "Then she's alive and well?

Erik's eyes soften. "I am so sorry, mother, but Serena is dead. She was killed during the Commune uprising."

The Contessa lowers her head. "I knew something dreadful had happened. She would be at my side, if possible. I sent several of my men back when the Commune was over, but they couldn't find any trace of her."

"Mother, the city had gone quite mad. There was no way for her to get out of Paris. Serena told me she planned to go to a friend's house and hoped they would all be safe there. I went to check on her a few months later, but they told me she had died during a bombardment."

The Contessa's voice is tinged with sadness when she asks, "Did she perhaps give you the wooden box? An antique with an exquisite red rose engraved on the top?"

Erik nods his head.

"My abuela gave it to me when I was young." The Contessa pauses, thinking. "There was also a family heirloom I placed inside, hoping that one day it would lead you back to me. It was tucked in a small blue velvet bag. Edmond thought he'd misplaced it, but I took it." Raoul's hand clenches beneath mine, but he remains silent. "Now it would rightfully be yours."

Erik reaches inside his waistcoat. He removes a blue velvet bag and grabs the bottom, turning it upside down. A gold ring tumbles out and comes to a halt in the center of the table. Candlelight sparkles off the de Chagny family crest. Raoul pushes himself away from the table as if the ring were a snake about to strike. His agonized voice fills the room with one word. "_Nooooo!" _

My heart hurts for him. _My poor, dear, Raoul._

_Erik's POV:_

A twinge of pity hits me at Raoul's reaction to the irrefutable proof of my heritage. But it does not sway me from my path. _I will take what is mine! _

I seize the ring and place it on my finger, glaring triumphantly at Raoul. His face goes pale as we stare daggers at each other. His eyes seethe with hatred. But I do not care. One of his hands reaches instinctively for the hilt of his sword which he is not wearing here, in the presence of our mother. Christine goes rigid next to her husband—the _former_ Comte de Chagny—and throws me a venomous glance. Then, as if she can no longer contain her feelings, she bolts to her feet and screams, "Stop this, Erik! Can't you see how you're destroying him?"

"By revealing the truth?" Sarcasm pours from my voice.

"_By doing it in such a callous manner!_ Dear Lord, Erik, you've just revealed proof of your claim to _his_ title!"

I stand and confront her. Does she understand who _I am_? "I do not think you quite perceive the situation, Christine. It is not _his_ title. It is _mine_!"

"Have you no feelings?" Her voice goes shrill.

That was the wrong thing for Christine to say to me. Incensed that she would accuse me of that, I spit back, "Feelings? I remember you were never concerned about _my_ feelings! I gave you my care and affection unstintingly. Then when you were of age, I professed my love. And you threw it back in my face."

"It's just that you frightened me. It happened all too quickly."

"Quickly?" _The girl is daft_. "You knew me for _nine years_ while I mentored you and trained your voice!"

Her tone rises another octave. "But I didn't know you were a _real person_. I thought you were sent by my father. That you were his Angel of Music."

Mother's mouth drops open in shock. I had not discussed this aspect of Christine's nature with her. Evidently, she was not aware of it. "But you knew the night I introduced myself that I was _real_. You knew when you responded later to me in my lair. Why did you…."

Raoul rises to his feet and strides around the table once more. I pivot around to confront him. "I want to hear no more of this," his voice cracks in anger, "it is over and done with. Christine is _my_ wife now. You have no right to say these things to her. She left you because she disapproved of what you did. She's already told you that you frightened her!"

"She only left with you that night to save _your_ life! But quite frankly, you were never in danger. I do not kill defenseless men who Ihave tied to a portcullis."

Mother gasps. I hadn't told her that, either.

"Well, my hands are free, and I am no longer defenseless. Would you like to try now?"

Christine cries out, "No!"

"_Enough!" _Laura breaks the crackling tension in the room.

I glare at Raoul, my hands in front of me, ready for an attack. The hand with the ring is clenched into a fist, the fingers of the other hand rubbing across the ring's de Chagny crest. Raoul is breathing deeply, barely able to control himself.

"We have other matters to discuss now," Laura declares with the authority I saw her display during the trial.

I dare not take my eyes from Raoul, but I can tell by Laura's voice that this confrontation has cleared her mind of the effects of the wine. Raoul looks past me to Laura, dismissive of her. That angers me even more.

"Sí, mi hijos," mother adds commandingly, "I agree. Be seated."

For many moments Raoul does not move, and I stand ready, on guard. Will he be foolish enough to attack? Finally, he sneers at me and backs away a few steps, out of the reach of my fists, then turns and walks to his chair. He kicks it away from the table and slams down into it. Christine reaches out and puts her hand on his arm soothingly. Raoul seems surprised and searches her face. Her loving support is apparent in her expression. _Good_! _They need each other. _

I settle into my chair and turn to Laura. Her expression is also very apparent. Calm, steely determination. I have seen that before. She has something on her mind and heaven help anyone who disregards whatever she is about to say.

Mother clears her voice and asks Laura, "Did you have something to discuss, my dear?"

Smiling appreciatively, Laura begins, "Thank you, I do." Laura gazes into the eyes of each person at the table, finally settling on Raoul, who still fumes. "I realize this has been a shock to you, Raoul. You have had little time to deal with this state of affairs. But, on the other hand, Erik has had entirely too much time to deal with this. _His entire life_." Raoul shifts uneasily in his chair, digesting the truth in her statement. Mother's face turns up as she studies me. Tears come to her eyes. Christine stares at Laura, as if seeing her for the first time. I am the only one not surprised by Laura's bold, opening statement. But I do wonder what comes next. I nod to Laura, giving her my tacit approval.

"The Contessa and I have listened with compassion to this conversation. Clearly each of you had important feelings from your past relationship which needed to be expressed. And now they have been. Two facts seem to be irrefutable. That Erik and Raoul are brothers. And that they have a devoted mother who deserves their love and respect. So, I want to discuss _our future_ relationship."

Everyone is silent, spellbound by Laura's words. I glance at my mother. Tears have begun flowing down her cheeks. Laura addresses her gently, "May I ask whether the de Chagny and de Velasco families follow primogeniture? Does the eldest inherit all the estate along with the title?"

Raoul glares at Laura, his brows raised in disbelief. I take pleasure from the discomfort this gives him. Women in our age do not speak of legal matters with such assurance.

"Sí, that is the way in which the estate is handed down."

"To the eldest son of each generation, then to that son's eldest son?" Laura clarifies.

"That is correct. Except that in Spain the eldest daughter inherits if there is no son, and I had that written into my marital agreement with Edmond so that any daughters we might have would also be able to inherit. But, after Raoul was born, we led separate lives." Her shoulders pull back with resolution. "So, we had no daughters. When Edmund died, the de Chagny estates were inherited by Raoul, as the eldest living child. And, when my brother died, childless, I inherited the de Velasco estates."

My mother's disclosure hints that she gave my father two more sons, as is expected of her class, but no more. I have a feeling that might have been because of his treatment of me. What a strong woman!

"So, when our child is born, whether it is a boy or a girl, as the eldest child of the eldest son it will inherit the title and estates?" Laura asks. Christine gasps and gapes open mouthed at Laura, as does Raoul. Clearly they did not realize she is with child.

"Indeed, that is correct," my mother replies thoughtfully. Like me, she wonders where these questions will lead.

"Well, then, Erik controls all the de Chagny wealth as the Comte, is that correct?"

Mother takes a deep breath and answers definitively, "Yes, he does." Raoul pours himself another cognac and takes a deep draught.

"So, Raoul," Laura again directs her fierce attention to him, "you and I have some important things in common."

"Quite frankly, Madame, I do not comprehend what that could possibly be," he replies mockingly.

Before I can react to his insolent tone, Laura explains, "You wish to have a happy life with Christine. I wish to have a happy life with Erik. We look forward to our children, and I am sure you look forward to children with Christine." Laura smiles kindly at Christine as she speaks those words. Christine blushes. "You also wish to have financial security and maintain the lifestyle to which you have become accustomed. We wish to be able to live our lives _in peace with our family_. I would like to make some proposals to insure that."

"You have my undivided attention, Madame," Raoul replies acidly.

I regard my wife with intense pride. "And mine also."

"You see, I am an heiress, and we live very comfortably at Château Mercier. We have no desire to live in the de Chagny mansion. Is that correct, Erik?"

I consider what Laura is saying. It is true, we have a beautiful estate and all the money we need to carry out our plans. "Yes, that is true, except I would like to perhaps retain some of the family portraits. And a few of the heirlooms."

Laura turns to Raoul, asking, "If you and Christine were allowed to continue residing in the de Chagny mansion, would that be agreeable? With the provision that Erik could choose some of the heirlooms from the estate?"

Raoul looks at Erik and sputters, "Yes, that would be agreeable."

"I also understand that the de Chagny wealth includes investments in a number of businesses and other estates. Would it be agreeable to you if the income from all of those is divided equally so that you and Erik each receive half?"

Raoul now studies Laura, surprised, "Yes, that would be quite agreeable."

"Would that be agreeable to you, Erik?"

She turns her beautiful eyes up to me. I smile back, now beginning to see where she is going with her terms, "Yes, agreeable."

"Would use of the de Chagny mansion and receipt of half the income provide financial security and maintain your lifestyle to your satisfaction, Raoul?" Laura presses in her lawyerlike manner.

Raoul takes another drink of cognac and gazes at Christine. After some consideration, he says, "Yes, that would."

"Well, then, there is the other matter of Erik and me wishing _to live in peace with our family_. We would not want anyone declaring or _divulging in any manner to any person _about Erik's past life as the Phantom of the Opera."

Mother's eyes widen as she studies me keenly. She probably was not aware of that either.

"That could lead to _various difficulties," _Laura continues.I chuckle. Laura has put that quite delicately. Yes, it would be quite difficult for me to be arrested and tried for murder in the French courts. I could be imprisoned or sent to the guillotine. "It would seem only fair that if Erik's estate provides you the mansion and sufficient income to comfortably secure your livelihood, in return you agree to _never_ disclose that he is anything other than your long lost brother, the _Comte de Chagny. _Is that also agreeable, Raoul?"

Raoul now stares appraisingly at Laura. I doubt he has ever had any woman address him in this manner, with such a clear cut and momentous business deal. "You raise an interesting issue. But why should I agree to your terms? If the _various difficulties _befell him, the guillotine is still the punishment for murder. I could inherit everything."

Mother inhales sharply and frowns at Raoul in amazement and disapproval. As for me, I decide to have that duel and resolve this matter right now. When I begin to get up, Laura puts her hand on my arm, halting me. She shakes her head and mouths the word, "please." I glower, but sit down.

"Let me explain something, Raoul. Erik and I have entered into a contract regarding my inheritance. My wealth did not go into his sole control as my husband, which is customary under the law. This contract we signed gives each of us _equal rights and control_ over my property. But that same contract gives us equal rights and control over_ any other property either_ of us should _ever _possess. That means Erik's de Chagny estate, in accordance with that contract, is now also equally owned and controlled…by me."

Laura pauses to let the weight of her words have time to register. "If Erik were in prison the remainder of his life, I would have _complete_ control over the de Chagny wealth and estates. If you were in _any manner_ connected to his _difficulty, _then_ trust me, _you would not be allowed the continued use of the mansion or any of the income which has just been agreed to. If Erik should die, then the estate goes to our eldest child. Of course, I would be the guardian until the child reaches its majority. And, the consequences for you would be the same."

Raoul scrutinizes Laura acutely. "I suspect, Madame, you would carry out everything you have just described." Christine goes pale at Raoul's words. Clearly she understands what is at stake.

"Yes," Laura says, her chin up and eyes piercing, "I would. As I said, Erik and I merely wish to live in peace with _our family_. And that includes you, Raoul. Now that we understand each other, is it agreed that you and Christine keep your mansion and lifestyle, and Erik and I live in peace?"

"Yesss," Raoul hisses and holds up his goblet to Laura in toast, "to our mutual agreement."

"I'll drink to that," the Contessa lifts her goblet, indicating everyone is to do the same and seal the bargain. As the glasses ring against each other, I study the faces around the table. In each one I see the strain of this hard fought battle, but also the gleam of commitment to this _peace_ which Laura proposes.

Then Raoul tips his goblet to me and adds stiffly, "Comte de Chagny."

I reply with a tone of respect, "Vicomte."

"So, that means I am no longer a Countess?" Christine says sadly as she holds her glass up to toast Laura. I gaze at Christine, seeing her now with unclouded eyes. But Laura smiles at her and when their glasses touch, she states, "No, Christine, I hereby freely and happily grant you the title of Countess de Chagny for the duration of your life! A title is never what I wanted. All that matters to me is Erik being my husband and the father of my children."

Christine gulps, completely startled by this announcement. Then Laura turns to me. Her pixie smile peaks out as she takes a sip of wine, and her eyes twinkle with humor and devoted love. My heart skips a beat. When I walked into this room tonight all that was important to me was to claim my birthright and title, and finally take vengeance on Raoul. But I realize now that I already had everything that matters to me. _I have Laura._


	105. Chapter 105

**A/N: Well, we couldn't be more pleased with all the wonderful comments and reviews! That last chapter was a bit of a catharsis for **_**everyone**_**, wasn't it? A cognac and pink cupcake to each of you who posted reviews! We hope you will continue to step forward and let us know your thoughts! And, because of the enthusiastic and larger number of reviews…we are posting this chapter after only two weeks! By the way, I will respond to each of your reviews to the last two chapters, as well as this chapter, **_**next weekend**_**. I'll post my replies in the review page, so please stop back to check that out!**

While Erik, Laura and their entourage have been in Spain, life has not been dull back at the chateau. Antoinette and Meg's capture in Paris, and their dramatic midnight rescue was the same night as Erik's exciting family dinner in Spain. An eventful evening, to say the least! As you recall, Sir Percival Blakeney, arranged the kidnapping charade disguised as Monsieur Queue, the ringleader. Surviving a candlestick blow to the head, Blakeney continued as planned, shed his disguise and came gallantly to their rescue. Now he delivers the women safely to the chateau, hoping he has won Antoientte's trust and eliminated the obstacle between himself and Meg. But is this in the category of 'best laid plans of mice and monsieurs?'

* * *

**Chapter 105 Meanwhile, Back at the Château, by Phanna and KFC**

_Midnight, Thursday, April 4, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV: _

The sharp crack of a rifle shot jerks me out of my reverie. The coachman reins the horses to a hasty stop. _Mon Dieu!_ Have we now had the misfortune of being set upon by highwaymen?

The sound does not disturb Meg, asleep and snuggled against my shoulder. Covered with a lightweight blanket Sir Blakeney threw over her earlier, she's oblivious to what's happening around us. I lift my hand to shake her awake, but Sir Blakeney stops me. "Don't wake her yet. We're at the château. Your men just stopped us because they don't recognize the rented carriage." Next to him, Vicomte St. Just nods in agreement.

I hear a familiar voice outside the carriage and feel the sting of hot tears burn at my eyes. _Ace!_ When he pulls the door open, I barely contain my composure. His voice booms in surprise when he peers inside. _"Blakeney! _My God man, what are you doing here in the middle of…?" When he spots me, he stops in mid sentence. His eyes lock with mine as he reads my distress. He turns back to the two men across from me and demands, "Okay, what the hell's going on?"

"I'll be glad to explain everything," Sir Blakeney says with his most affable manner. "Perhaps we can reconvene to a more hospitable location--such as _inside_ the château?"

Ace stares at the men guardedly, then turns a concerned look at me. "Are you and Meg all right?"

"Oui. Now. Sir Blakeney came to our assistance earlier this evening and has escorted us home." At that moment all I want to do is collapse in Ace's arms. Meg and I _are_ safe now, but the battle I fought to keep us safe before Sir Blakeney arrived hits me full force. Deep weariness overtakes me, and my entire body begins to tremble from the inside out.

Without taking his gaze off me, Ace gives orders to one of the men in the shadows. "Ride ahead and brief the others. I'll follow the carriage back." Ace looks at Meg, still asleep on my shoulder. "Blakeney, St. Just, I trust you to look after the girl. Antoinette will ride with me. She can fill me in."

Sir Blakeney leans over and helps me lay Meg on the seat. She moans, but doesn't come fully awake. I step out of the carriage, but I'm trembling so hard now that my legs begin to give out on the bottom step. Ace grips my arm to steady me and leans next to my ear. "Hold on." He quickly shuts the carriage door and instructs the driver to leave. When the carriage begins to roll forward, he swiftly mounts his horse and helps me up, positioning me sideways in front of him. I can bare it no longer. I fling my arms around Ace's neck, letting my tears begin. Soon the shoulder of his shirt is soaked, but he just holds me as I weep, rocking and gently brushing the hair from my face. I feel the deep vibration of his voice as he soothes me with comforting sounds.

He nudges the horse beneath us, and the animal ambles down the road leading toward the château. "I'm sorry, Ace. It's just that…," a small sob escapes, "it's just that I've been so afraid. Especially for Meg."

He holds me tighter against him with one arm, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my temple. "Shhh. It's okay. I have you, and you're safe now." When my tears finally run their course, he asks softly, "What happened?"

When I tell him how Meg and I were abducted off the street in Paris his body tenses, but he makes no comment, nor interrupts. Just listens. By the time we reach the château, I've related the entire incident. I leave nothing out, including Blakeney's timely appearance and the sword fight that ensued before we were whisked outside by Vicomte St. Just. He and Sir Blakeney took us back to Paris where we stopped at the hotel to gather our belongings. Then they rented a carriage for the journey home.

Ace takes us around to the back of the château, and reins the horse in near the small river. While I sit on a large boulder, he dips his handkerchief in the cool water so I can soothe my swollen face and eyes. Now that I've calmed, he questions me, hoping I'll remember more details. As I share some of the more frightening moments Meg and I experienced, the muscles in his jaw clench. Finally he says, "I need to talk to Blakeney and St. Just. Are you ready to go inside?"

"Oui."

Ace helps me to my feet then takes my face in his hands. "When I think of what might have happened…" He steps closer and puts his arms around me, holding me for a long time. When he pulls away, he starts to say something, then stops and merely takes my hand instead. We walk the horse to the stable then continue to the kitchen door. As we step into the hallway, we hear voices coming from the library. Ace stops me. "Do you want to join them?"

I shake my head. "Non, I want to check on Meg." He escorts me to Meg's room, but she isn't there. For an instant, I panic. But Ace quickly steps over and opens my bedroom door. Blessedly, Meg is curled up on my bed, sound asleep. I look up at him. "Thank you for…"

He places a finger on my lips. "No need to. I'm glad you're safe and sound. And here with me." His eyes peer deeply into mine, and we move toward each other.

Behind us, Meg whimpers in her sleep. "I'm afraid she's having a nightmare. She always does when she's frightened."

Ace rubs his thumb across my cheek and says softly, "She'll need you then. Goodnight, Antoinette." After he leaves, I feel restless and wander around the room not able to sleep. Meg tosses fitfully, but doesn't cry out again. Finally I light a small lamp and settle into a chair. I pick up a book, but when I read the same paragraph three times and still don't know what it says, I set it aside and lean my head against the back of the chair.

A slight tap on the door startles me. But when I hear nothing further, I feel foolish, wondering if it had just been my imagination. Then I hear it again. When I open the door, Joseph stands there. I glance at Meg, but she's quietly sleeping so I step into the hallway.

"Antoinette!" His voice is a low whisper, full of concern. He catches me by surprise and wraps his arms around me. "Blakeney and St. Just are still downstairs, briefing Ace. They told us what happened!" His voice fills with anguish, "I kick myself for letting you go into Paris without me!"

I take a step back and reassure him, "It's okay, Joseph. We are fine."

"Blakeney said there were three men! No telling what they might have done." When I give him a small smile, he looks at me like I'm daft. _"This is serious!" _His voice turns gruff, "I'm scared to death and you smile?"

I pat his arm. "I know you're concerned, Joseph. It's just that I thought about you throughout the entire ordeal."

His eyebrows jump to the ceiling in surprise. "You did?" He gapes at me, then timidly asks, "Should I be flattered?"

"Oui! Remember all the classes you gave the women here at the château about defending oneself in emergencies?"

"Yessss." His eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Well, they worked!"

He stares at me. "You're telling me that you used some of the techniques I taught you?"

"Oui! That is exactly what I did!"

"Well, I'll be damned." He shakes his head. I'm fascinated as his dimples appear when his smile broadens. "You know, I've taught those classes to a whole lot of ladies, but never had one tell me she'd used them!"

Suddenly he leans forward and kisses me. The kiss deepens as his arms encircle my waist. His lips are warm and demanding, sending waves of desire through me. It's been a long time since I've experienced this passion. His hands roam across my back, holding me firmly against his muscular chest. My body quivers in response.

"Maman?"

Joseph must not have heard so I pull away. "Joseph, Meg is calling for me."

Reluctantly, he releases me. He's breathing hard, his eyes narrowed. When he speaks, his voice is husky, "Antoinette, we still need to talk about…"

"Maman!' There's fear in her voice now.

"Joseph, I…"

"_Maman!" _Meg half screams and half sobs. I rush past him into my room. As I sit on the bed, comforting her, I hear him softly shut the door and walk away.

_Matt's POV:_

"Will you take tea, Sir Percival?" Antoinette addresses her newly dubbed knight-in-shining-armor. He eyes the elaborate tea service and table laden with the finest china and silver, and the most extravagant breakfast available on such short notice. He may have earned the knightly status, but by the looks of this table you'd think Blakeney was the King of France. I can't even see the tablecloth.

It's a nice morning to eat outside. I wonder if Antoinette invited me to this breakfast since he's staying to meet my patient, or if I'm somehow part of a production she's staging. I don't mind being a prop if there's food involved. But how am I going to get through breakfast without knocking something off the table and breaking it?

"…And we hope you'll stay for dinner as well," Antoinette beams at Blakeney as I pull out her chair. When Blakeney seats Meg with a flourish, I detect a hint of smugness. Knowing who he really is, I wouldn't be surprised if he conjured the whole plot last night just to get on Antoinette's good side. If so, it's a raging success as far as the prospective mother-in-law is concerned. But Meg doesn't seem to share her mother's enthusiasm. Blakeney smiles at Meg as he accepts the dinner invitation, but she doesn't seem to notice. Antoinette's forehead creases in displeasure at her daughter's lack of cordiality.

_Clink._ Ooops. I'm so paranoid about breaking something. This china is even more fragile and ornate up close. I hope it didn't actually belong to some royal family. _Clang. _Okay I'll just skip tea…

Blakeney skillfully navigates the jungle of plates and pedestals overflowing with food. He keeps up a lively conversation complete with animated hand gestures and not a single clink of his silver against the china. I manage to get a scone onto my plate without knocking anything over. _Now ...Operation Butter._ It's in easy reach. Just a matter of….

"Butter, Sir Percival?" Antoinette whisks away the bowl and sets it in front of Blakeney who swipes some onto a scone.

_Fine. Make that Operation Jam._ I survey the landscape and plot the course: _Maneuver around scone platter, avoiding impending fruit-avalanche and Leaning Tower of Tarts. Angle 30 degrees. Do not fly into mountain of … _Forget it. There's no way to get around that fruit bowl. The fruit looks good, but it's piled so high I don't even think I could get a grape off the vine without triggering an avalanche. The only things I can safely reach are the sugar cubes and…lemon curd. I consider the yellow contents of the bowl. No. I just can't. I'm a man.

What I'm really craving are the cherry tarts. If I'm careful, I might be able to reach the one at the edge of the bottom tier. It's a narrow space to reach through, but doable. Concentrating all my Navy SEAL stealth on the tart,I maneuver through the maze._… almost there…closing in… _nope, hand won't fit.

_Damn it, Matt, you're a surgeon. Think scalpel. _Taking my knife in hand, I turn the blade flat so it will slip beneath the tart. Then I mentally slice my way through and follow with the utensil…._between the red and green grapes, over the lemon curd....carefully..._

Whoosh. A teapot comes out of nowhere and blocks the way.

_Great. I'm surrounded by mountains of foo, and I'm going to starve! _I lay my unused knife down with a thunk. Antoinette turns, and when she sees my plate she gives me a concerned stare. "Aren't you hungry, Matt?" She indicates the spread with a wave of her hand, "There's plenty of food!"

_Thank you, Madame Obvious! And yes, I'm starving. _Instead of speaking my mind, I give Antoinette a wide, charming smile.

Food appears immediately at my plate.

_Wow. It still works._ Without having to maneuver around a thing, I take the cherry tart, and everything else she holds in front of me. _Food. Finally. _The cherry tart is gone in no time and my blood sugar starts to stabilize. Now that I won't starve, I tune back into what's going on around the table. Blakeney's still an over-the-top gentleman. Antoinette's still encouraging him, while trying to cover for Meg's sullen indifference. This complete role reversal is a puzzle to me. I understand Antoinette's sudden one-eighty but not Meg's.

"That was quite a severe gash Sir Percival took on our account, wasn't it Matt?" Antoinette directs her question to me, but it's clearly intended for Meg.

"Oh yes, very severe,' I reply in my best doctor's tone. Shifting in my chair I peer around the tart tower and watch Meg. She has plenty of food on her plate, but she's not eating. I'm starting to wonder if she's ill when she sets down her tea and asks in a quavering voice if we would please excuse her. Then she abruptly leaves the table and rushes off in the direction of the garden. Antoinette's so startled, her teacup stops halfway to her lips. Once Meg is out of earshot, I turn to Antoinette, "Isn't she feeling well? Should I have a look at her?"

Antoinette sighs and sets her cup down. "Thank you, Matt. But there is nothing wrong with Marguerite other than sleep loss and a little too much excitement for one night."

Blakeney's keen gaze shifts from where Meg disappeared into the garden to looking straight at Antoinette. "Perhaps the swordfight was a bit too much for her," he suggests with concern.

"Perhaps." Antoinette hesitates, as if she knows what's bothering Meg, but doesn't want to say. She looks at Blakeney apologetically. "I'm afraid that…at this time…she is unable to show her deep gratitude for your assistance. I hope you will forgive her this once for such an ungracious display, and that it will not deter you from calling on us again."

"It certainly will not deter me, "Blakeney reassures her, tossing it off as nothing."But is there something I can do to help alleviate her distress in the meantime?"

Antoinette appears thoughtful. "Well perhaps your continued company would do her good. After the events of last night it might be good for her to… spend more time with…'

Blakeney glances up humorously, "…with my more civilized persona?"

She smiles. "Yes. So I hope you still plan to stay for dinner?" Nodding, Blakeney sets his knife down on the rim of his plate without so much as a clink. _How does he do that?_ Antoinette turns to me. "Well Matt, are you ready for my help with your lovely patient?"

_My lovely patient._ I sense this is my cue. "Yes, we need to get her ready to visit with Blakeney." I lower my fork onto the plate, very carefully. _Damn, it clinked._

"How long do you suppose it will take?" Antoinette asks subtly.

"Probably about an hour. Unless she's still asleep. I'm not going to wake her up."

When Antoinette rises from her seat, Blakeney and I follow suit. "Thank you so much, was absolutely _delightful_," Percy praises.

"Delicious," I add, flashing Antoinette a smile and swiping another cherry tart. _Now let's go see if De-lovely is awake. _

_Meg's POV:_

"Percy!" I gasp as he appears suddenly around a lilac bush. Quickly I lower my voice. "What are you doing here? You know my mother wouldn't want us to be alone."

He tips his head, amused. "_Your mother_ took pains to let me know she'll be busy helping in the infirmary until it's time for me to meet the doctor's patient." Then his self-assured expression dissolves into curiosity and concern. "You were distressed at breakfast. What's bothering you?"

I turn away, embarrassed that he noticed. "It's nothing. I just have a headache." That sounds lame even to my ears.

His eyebrow rises doubtfully. "I am sorry you have a headache. But there seems to be more to it than that."

"It's that bird!" I complain, scowling at the lilac bush. "It's _incessant chirping_!"

Percy whisks off one of his gloves and bats it around in the bush until the bird decides to leave. "Marguerite, You're not annoyed with this bird…you're annoyed with me. Now please tell me why."

_Alright. I may as well. _I glare at him sullenly over my shoulder. "I suppose you think you deserve my adulation, too, now that you've won my mother over."

His brow furrows. "No, Marguerite. I did what _any_ honorable man would do for women in danger." I give him an unimpressed look, so he goes on. "Those scoundrels could not be taken lightly. A duel was in order. I am just sorry you had to witness the bloodshed. That you saw me kill."

I put my hands on my hips and turn around. "I'm no stranger to duels and bloodshed, Percy. I've been reading books full of that sort of thing since I was a little girl. It's not _that _you killed…it's _who_ you killed! All my life I have been reading adventures and mysteries, and when I finally meet a real live, honest-to-goodness adventurer, you go and do him in."

Percy's expression is stunned. "Which one of those slime bags are you referring to?"

"The one with the plait in his hair. 'Monsieur Queue'."

A strange look comes over Percy's face. _"Queue?_ The leader of the pack? Marguerite, he orchestrated your abduction. He held you hostage. How could you possibly…"

"I don't believe he would have harmed us! All he wanted was information! He was just adventuring. _That's what adventurers do! _Why did you have to kill him?!" I cross my arms and stamp my foot defiantly on the ground.

Blakeney continues to give me a most peculiar stare. Finally his expression takes on a hint of irony and amusement. "Would I be misjudging to say you were taken with this man? That you found the rogue charming?"

I feel my cheeks flush. My voice is almost pleading. "Percy, tell me you didn't really kill him after we left. That you thought better of it and let him go?"

Percy crosses his arm and his forehead furrows. "No, I'm afraid he is…thoroughly dispatched. But you ought to be glad I dealt him a swift and painless end. If your friends here at the chateau had found him they would have turned him over to the authorities and he would have either been beheaded before your eyes, or wasting away in a rat-infested dungeon. And wouldn't that be the very worst sort of end for an adventurer?"

"I have no doubt he would have escaped!" I say angrily.

Percy sighs. "I am sorry that in my _zeal _to preserve your honor, I failed to consider your wishes on the matter, Marguerite." There's a long pause, then a curious spark comes back into his eye. "So tell me, what was it about him that intrigued you?"

His apology redeems him slightly. "I'm not sure," I sigh. "It just seemed like he'd been everywhere, seen and done almost everything. That his life was just one adventure after the next. He was the kind they write about in books. He made everyone I've ever met in real life seem dull and uninteresting."

Percy eyes me keenly but makes no comment.

"Maman will not even let me travel now," I complain. "All my adventuring will have to be done in books or on the Paris stage. You should have heard the lecture I received this morning on the debaucherous whims of the male species. I may as well be a nun with the tight reins Maman has placed on me!"

Percy clears his throat. "Well if you are certain all that is left to you is this…cloistered nun-like existence, and all your adventures must be confined to books….why don't you write your own stories then? Write about an adventurer, and make yourself his accomplice."

"I doubt my mother would approve."

"Well she need not read them," he says flatly. "I'll read them for you, and give you my honest opinion. Perhaps I could lend some insight."

"Percy, how could you do that? You don't have an adventurous bone in your body!"

He blinks in disbelief. "Marguerite! How can you say that? Especially after last night?"

My mouth drops. "Percy! _All_ men love to rescue the damsel in distress! To come riding in like a knight on a white horse, win duels, and ride off with the fair maiden in tow! But how many are actually out living a life of adventure, for sheer adventure's sake? Risking their lives for something greater than the maidens and the glory!"

Percy seems to go into shock. After recovering, he says through grit teeth. "Contrary to your assessment of me, I do have an adventurous _heart_, at least. And since my life is so very dull, I need exciting things to read. Besides, no one has yet put the legends of the Scarlet Pimpernel in written form. Why don't you write about him? As I recall, you and I share a common fascination with that brilliant rogue."

"The Scarlet Pimpernel? Percy, if I write about anyone, I'll write about the adventures the man you killed last night would've had, _if you_ hadn't ended his story on such a whim!"

"Ah! So now he has even trumped your beloved Scarlet Pimpernel!" A silence falls between us as Percy considers this. His expression seems to shift between frustrated and amused. Finally he turns to me. "Marguerite,I may be a dull, ordinary mortal, compared to the Pimpernel…or this _adventurer_ of yours. But there is an adventure or two I could take you on, that you'll not get by writing out your fantasies in books."

"And what would that be?"

"Kiss me, Marguerite. And that will begin it!"

"Kiss you?" I gasp.

"I dare you," he says with a keen, unflinching stare. "Or aren't you that daring?"

"My mother would not approve."

He waves his hand dismissively, tossing my answer aside with annoyance. "Marguerite, if you cannot take a simple dare, you have absolutely no potential as an adventuress, even on paper."

I stare into his eyes. _So this will be my very first kiss. A dare. _I swallow hard and lean toward him slowly, focusing my eyes on his mouth. I had forgotten how attractive his lips are, the way they pull subtly into a smirk. A lock of his hair falls daringly at the side of his face, reminding me how he looked when he climbed through the tower window last night, all windblown and knightly. As my face nears his, I catch my breath. I've never been this close to a man before. I feel the deep brown of his eyes on me and the sparks in the air between our lips. My heart begins to pound. His eyes continue to dare me as he waits for me to kiss him. Suddenly my heart seizes, and I gasp, "Percy…I can't! You kiss me. I can't do it!"

His lips twist into a full smirk. Tenderly he touches my face. "As you wish, Mademoiselle." Gently pulling me toward him he lowers his mouth until I can taste his breath. Intoxication floods me. My heart races as I wait for our lips to touch, and when they do, I go weak with sensation. Heat rushes through me like wind, and stars seem to fall from the sky. When he finally pulls away, it is difficult to breathe. I feel like I'm floating. Looking up to meet his eyes, my breath stops completely. Feeling lightheaded, I reach for his arm. He steadies me with his hand. "It's all right. I'll catch you if you faint," he whispers teasingly.

When I can manage to put words together, I ask, "Percy…you said this was just the beginning of an adventure...what did you mean?" I lay my hand on his chest, still sweetly intoxicated.

He lifts my hand off his chest and wraps it firmly in his own. His keen eyes spark mysteriously over an enigmatic smile. "I_ meant_, Marguerite, that if you'd lower yourself out of the clouds and content yourself with the real world, you might find yourself in the middle of an adventure greater than you could have imagined."

_Antoinette's POV:_

"Oh, Matt, I am sorry! Because of what happened last night I wasn't able to get the flowers you wanted from Paris!"

"It's all right." He flashes a forgiving smile and opens the door to his patient's room. A heavenly scent hangs in the air. He must have robbed the very first blooms from a lilac tree. A vase of them stands on the table beside her bed. I'm surprised to see several vases around the room, each filled with blooming branches of trees and shrubbery from outside the chateau. Lightheartedly, Matt returns my admiring look. He actually seems happy. I wonder if he knows what purple lilacs symbolize.

The woman's face is turned away from us. I can't tell if she is staring at the lilacs or out the window. Matt has the window open enough to let in fresh air, and the singing of the birds wafts through pleasantly. He walks around the bed and sits down next to her. "This is Antoinette," he smiles, speaking in French, motioning for me to join them. "She's going to help you bathe. Then you can try to eat something if you want. After that there's someone else I'd like you to meet. Someone who can help us find your family."

She turns her head as I approach and for the first time I see her stunning blue-green eyes. They are not what I expected in someone with her darker complexion. Her eyes are not fearful, but cautious. Keen and daring, but untrusting. When I smile at her, she glances back at Matt who gives her a reassuring look. He says something to her in tones so low I can't quite make it out. Then he walks into the next room with me and takes a kettle of water from the top of the stove.

"Does she understand what you're saying?" I whisper, closing the door behind me.

He shrugs. "I don't think so, but I tell her everything anyway. It's the doctor in me." As he pours the water into a basin, my eyes fall on a piece of paper lying near his notes, covered with curious little drawings. There are stick people and stick families. Little houses are placed in different landscapes—beaches, desert, rolling hills, and mountains. I blink in amazement that he has devised a way to communicate with her despite the language barrier. He lowers his voice to just above a whisper. "So far I've been able to determine she's not married, and she has no children. But she won't reveal whether her parents or siblings are alive. Whenever it comes to that question, she gets tears in her eyes and looks away."

"Do you think her family is dead?"

"Not necessarily. She might be trying to protect them. I tried to communicate that I knew someone who could help her find them, and that I would personally take her home. But she wouldn't respond. She's also refused to give me her name even though I've given her mine. I still don't have a clue who she is." He sets the kettle back on the stove. "Let me know if you need me, Antoinette. I'm going to go see what I can find for her to eat." I pick up the basin. Noticing my apprehension, he reassures me. "Just speak gently to her. She seems to like French. And smile, but don't expect anything back. I think her smile's broken."

"Is that something you think you can fix?" The words slip out before I realize it.

He shrugs charmingly and dazzles me with the blue of his eyes as he leaves the room.

_Matt's POV:_

When I return to the infirmary with food, Antoinette is still with my patient. While waiting in the next room for Blakeney to arrive, I ponder his coming visit with her. Will he be able to deduce any more than I have? Maybe he will know the elusive language she understands and speaks. Maybe I'll finally get to hear her voice.

Just as Antoinette comes out of the room and says she's finished, Blakeney enters the infirmary. Antoinette gives him a pleased smile before disappearing down the hallway.

"So...did you manage to revive Mademoiselle Giry?" I ask casually.

A satisfied smirk plays at his mouth. "I'm not certain 'revived' describes the state I left her in."

_Ah, so he's triumphed once again, against the odds. _I give him a congratulatory nod, then get down to the business at hand. I show him the papers covered with stick figures and fill him in on everything I've been able to deduce so far about my patient. He looks over the many drawings with interest, while I explain that since she's not forthcoming about herself or her family, the only way to find out who she is might be to find the man who assaulted her. Personally, I want him found and locked up anyway. Or better yet, strung up by his wrists for a month, and then hung. In light of what I still have to tell this woman about the permanent damage to her body, even that doesn't seem cruel enough punishment. I feel my anger rising again. Blakeney keenly notices. I take a long breath and knock on her door, then quietly enter alone. I feel myself soften inside when she looks up at me. She looks so fresh and lovely after bathing. I sit down beside her and smile, but not even the edges of her lips turn up. _Come on, beautiful. Why won't you smile at me? _

With the help of my drawing papers, I explain again, Pictionary style, that I want her to meet someone who can possibly help to find her family. Still, she refuses the idea, turning away with a distressed frown. When I indicate through the drawings we will try to capture of the man who assaulted her, she seems more willing, but fearful. After calling Blakeney into the room and easing them through introductions, I watch her face as he attempts to communicate with her in Arabic and several other languages. There's not a hint that she comprehends any of them. Damn it.

Then Blakeney does something amazing. I can only liken it to something I've heard about where a uniquely gifted artist will sketch an image of a criminal suspect based on nothing more than the victim's emotional response to certain words and descriptions of facial features. Except Blakeney draws no picture of this woman's assailant. He seems to be forming one inside his mind based on her reactions to the variety of physical characteristics and psychological qualities he is presenting. I watch, amazed, as he morphs from one persona to another, varying postures and facial expressions and body language, and simultaneously reading her reactions. I study her face. Sometimes he draws flashes of fear from her eyes, glints of anger, or waves of sorrow. There are glimpses of distress and helplessness that make me clench my teeth. But beneath it she exhibits strength and mounting determination. Finally Blakeney turns to me. "Very good. That gives me something to work with."

Duly impressed, I walk with him out of the infirmary, then come back to sit beside her. We watch each other quietly, comfortable with the silence. I sit, just wondering what her name is. I'm going to have to give her one soon, since she won't divulge it. I think of getting out the drawing paper again, but decide she's had enough prying for one day. Instead, I take a lilac out of the vase and turn it in my fingers, wondering what Antoinette would say it means. When I hold the flower out to her, her face goes through the gentle softening I remember from before. Her fingers touch mine as she takes the flower and stares at its beauty. I could watch her all day long, but finally decide it's time to go take care of some things I've been putting off. Reluctantly I get up and close the window and adjust the drapes. Then as I'm leaving, I hear a beautiful sound behind me. Stunned, I turn and look questioningly into her eyes, suddenly realizing she said my name.

She looks down at the flower, then back up at me. "_Merci_," she says in a voice like music…like a bird song floating on wind.

I'm in a trance. I try not to let it show, that time has just stopped. But I can't tear my eyes away from her. I can't move. I can't breathe…or hear anything except the way she said my name. Finally breaking my stare, I touch her hand to say goodbye. Then I leave the room, afraid my heart has just had more than it can handle. That I'm under a spell that cannot be broken.


	106. Chapter 106

**A/N: Well, here it is! This chapter is being posted on Monday, August 17th, to celebrate The Epic Case's third anniversary on this website! We thank everyone who has ever posted a review comment and raise a glass of cognac to you in appreciation! And, for ALL of our readers, a pink cupcake from Erik! I have to confess when I named this the "Epic" Case, I really had NO idea how true that would become. In fact, it was the encouragement to me from so many readers that I write a novel, that I also took on that commitment and project! I am now in the final chapters and my reader comments on the novel are very exciting. By the way, a week ago I posted responses in the review section to everyone who reviewed the last three chapters of the Epic Case! **

A stranger arrives at the Contessa's estate, bringing unsettling news. This forces the Contessa to put her plans in motion right away…

* * *

**Chapter 106 Homeward Bound by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Saturday, April 6, 1872_

_Spain_

_The Contessa's POV:_

The sunset is glorious this evening. Wisps of deep orange, layered on saffron and a blush of pink resemble the strokes of a paintbrush on a canvas. All the doors have been thrown wide to the courtyard beyond, so a cool evening breeze sweeps through, gently billowing the gauze curtains. My contentment is complete with my family surrounding me.

Erik's friends have also been invited to join us this evening. They sit at tables outside in the courtyard, their conversation laced with bursts of laughter and gaiety. It is good to see everyone so relaxed and at ease.

I continue to watch the horizon until the sky turns to shades of deep purple and shadows of black. "Mother, would you like more wine?" I nod, and Erik takes my glass, pouring more. Laura and I sit across from each other on my favorite, deeply-cushioned chairs. We've been discussing the Andalusian horses that will accompany them back to France.

"Contessa, the three mares you're sending will greatly improve the quality of our stable," Jeremy says.

Erik grins at the remark, lightly touching Laura's shoulder. She smiles up at him. Erik makes a witty retort aimed at Jeremy, and we break into laughter. It warms my heart to see the easy friendship between the two men. Now, if only Erik and Raoul could do the same.

My gaze drifts over to Raoul and Christine who are sitting on a settee in front of one of the open doors. Christine is talking to Sue. I'm still laughing at Erik's remark when my eyes catch Raoul's. He frowns with disapproval at my comfortable relationship with Erik. He hasn't yet accepted the fact that Erik is his brother. And part of our family. I'd hoped that being together these last two days would help. But even though they're civil to each other, they have gone no further in acknowledging any sort of kinship. I sigh deeply.

Jeremy suddenly stops laughing and stands. He and Erik gaze toward the door. I glance behind me as my foreman crosses the room. "Yes, Roberto?" I ask, concerned by the expression on his face.

He stops and bows. "Contessa, please forgive the intrusion. But there is a dark, foreign-looking man at the door claiming to be acquainted with your son." He turns to Erik. "He says he must speak with you immediately."

Erik raises his eyebrow and questions Jeremy. "Rajan?"

"Must be." Erik and Jeremy excuse themselves and follow Roberto out of the room.

It isn't long before they return with the stranger, and Erik leads him directly to me. "Mother, this is Rajan. He accompanied us on this trip, but has been attending to other business."

A dark-skinned man, dressed most strangely, steps forward and bows graciously. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny."

His Spanish is very good, but I detect a hint of an accent. Perhaps Morrocan? I study him. His skin reflects Mediterranean ancestry. Obsidian eyes hold my gaze, respectful but defiant at the same time. My instinct tells me this man would be a formidable foe. I nod formally in reply.

"Rajan has brought news." Erik addresses the man, "Please tell them what you have just related to us."

"Civil war is about to break out in Spain."

A murmur stirs through the room. Christine makes a small 'oh' sound. Raoul stands and glares at Rajan. "It's very inconsiderate of you to deliver this news so bluntly and frighten the women."

Rajan stops him with a piercing stare. "It is partly for their safety that I have come here to warn you. You must consider returning to France immediately."

Christine's face drains of color, but she manages to speak up. "But we didn't plan to leave for another week."

"I am sorry, Madame, but I have just come from the north. I assure you that rebels are already gathering as we speak. The situation will soon escalate. My advice is to leave Spain before the civil war spreads to this area."

Jeremy looks at Erik. "I propose we make arrangements to leave early in the morning." Erik nods his agreement. Then Jeremy glances over at Raoul and says with authority, "And, in my opinion, we should travel together as one group for extra security."

I rise and walk over to Raoul, placing my hand on his forearm. "Jeremy speaks the truth. There will be safety in numbers. I have been receiving reports also of an impending civil war, but didn't think matters had progressed this far." I turn to Rajan. "You are quite certain that your information is correct?"

"Yes, Contessa. I was there and saw first hand."

"Then it is settled." I turn to Christine. "I will send the servants to help with your packing."

"You need to come with us, mother." Erik's eyes are full of concern. "You cannot stay here."

"I have lived through wars before, and I do not plan on letting this one force me from my home," I say with resolution.

Laura walks over and takes my hand. "Erik's right, Contessa. You need to come with us."

I pat her hand. "I am safe here, my dear, I assure you." I gaze around at my family, noting their concern for my safety. "Please do not worry. I am well protected."

Jeremy chuckles. "That's true, Erik! I've been watching the men here on the estate. By day, they work as ranchers, but I guarantee you, they're soldiers in disguise. I happen to come across them one day while they were training. The Contessa is right. She has a small army, a _trained_ army."

"Yes, each man is also very loyal to her," Raoul interjects. "She will be safe, or I would not leave her."

Jeremy nods, getting down to business. "We need to travel swiftly. I suggest we take the fastest coach and two wagons for the baggage to keep the loads as light as possible."

"I will send extra guards to accompany you to Burgos," I add.

Erik speaks up, "No mother. We cannot take your men away from you. The trip to Burgos is six hours. If they accompany us the entire distance, they will be gone for an entire day. That leaves you with less protection for too long."

"Do you insist, _mi hijo?"_

"Yes, we insist. That is, if Raoul agrees to join his men with ours and travel together, then that will be enough protection." Erik and Raoul exchange challenging glares, but Raoul nods his head in consent.

Gently squeezing my hand to give her support, Laura says, "Then I suggest we all get busy." Erik offers Laura his arm and everyone disperses, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Pushing the wine aside, I pour a glass of cognac and sadly survey the empty room. I cannot deny my feelings of disappointment that they must leave tomorrow. I had hoped we would have another week together before Raoul and Erik departed. I had hoped by then they could have worked out some of their antagonism. Nonetheless, there's an important matter I must take care of before they leave. I take a deep draught of cognac, bracing myself.

I go first to Raoul's suite. When I knock on the door, he answers and tries to hide his suspicion as he bids me enter their sitting room. Christine smiles as she serves me tea, but I see the worry in her eyes. I have always liked her. Who could not like a lovely, sweet child? But I have worried that she would never be able to handle a man like Raoul. I have no doubt he loves her, and I understand that she wants the security Raoul can give her. But Raoul's love might turn to resentment or bitter feelings in later years if she doesn't return his affection. When Laura allowed Christine to retain the title of Comtesse, I was more than a little apprehensive. After all, that title carries a certain responsibility. I hope her retaining it will help her mature. Indeed, there seems to be a change in her since then. I have observed a glimmer of the woman she may become in future years. It's as if Christine had an epiphany the night of our dinner confrontation. I can tell she sees Raoul with new eyes. Eyes that reflect the love he craves. That night changed more than the titles. It changed Raoul and Christine's love and respect for each other.

"I need to speak with you, Raoul."

Christine stands. "One of the maids is already packing the trunks. I will see if I can assist her."

Raoul follows her with his eyes until she closes the door behind her, then he turns to me. "What is it, mother?"

"Come and sit with me." I indicate the chair across from where I sit. "I know there's bad blood between Erik and you." Raoul's face goes grim, but he does as I ask. When he sits down, he leans back in the chair, warily. I soften my voice as I begin. "Even though you might feel fate has been unfair to you, the terms of the agreement offered you are more than fair and generous." I pause, assessing his reaction to my words. He clearly does not share my view, so I decide to clarify in no uncertain terms. _"Mi hijo, _do not fool yourself. I have come to know Laura well enough from the time we have spent together that if you were to have any part—even be suspected—in Erik's being arrested or injured, she would carry out her threat."

Raoul doesn't comment, just glares at me with controlled anger.

I continue, trying to get him to understand. "I really think you are too wise to risk that. Listen closely to what I'm going to say, Raoul. I care for _all _of my family. One of my greatest concerns right now is for my grandchildren and the _mothers_ of my grandchildren."

He gets up and strides over to the table, pouring himself a glass of cognac. I can tell he knows what I mean, but he is trying to avoid this issue. But I know I must take this to the fullest degree. "Out of my great concern for my family, I want you to take an oath, Raoul."

He turns on his heel and challenges me. "What do you mean, mother. What oath?"

With firmness in my voice, I reply, "I want you to take an oath, right here, to me, that you will do everything in your power to protect _all of my grandchildren and their mothers_."

Raoul gulps down the rest of the cognac and stands with his back to me for many long, silent moments. I pray he will do this for me. I know for certain that if he takes the oath, he will abide by it. That is Raoul's way. He will not go back on his sacred word.

Finally, he turns and stares at me for another long time, weighing what I have asked of him. I watch as he walks to the desk and picks up a Bible. He comes back and stops in front of me. Solemnly he gazes into my eyes and lays his hand on the Bible, swearing the oath that I asked. I stand up and hug him. "Thank you, _mi hijo."_ I sigh with relief and take his hand in mine. "Now, I want to know if I may visit Christine and you in France this summer. I was hoping to do so in June and July. I would love to spend more time with you and get to know Christine better."

He visibly relaxes. "You are always welcome, mother. We would be honored."

"I am pleased to hear that!" I smile and give him a kiss on his cheek. "One last thing, Raoul. This matter of titles. Does it bother you that Christine will be a Comtesse while you are a Vicomte?"

"No, mother," he says resolutely, "I was a Vicomte when I met her. And whatever her title, to me, she will always be _my_ Christine."

With my final words that I will see them off in the morning, I head for Erik and Laura's suite.

Erik is also surprised when he opens the door and discovers I have come to his rooms. "I need to talk with you, Erik." Erik ushers me in and as I am sitting down on a settee, Laura stands to leave, but I stop her. "Please stay with us. I would like to speak with you as well, _mi hija."_

I smile at them both and begin, "I want you to know that I feel you have been generous and fair in your offer to share the estate and title with Raoul and Christine. Despite that, I am sure you have noticed that this turn of events has been very difficult for Raoul to swallow."

Laura nods in acknowledgement of my expressed concern. Erik, however, does not hold back his feelings. "I agree with you, mother, that Laura's proposal was far more generous than is required or expected under the circumstances. I am glad she offered it in her wisdom, because I probably would not have been able to do so. But once I heard what her terms were, I felt that they were entirely acceptable. We will stand by our part of the agreement, and we expect that Raoul will do the same."

"Thank you for confirming that you will honor the commitment. I did not doubt you would." I reach out and take Erik's hand, "But there is another concern which I wish to address. One that is even closer to my heart. I am concerned for the wellbeing of my family. Especially my grandchildren and their mothers." I gaze with tender care at Laura. "I am so very happy that my first grandchild is about to enter the world." Erik and Laura exchange looks of endearment. Good, I think they will be very receptive to my proposal, so I continue, "I expect one day in the future Raoul and Christine will also tell me that a child is on the way." Looking up, into Erik's eyes, I say, "I want you to take an oath, Erik, before me that you promise to do everything you can to protect _all_ of my grandchildren. _And their mothers_."

Erik blinks in surprise. "Of course, mother. I will be more than willing to take that oath for you. Any children they have would be under my protection, as well as Christine."

"Will Raoul take the same oath?" Laura asks.

"As a matter of fact, I have just come from his suite. He swore his oath on a Bible. And I want you both to know, that he is an honorable man. His oath will bind him until his death."

Laura exchanges a glance with Erik, then goes into the bedroom, returning with a Bible. She holds it up for Erik. He places his hand on it and swears his oath. My heart bursts with pride in my sons. They have each made a sacred commitment that will ensure the safety of my grandchildren and their mothers. And some day I hope that will bind them together as well.

We talk of their journey tomorrow. Erik is worried for the Andalusian horses, wondering if it is too risky to take them on this trip. I tell him that I will send two of my handlers to accompany the horses. He thanks me once again for the gift.

As I rise to go, I add my last request. "I would love to be present for the birth of my grandchild. May I come to visit you in August and September?" I smile at them.

"Oh, Contessa, we would love to have you with us." Laura gives me a warm hug.

Erik's eyes twinkle. "Mother, you will always be welcome in our home."

I would like to visit longer, but Laura is clearly tired, and they will have a long journey home. Reluctantly, I bid them goodnight and leave. I am pleased that both of my sons have sworn the oath. It gives me some peace of mind. Now if I could figure out a way to bring them closer to each other, somehow.

Just outside my suite, I find Julia waiting for me. Surprisingly she says, "I have a problem. I hope you can help me."

_Sunday, April 7, 1872_

_Jeremy's POV:_

The pre-dawn fog lends a gloom to everything, even dampening the sound of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones. It rained during the night and still threatens to let loose again any minute. The Contessa's men were good enough to provide us with raingear.

I assigned Danielle and Sue to ride in the coach with Erik, Laura, Raoul and Christine. The rest of our team will be on horseback along with Raoul's guards. The Contessa is sending two of her men to handle the Andalusians for the entire trip back to France. The three mares and stallion are restless, stomping the wet ground. Their handlers shoot questioning glances at me, wondering when we'll be leaving. We've already been cooling our heels for fifteen minutes. They're anxious to be on the way, and so am I.

It's agreed that I'll be in charge on this trip. Last night I assembled all the men who'd be traveling with us, briefing them on how to proceed if we meet with any trouble. Rajan decided he would shadow us as usual.

I give the order to mount up. There wasn't enough room in the coach, so Julia's riding horseback with us. I glance around and don't spot her until I realize a small man who's already mounted _is_ Julia. I laugh. Somewhere she's gotten men's clothes. Her hair's tucked up underneath a hat that matches her outfit. She reminds me of the _vaqueros_ that Sue and she are always flirting with. I rein in next to her. "Nice duds, Julia. You could pass for a man in that getup."

She laughs. "Well, if I wear all those skirts and ride sidesaddle, I wouldn't be of much use if we run into trouble!"

The Contessa has already said her goodbyes to Erik and Laura and they're in the coach. So, we're ready to go. Just waiting for Raoul and Christine. I glance at my watch again. It's going on twenty minutes we've been waiting now. Just as I'm about ready to dismount and go in to get them forcibly, they step out the front door. The Contessa hugs and kisses them, then hurries them into the waiting coach.

I give the order to pull out. The forward guard starts down the driveway, followed by the coach. The handlers and the four Andalusian horses follow next with the two wagons of baggage coming up behind. There's a small rear guard, and I've concentrated our men around the coach.

As we pass through the countryside, we make good time. It's just after dawn and the farmers are out tending their livestock. When we reach the first town, people are going into the small chapel for mass. The roads are muddy, but passable, and we don't have any significant problems. My main worry today is that the downpour that's been threatening may let loose and make the roads impassable.

After three hours we stop at a small hotel in a village to water and rest the horses. Sue escorts the women into the restaurant so they can refresh themselves. Julia can't go with them because she's wearing men's clothes. I kid her about going with the men to the outhouse. She laughs and tells me she'll pass on that. Everyone knows we can't stay for a meal, so the women bring _postres_ and hand them out to the mounted riders. Danielle comes out with a satchel of pastries and fruit. I can tell they're going to have a bit of a picnic in the coach. I just hope we don't have to make a lot of stops for Laura being sick. We need to get to Burgos as quickly as possible.

We pass through another small village during the next hour, then come to a section of road that's forested on both sides. We're making good time, keeping a steady pace. The roads here are traveled frequently and in fair shape. Luckily, we still haven't seen any sign of the Spanish military or rebels. Which is fine by me. I'm riding near the coach, chatting with Julia when something changes. The forest has gone deadly quiet. The birds have stopped singing and a couple fly out of a treetop like they're startled. Prickles run up my spine.

Julia notices too. We spin into action. Julia heads for the rear guard to warn them. I gallop closer to the driver, ordering him to speed up. I use a prearranged sign for the guards to move closer to the coach and form a phalanx of sorts. Then I'm hell bent for Russ at the head of the forward guard, but he's already taken in the situation and orders the men to increase the pace.

Suddenly on both sides of the road, hoards of men reveal themselves. Some step from behind trees or drop from branches, some jump up from the underbrush. I survey the situation. This isn't a military group. These are rebels--common people. Some carry rifles and swords, but most of them clutch simple implements--clubs, scythes and pitchforks. All deadly enough. But we're outnumbered. And they're moving swiftly toward us.

From the left flank five men on horseback streak toward the coach. I race to block them, then see they're not going for the coach. They're going for the horses. Kicking the two handlers aside, they snatch the horses' bridles and escape back into the forest before anyone can stop them. I hate losing the horses, but I'm surrounded by men streaming onto the road.

Another group of mounted men gallop onto the road, charging toward the forward guard. The driver is forced to bring the coach to a halt. Our men are being attacked on all sides and can't hold the formation. Ty and Linc use their rifles to fire into the throng, but end up drawing their swords and slashing downwards from their position on horseback. The attackers surge forward. They're desperate men, fighting for a cause. A dangerous combination.

Off to my left, I see Julia race into the forest after the men who nabbed the horses. There are too many of them for her to handle alone. She doesn't stand a chance. My gut clenches. My last glimpse is of her hat flying off as she disappears into the shadows. _Damn! Damn! Damn! _Then unexpectedly, Rajan appears out of nowhere and follows her. A burning pain on the side of my leg warns me to pay more attention to what I'm doing. As a man yanks me out of my saddle, I pull my gun from my belt and shoot.

The coach door opens and Raoul and Erik jump out, swords ready. Sue reaches out for the handle of the door, a gun in her other hand. I get one glance at the terror on the women's faces before she slams the door shut.

I inch closer to Erik, trying to get near enough to cover his back. Raoul is fighting next to him. They're holding off a pack of men with their swords. Erik's swing is much broader, but Raoul has more skill. Ty joins us, and we fight with renewed effort. One advantage is that many of the attackers turn and flee when they're wounded. We succeed in driving a small group of the rebels back to the side of the road.

Raoul and Ty follow several of the retreating men to the edge of the forest, trying to dispatch them. While I stop a foul-smelling man from opening the coach door, Erik battles two men. One has a wooden club and the other a knife. When the knife arcs toward his belly, Erik's quick reflexes save him, and the man looses his balance. Erik steps forward and grabs him by his neck, dispatching him. Behind him, the man with the club raises it to strike, but I manage to hit his arm hard with the flat side of my blade. He drops the club, clutching his arm in agony and scurries off.

A man jumps off the top of the coach and lands next to Erik who's drawn into another sword fight. As he disappears into the fray, I spot one of Raoul's men in trouble. He's down on the ground at the side of the road, and a tall man stands over him, wielding a large scythe. I rush over and distract him from the fallen man.

The sound of a woman's scream draws my attention away from the tall man for a second. He nicks me on the arm. I jump back from the deadly scythe. Just then I catch sight of what's happening across the road. A scraggly-bearded man with a dagger in his hand throws open the coach door. Inside, Laura is bent over a pot, retching, and Danielle's tending to her. Sue jumps up and lunges toward the man. But, before she gets to him, he grabs Christine and drags her out of the coach.

I duck as the man with the scythe tries to slice off my head. Falling to the ground, I kick his feet out from under him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. He lands flat on his back, and finish him off. I glance up in time to see the bearded man holding Christine from behind and grabbing the swell of her breast with his grimy hand. Then he slides his hand up and yanks off her pearl necklace. Christine screams. Sue leaps out of the coach and aims her gun in the same instant. He brings the dagger up and presses it to Christine's throat. Sue stops. I'm too far away to help. The man begins to drag Christine backwards toward the forest, using her as cover. She tries to break free, but he snarls in her ear, and she freezes in terror.

Suddenly a Punjab lasso hisses through the air and wraps around the man's neck. He drops the dagger and clutches at his throat. But Erik is already there and gives a sharp tug. The man sinks to the ground, dead. Erik lunges forward and catches Christine as she faints. He picks her up and heads for the coach. As I race across the road and cover his back, Sue uses her gun to eliminate an oncoming mounted rider. At the coach Erik lifts Christine into Danielle's arms, then slams the door shut and jumps back into the fighting.

I quickly survey the battle. It's turned in our favor. The few rebels still fighting notice that their companions are either dead or fleeing. They begin to back off and retreat. Just then, Julia and Rajan lead the four stolen Andalusians out of the forest. I say a silent prayer in thanks, relieved Julia's okay. I smile and give her a thumb's up, then hurry back to the coach. Linc, Ty and Raoul's men who are still mounted chase off the remaining attackers.

When I get to the coach, Raoul's inside with a sobbing Christine in his arms, comforting her. His left sleeve has some blood, but the wound doesn't look serious. Laura's still pale, and Danielle's opening a small bottle, making her sip some of the contents. I find Sue leaning against the coach, her expression distinctly worried. "You okay, Sue?" I ask.

"I don't know." Her eyes bore into mine, disturbed. "I disobeyed orders. I shouldn't have left Laura, but Christine …."

"You did fine. It's okay, Sue."

She takes a deep breath. "Thanks, Jer." I squeeze her shoulder.

Erik pushes past us and climbs into the coach, lifting Laura into his lap and cradling her. I mount and ride to the front, assessing the damage. A number of our men have wounds, but none that are life-threatening. I tell the men to make room in one of the baggage wagons for those who are too injured to ride. Danielle gets out of the carriage and climbs into the wagon with her satchel of medical supplies and herbs. With urgency, I announce, "Okay every one. We need to leave. _Now. _Let's get out of here before they decide to come back."

The remaining two hours of the trip to Burgos are nerve-wracking, but we aren't attacked again. The skies open up and start pouring rain just as we arrive at the outskirts of the city. Erik gives orders to go to the hotel rather than the train station. I agree with him. We need to tend to the wounded and let the women rest.

At the hotel, a doctor is sent for. Exhausted from the trip and battle, everyone goes straight to their rooms to rest before dinner. When the doctor arrives, I go with him from room to room, checking on all the men and making sure they're being taken care of. Several need stitches to their wounds, and one has a bullet dug out. The cut on my leg just requires bandaging. When the doctor is done, I pay him and head off to Erik's room to give my report.

I'm about to knock on his door when it opens, and Erik steps out. "I just finished making the rounds with the doctor."

"Good," Erik replies, "Come with me and tell me how everyone is doing."

"Where're we going?"

"To the kitchen. Laura is craving some apricots and honey. With warm bread."

I break out into a laugh and slap Erik on the back, "You're a good husband." Erik lowers his eyebrow in warning. I'm still chuckling when we start down the stairs and nearly run into Raoul. He's coming up the stairs with a tray in his hand. It has dates, cheese, wine and _warm bread._

Erik looks down at the tray. Raoul shrugs and says, "Christine was hungry and needed something for her nerves."

Erik nods but doesn't say anything, so I volunteer, "Erik's going to the kitchen to get something for Laura. She's hungry, too." Erik glares daggers at me. Glad he doesn't have one in his hand right now. But, it's been occurring to me for some time these two brothers have a lot more in common than they realize.

Raoul nods and clears his throat. "Speaking of Christine, I have something to say." He pauses, and I wonder what's coming next. War or peace? Erik's back stiffens, so I guess he's wondering the same. "Today…at the battle…what you did for Christine…well, uh, I wanted to say that I am indebted to you for saving her life."

Erik's eyebrow shoots up. I bet he didn't expect that. It takes a few seconds before Erik gathers his wits to respond. "I am glad I was in the position to stop the man from harming her." His tone stays neutral when he adds, "I took an oath before our mother to protect your wife and children as I would my own. I will always honor that oath."

Raoul's lip slowly curls up. Just like Erik's at times. "_Our_ mother had me take the same oath, to protect your wife and children, and I will keep my word."

I glance from one brother to the other. Yep, the Contessa is one sly fox. Like someone else I know.

"Christine means everything to me. If anything happened to her…." Raoul's voice trails off, and he looks away.

"Yes, I understand." Erik clears his throat. "I feel the same about Laura."

Raoul turns back, almost startled. It's like he's realizing for the first time that Erik doesn't love Christine anymore. Raoul hesitates, then seems to make a decision and extends his hand. When Erik takes it, Raoul says, "Thank you," then after a slight pause, "brother."

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We hope you enjoyed this anniversary chapter! _Please review and let us know! We'd love to hear on this special occasion what your favorite part of the entire story has been!_

_Next chapter will post on September 6th…_


	107. Chapter 107

**A/N: Well, in keeping with our tradition of posting on holidays, for all of our readers in the US here is a chapter to enjoy over the Labor Day weekend. We hope you are having a special, fun weekend with your family and friends. And, thanks to each of you who posted a review! We especially appreciate the thoughtful reviews posted by two new readers! Welcome and thank you! **

**By the way, one of our readers asked for us to post a LIST OF CHARACTERS! We thought that was a very good idea, so that is posted at the end of this chapter! We hope that is helpful! Phanfan **

Matt is learning more about his silent patient. And when Erik returns to a welcoming home, he fully assumes the mantle of Comte and does a little lording around the manor!

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**Chapter 107 Masks by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Monday, April 8, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Matt's POV:_

"_Bon jour." _I smile down at my patient. Even though I've tried repeatedly to get her to talk to me, I haven't had any luck. I figure when she wants to, it'll happen. Until then, I continue speaking to her in French since the one word she has spoken was _'merci.'_

I offer her a flower. "I brought you a rose this morning. The garden is full of them. Soon you'll be able to go outside and see them for yourself." She takes the rose from my hand and holds it under her nose, smiling back. Her hair is wet and neatly combed, so I know Antoinette has already been here to bathe her. Good. We can get to work right away.

"Are you ready to get out of bed?" I ask her. She gives me a blank expression, so I repeat my question. Again her expression does not change. I don't think she understands what I'm saying. Maybe she really doesn't understand French. Let me try something different. "Have you noticed I have three heads?" I say offhandedly. Her expression still doesn't change. So she _doesn't_ speak French.

I switch back to English. "Would you like to get up and walk today?" I detect a glimmer in her eyes, but she shrugs as if she doesn't understand. Aha, so she understands English, but pretends not to. I'll play along with her game and not let her know I finally figured her out. I point at the slippers and motion as if she's getting out of bed, putting them on and walking. This time she nods 'yes.' I help her sit up and put her feet over the edge of the bed. Antoinette was able to find a robe for her to wear, and I help her into it.

She feels wobbly, so I help her stand. Her arm rests on my shoulder, and I make sure to keep my hand around her waist, supporting her. She takes a few small steps, mostly shuffling her feet along the floor. But it's a start. Surprisingly, she only comes to the top of my shoulders. Looking down on her, I notice her hair is beginning to curl as it dries. I'm close enough to smell wildflowers. I chuckle. Antoinette scolded me the other day, saying that the soap I use in the infirmary isn't fit for a woman's skin. I'll bet she's brought some of her own perfumed soap to bathe the woman.

My patient makes it to the other side of the room and carefully turns to retrace her steps. "Looks like you're regaining your strength." I give her my most encouraging grin. "I'll have you dancing in no time." Another glimmer comes to her eyes, but she pretends not to understand. Ah, my little beauty, I've found you out.

After a long, exhausting day I step outside to take a walk before going to bed. The night sky is clear, the air cool. A wet nose touches my hand. "Hi, Jenna. Want to go for a walk with me?" She bounds ahead and searches for a stick under the bushes. She's trained me well. By the time I pass the stable, she's found one, and we're playing our game of toss and fetch.

Eventually I head back inside and turn toward the infirmary. I want to check on my patient before I go to bed. When I open the door to ger room, I hear her mumbling in her sleep. I'm next to her bed when she cries out, _"Don't do it! Don't! No, Charmant!"_ I freeze. That name sends chills down my back. And, she spoke in English. I was right! I keep listening to see if she says anything else.

She continues mumbling incoherently. Then I catch the word 'prisoner.' She's tossing and turning so wildly, I become concerned that she may injure herself. I gently nudge her shoulder. She startles awake and sits up, covering her face with her arms. "You were having a nightmare," I say softly. She looks terrified until she recognizes me. Then she falls back onto the pillow, shaking.

"I'm going to give you something to help you sleep." She takes the sedative, and I wait until she's back into a deep sleep. With her safely out, I leave to hunt for Ace.

I find him alone in the library, searching for a book. "We've got a problem," I begin.

He reads my expression. "What's up?"

"My patient just had a nightmare. I overheard her call out Charmant's name."

"_Charmant?_ You mean _Rick_ Charmant? The PTB guy that masqueraded as Herr Günter and attacked all of you after the masked ball?"

"Yes, I'm thinking that very one."

"Damn!" Ace spits out.

"And, when she spoke in her sleep, it was in English, with an American accent."

"Well, we've been trying to figure out who the last PTB person was who came through, piggybacking on our time travel signal." He frowns. "You think it was her?"

"It's beginning to look like it. STARLab forwarded pictures of the people they believed the PTB sent here. Jeremy showed them to Percy and his group. We definitely recognized five as being killed in the battle, but the remaining one could not be identified. Not even by Rajan. STARLab thought it was a man, a doctor, who was sent through, but they might've got it wrong. Maybe it's this woman."

Ace whistles under his breath. "So you think she's a PTB spy?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. Especially since she's been really coy about not letting us know who she is or what language she speaks."

Ace's eyes narrow, as he thinks this through. "Maybe she's been doing the work of the PTB these last several months and finally crossed someone. Maybe that's why they beat her up."

"I think they intended to kill her. She was barely alive." I pause, remembering something. "I caught one word that she mumbled in her nightmare. 'Prisoner.'"

Ace shakes his head, "So you think there's a possibility the gang of outlaws the PTB men were working with might have been holding her captive these last months?"

"Yeah, they may have been waiting for more of the PTB men to show up. Maybe the outlaws intended to ransom her. When no came looking for her, they probably decided to get rid of her. Whatever the case, we need to find out for sure. I gave her a sedative. I propose we get her fingerprints and send them to STARLab."

"You're right. I'll grab one of the digital cameras, and we'll also get a picture of her." Ace goes over to the wall and opens the safe, pulling out a small camera. Returning to the infirmary, I get the fingerprints, and he takes a few photos.

After he leaves and goes down to the secured room to contact STARLab, I stand at the foot of her bed. Studying her. A beam of moonlight comes through the window turning her beautiful features radiant. So lovely. And possibly so deadly.

_Tuesday, April 9, 1872_

_Matt's POV (continued):_

Loud knocking on my door wakes me up. I look out the window. Faint light of sunrise reflects off the tree tops, and the clock says it's not yet six. I groan and roll out of bed. Throwing the door open, I grumble, "Good grief, Ace, we've only had four hours sleep."

He walks into the room and shuts the door. "Well, that's the turnaround time for our information from STARLab. I asked that they send it back ASAP. I really want to know what they found out."

I pull on my clothes, and we head out. Ace goes straight down to the communications room, and I detour through the kitchen. Jeanette is already busy with breakfast. I grab some hot croissants she's just taken out of the oven and a couple mugs of coffee, straight. When I get to the communications room, information is just coming in from STARLab. I lean over Ace's shoulder, trying to read the monitor, but he turns around in the chair, shaking his head. He reaches up and takes his mug of coffee and one of the croissants. "Well, the answer from STARLab raises more questions then it answers."

"So what's it say?" I sit on the edge of the table and take a gulp of coffee. It burns all the way down, shocking me fully awake. I'm going to need all of my wits about me.

"From the fingerprints and photos we sent, STARLab confirms her identity. She's Dr. Dara Sidney." Ace takes a sip, then continues, "Apparently she's a microbiologist, specializing in infectious disease and viruses. They suspect she may have connections with the PTB."

"Damn!"

"Oh, there's another problem." He tips his chair back on two legs. "Dr. Sidney's dead."

"Dead?" I blink in surprise. "But she's here and kicking. So how did she die?"

"Well, STARLab says she died under mysterious circumstances. It happened last October, their time. A car accident. There's a pending investigation. Apparently another car was involved, and it might have been deliberate. But no one has been charged yet."

"But the fact remains, she's here! How the hell did that happen?"

"Well, we know that the PTB has to piggyback on our time travel signals. Didn't Laura also die in October, future time?"

"Yes!" Then it dawns on me that could be the answer. "Do you think they piggybacked on the signals that were used to go back and get Laura? That's how they got this Dr. Sidney here? And brought her back from the dead?"

"I'm thinking that's the only way."

He brings his chair down on all four legs. "At this point, we have to assume she's working for the PTB."

"She said the word 'prisoner.' Isn't it possible she was brought here against her will?"

"Yes, that's possible. But it's also possible she was working with the PTB men, and the outlaws kept her hostage after the attack failed." Ace finishes off his coffee. "But until we're certain, we need to make sure she doesn't decide to take off. Keep her door locked, and I'll arrange to have a guard outside her infirmary window around the clock."

"Okay." I stand to leave. "Don't you think it would be helpful if Percy could have some of his men sniff around that group of highwaymen that the PTB hired to help with the attack? Maybe he could find out more about this woman. Whether she was the prisoner of the PTB men or working with them."

"The cable we got from Erik yesterday says they're leaving Burgos and will be arriving back here tomorrow. Let's send a message to Percy to stop by. We'll invite him to Erik's welcome home dinner."

I laugh. "He'll be here. He takes any opportunity to be around Meg."

_Wednesday, April 10, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Erik's POV: _

When Château Mercier comes into sight, I breathe a sigh of relief. It has been a long and arduous journey home. And the attack left Laura quite shaken. I am glad we stayed in Burgos to give everyone time to recover, but I have been longing to get home. How strange. I have lived here less than a year, but I feel it is my home.

As soon as we stop in front of the château, Jean-Luc and Ethan rush to open the carriage door for us, Jenna on their heels. It is heartwarming to be welcomed with such enthusiasm. More people pour from the château, showering us with greetings and questions, anxious to hear about our journey. But Laura is exhausted. I announce that we will answer all their questions at dinner.

After a rest of several hours, Laura and I are the last to arrive in the dining room. Our two seats at the head of the table await us. Even though it is customary for the lord and lady to be seated at opposite ends of the table, we have decided to sit together except at formal functions. I chuckle, remembering our wedding feast when I insisted on sitting next to her to the surprise of all of our guests. Everyone will simply have to accept our departure from conventionality. No doubt there will be more, knowing Laura.

I sit at the head of the table with Laura to my right and Percy, the guest of honor, next to her. At my request, tonight Antoinette is seated on my other side with Ace next to her. I want to speak with them and learn what has transpired on the estate in our absence.

The chef's meal is extraordinary, and the conversation turns lively as Jeremy, Linc and Ty spin tales about the battle. As the meal is brought out, one of the young serving ladies stops next to my chair. When I turn and look at her, she blushes. "It's a pleasure to have you home again, my lord." She dips into a small curtsy then rushes out of the room, apparently embarrassed at her forthright comment. I exchange glances with Laura and shake my head. It will take a long time to become accustomed to being called "my lord."

Percy and Antoinette ask endless questions about our trip to Spain and the Contessa. When desert is served, Jeremy stands and offers a toast. "To Erik, the Comte de Chagny!" Cheers and congratulations pour out from everyone. Laura leans over and kisses my cheek and smiles enticingly.

In good humor, some of the men start to taunt me. Joe is the first to make a comment. "Does this mean we have to bow every time we see you in the hall?"

I am quick to retort, "No, not at all! But, Joe, I do insist that _you_ must address me as 'Your Grace." Laughter ripples down the table. The mood is light and full of merriment. Everyone at the other end of the table continues to talk of Spain, mostly relating the details of the battle fought in the forest.

I hear Joe effusively praising the Andalusian horses that are now safely ensconced in our stables. Russ tells about his promise to Señor Guarna to make sure the horses are treated as family. Joe slaps his back and remarks, "Does that mean you'll be going out each night and tucking them in?" Even I laugh.

As the laughter continues at the other end of the table, I turn to Antoinette. "I expect everything went smoothly in my absence." Her expression turns troubled. "What is it, Antoinette. _Did_ something happen?"

She lets out a deep sigh. "_Oui,_ Erik. Something did."

"Please tell me."

She relates that Meg and she went into Paris to take care of some business with the dance company. They planned to shop in the city, then spend the night and return to the château the next evening. "Meg and I were walking back to our hotel after dinner." I listen intently, wondering where this story is going. It seems odd that she would be disturbed about a shopping trip to Paris. "We were returning to the hotel when two men accosted us and threw us in a carriage."

She stops, waiting for my reaction. Calmly, I set my fork on my plate. I glance at Laura and see the shock on her face. "Are you telling me that you and Meg were abducted off the streets of Paris?"

"_Oui. _But we are fine now," Antoinette hastens to reassure me, "Sir Blakeney…" Her voice fades as she swallows hard.

I look at Percy, but direct my question to Antoinette. "Sir Blakeney did what?"

Antoinette continues, "Sir Blakeney came to our rescue and brought us safely home."

Percy smiles at Antoinette and tips his head modestly, "It was my deepest honor to give assistance to you and your lovely daughter."

I study Percy. "You have my profuse gratitude for bringing Antoinette and Meg safely home," I say as I tip my goblet in toast to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement and lifts his goblet in response. For a split second I see his eyes narrow as he takes a sip of the wine.

Laura gives him a sincere smile. "I would also like to add my appreciation, Sir Blakeney." But _I_ wonder.

I turn to Antoinette. "Please continue with what happened. And leave out no detail."

"We were taken to an abandoned château somewhere in the countryside. Vicomtes St. Just and Blakeney took us back to Paris after our rescue. It was dark, and I couldn't see much along the road we traveled. But, because of where the road brought us into Paris, I was able to discern that the château must have been to the north of the city."

Antoinette glances nervously toward the other end of the table to see if anyone is listening. They aren't paying attention to our conversation, engrossed in their own. Nonetheless, her voice lowers when she continues, "Two odious men took us to a room high in the château and locked us there. Then…"

I interrupt her, demanding, "Did they harm you or Meg?"

A faint flush colors Antoinette's cheeks, but her answer contradicts it. "No, no harm came to us from their hands." I grit my teeth. Whenever Antoinette tries to tell a falsehood, her cheeks always flush in reaction. What is she not telling me? I glance over at Laura and see she also realizes Antoinette is hiding something. She gives me a hint of a nod. I will have her talk to Antoinette later to learn what she is hesitant to tell me.

Then I come to the point. "Why were you abducted?"

The flush deepens, and she remains quiet for a moment. Then she asks, "May I speak to you in private about this?"

"Of course."

When the dinner ends, everyone retires to the Great Hall. As Antoinette rises to leave, I stop her. "Will you stay and talk to me _now_?"

"_Oui."_

Laura and I wait until the dining room is empty, then I ask again why she was abducted. She folds her hands in front of her on the table. "Meg and I were taken downstairs to the parlor, where the leader of the thugs made demands. He claimed I had information that he wanted."

"What kind of information?"

Antoinette looks at Laura, then me. Her mouth is set in a firm line. It is obvious she finds the subject unpleasant. "Erik, he said he was looking for a treasure." I blink in amazement. _A treasure?_ Why in the world would she know about a treasure? With a sigh she continues, "He said it was rumored that when I worked at the Opera Populaire I helped the _Phantom of the Opera_. He did not say directly, but he insinuated he knew you were one and the same because of our relationship."

My heart pounds. How dare this man use Antoinette to get to me! Who would have this knowledge? My blood runs cold. Of course, Raoul does! Did he set this up before he found out that I was his brother? Before the vows to our mother? But that does not make sense. He did not know I was using the name Mercier. Nor did he know I was living in this château, or that Antoinette was living here as well. Or did he? Did Christine tell him?

Then another person comes to mind. Percy! Does he know somehow? Jeremy told me he was the descendant of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And I remember how adept he is at disguises. When we first met him he appeared to be a popinjay. This evening he dressed as a proper Vicomte. He is a man of many disguises and intrigues.

Painfully, Antoinette relates the rest of the story. She describes the ringleader as a man of daring. When I ask her to describe him, he looks nothing like Percy. I ask how tall the man was, what his build was like. She isn't certain, so I ask if he was similar in height to Percy, for example. After a moment of consideration, she nods her head and says, "Yes. He was."

I continue asking questions, trying to discern the truth. I note that Sir Percy killed this ringleader when Antoinette and Meg were not present. They had been taken out of the house already, so they never saw the body. Was the abduction really because of a non-existent treasure? Or if they had not been rescued, would they have been held for ransom? Or was there _something else_ to this? It is remarkable that Antoinette, who did not like Percy because of his interest in Meg, is now profusely admiring of him and his bravery. He certainly has won her high esteem. Antoinette would have made a formidable barrier to his courting Meg. And, his timely entrance to rescue them seems a bit too fortuitous. I begin to _seriously_ wonder…

Laura and I walk with Antoinette into the Great Hall. The other women have already settled on the ancient oak couch in front of the fireplace. The blazing fire there takes the chill out of this cool spring evening. Sue calls out for Laura and Antoinette to join them. The men have gathered around the liquor cabinet, passing out the whiskey and cognac. Percy is conversing with Jeremy as I approach. I pour myself a cognac and casually ask Percy, "Will you join me?" I indicate the window at the far end of the room where we can talk privately.

The sun has just gone down behind the trees, casting deep, dark shadows and leaving the forest in silhouette. We stop and look out for a minute before he begins. "I want to add my personal congratulations on your turn of fortune, Comte." He smiles graciously and lifts his glass.

I lift mine also, adding, "Thank you, Vicomte. But there is another matter I wish to discuss."

"Of course. I am at your service." He bows his head, but his guarded eyes watch me, suspicious.

"I want to express my appreciation again for your timely rescue of Antoinette and Meg."

Percy bows, "It was my honor to be of service."

I look straight into his eyes. "I also want you to know that Antoinette is like a sister, and Meg, my niece. They are family to me, and I have taken it upon myself to oversee their well-being and safety. This incident in Paris gravely concerns me."

"I understand. I would also be concerned for…my family."

"Indeed." I stare at him. "I find it most fortunate that you were able to locate them in an abandoned château so far from Paris."

He blinks. "It took many hours to track them to that location."

"I can appreciate that. But then, you are a man of resources and determination." I add with a concerned tone, "Antoinette says you dispatched three or four men in that abandoned château. I also understand that you immediately left to bring them to safety in Paris. Perhaps I should send my men back there to give the brigands a decent burial."

His brow furrows, but he responds without hesitation, "Oh, that! That will not be necessary! I had my men return the next day to bury them. _Noblesse oblige."_

"Good!" I scrutinize him. "Glad to hear it! You know, this ringleader made allegations concerning me. He associated me with an infamous man who is reported to have been killed by the Communards. A slander that I would not want to have bandied about." The edges of my mouth curl up in a knowing smile, "Just as you would not want your noble exploits to be betrayed." I take a sip of cognac, staring at him over the rim, then add, "So, I am relieved to hear this matter is dead _and buried._ Even blackguards deserve proper treatment and respect, would you not agree, _Vicomte_?"

Recognition glimmers in his eyes as he mulls over the meaning of my double entendre. We know each other's true identity. This is the gentleman's agreement to mutually keep that knowledge secret. With a bow of his head, he replies, "I most certainly agree_, Comte_." Then just as he takes another drink of his cognac, he says, "To all blackguards!"

"Indeed!" I also drink to that, then add offhandedly, "I am very relieved that Antoinette and Meg have been returned unharmed." I give him a piercing gaze. "And I trust that such an incident will never occur again."

With his characteristically cavalier wave of hand, he replies, _"Never!"_

_Antoinette's POV:_

Erik and Sir Blakeney are at the far end of the Great Hall, deep in discussion. I wonder if Erik is questioning him about what happened _after_ St. Just whisked Meg and me out of the abandoned château. Sir Blakeney didn't want to tell me any of the details. That was understandable, and I didn't press him for those.

Ethan and Jean-Luc suddenly appear in the doorway. Charlotte stands shyly behind them. Danielle smiles and motions them into the room. Charlotte walks over and sits in my lap when I open my arms. Ethan rushes to Danielle's side. She pushes a lock of hair back from his face. "Did you all have a nice dinner?"

Jean-Luc nods his head enthusiastically. Ethan smiles at Danielle, and says, "_Oui, maman_. Grandmère made strawberry tarts for us."

Danielle rubs a smudge of red from his chin. "I can see that. Are you boys ready to go to the library?

"_Oui!"_

"Yes!"

Both of them speak at once. All the ladies sitting in our group laugh. It's nice to have everyone home, safely. But also horrifying that they were caught up in another battle for their lives. I shudder just thinking about it. The boys were skulking around earlier today until they saw the carriage pull into the driveway. Jean-Luc was so excited to see Erik, and Ethan hasn't left his mother's side except when necessary. The boys chatter excitedly about the book they want Danielle to read to them. Charlotte leans over and whispers in my ear, "May I go with them to hear the story?"

"Of course." Danielle takes Charlotte's hand, and they follow the boys to the library.

Erik returns and sits down next to Laura, taking her hand in his and kissing it. It is time to leave them alone to enjoy the fire. As I'm walking away, I hear Erik ask if she would like to take a stroll outside for some fresh air a little later. I chuckle to myself. I think he intends to check on the horses. He talked so proudly at dinner of the extraordinary gifts from his mother.

I glance around to see if I can spot Joseph, then remember he had guard duty right after dinner tonight. He asked me this morning if we could talk sometime today. I suspect he plans to discuss courtship once again. My feelings are so torn. It seemed so clear not long ago. I enjoy his company and his flattering chivalry, but felt nothing would come of it. Even though I like him very much, are we really right for each other?

I grab my shawl off the hook and wrap it around my shoulders, then step out the kitchen door. Jenna runs across the yard to join me. I pat her head. Maybe it's good that I didn't find Joseph. I need to spend some more time thinking about what I want. What I should do.

I head away from the stable, knowing that Erik and Laura will probably walk that way. Instead I head for the stream on the other side of the château. The stream where Ace took me a few nights ago when Sir Blakeney brought us safely home. It felt so natural to have Ace hold and comfort me. I never feel pressured around him as I do with Joseph. What am I going to do? When I'm near Joseph, he conjures feelings that I had long ago, but thought were dormant. He makes me feel vital and alive…and young. I laugh at myself. But what if we do marry? What will it be like in ten years? Will he regret his decision? Will I?

I sigh and sit on a large rock near the edge of the running water. Jenna takes off toward the wooded area. I look around at the huge waterwheel and all the buildings Joseph and the men have constructed. He has so many plans for this château. Good plans. The modern equipment Joseph is introducing will make our lives easier.

I hear footsteps. Suddenly Ace is standing in front of me. "Good evening. I was hoping to run into you out here."

"Oh? There's nothing wrong is there?"

"No." He gives me a wide grin. "I just thought it would be nice to run into you."

I laugh. "You aren't thinking of running into me now and toppling me from this rock, are you."

His deep, throaty laugh relaxes me. "Not at all. But I'd like to sit here and visit with you."

I pat the rock next to my skirts, and he sits down. "I didn't see you after dinner. In fact, I haven't seen you much the last few days"

"Joe's been keeping me busy helping with construction. He says he wants to get the bathrooms done as soon as possible." He glances sideways at me. "When Jeremy got back earlier, he had me taking care of a few things."

"Oh."

"But when I saw you leave the château, I thought I couldn't pass up an opportunity to spend some time with you."

"Why is that?"

He blinks in surprise. "I like spending time with you, Antoinette. You must know that by now." My heart skips a few beats.

He looks at me, then lifts his hand to cup my face. His touch stirs me. Deep inside. Then I forget everything else as he kisses me. Tender, endlessly. When I open my eyes, his arms are around me, and I'm enveloped in sensation. He pulls me close for another kiss. Then suddenly, he releases me and jumps to his feet. Before I register what's happening, Joseph swings Ace around and punches him. Blood streams from Ace's nose. I scream. Ace yells out, then lunges for Joseph.

"_Stop!" _A terrifying, rumbling voice commands. The men freeze, just before coming to blows. We turn and find Erik and Laura standing there. Erik looks furious. "Explain yourself, Joe."

"Ace kissed her!"

"He kissed Antoinette?" Erik repeats, a look of shock on his face as he scans from Ace to me. I never spoke to him about Ace. Or Joseph. He has been so busy with the affairs of the estate. I look at Laura with pleading eyes. She smiles back. I can tell she knows. Thank goodness!

Erik glowers at the men. "Go your separate ways," he orders. "We will escort Antoinette back to the château."

The men back off slowly from each other, glaring and still wanting to fight. Joseph turns first and leaves, then Ace looks at me and says simply, "I'm sorry. We should have better manners." Then he turns and leaves. I watch after him, realizing I am also to blame. And I have to decide.

"Are you all right?" Erik walks over and looks down at me.

"_Oui."_ I keep my eyes turned away, not wanting to look into his. What must he be thinking about me right now?

"Well, then, would you like to walk with Laura and me? We are going to check on the Andalusians." He says softly, holding out his arm.

I take it. He puts his hand over mine and says comfortingly, "I will make sure they do not bother you any further."

* * *

**Characters in The Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera**

**Book 1: Chapters 1 through 42**

Erik Mercier

Laura Counselor

Andre Marek

Detective Horatio McCool

Counselor Phenelope Brown (Phen)

Jenn (Twin sister of Phen)

Admiral Benjamin Brooks (Horatio's uncle)

Dr. Freuda Angst (Expert on PTSD

Bailiff George Henderson

Ms. Sebbied (Defense attorney)

_Prosecution attorneys:_

Charles Fauntleroy Pursley Broadbent(Faunty)

Signor Luzano of Italy

Monsieur DeVere of France

Madame Antoinette Giry (Dance Mistress)

_Witnesses:_

Christine Daae

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny

Signora Carlotta Giudicelli La Carlotta

M. Giles Andre

M. Richard Firmin.

M. Buquet

Rick Charmant (PTB henchman)

Grace Chamberlain (Phen uses this name in 1871)

Horatio McKenzie (uses this name in 1871)

Terese (transport lab's chief scientist)

**Book 2: Chapters 43 through 85**

Erik and Laura

Louis (carriage driver at Château)

Jean (Laura's maid)

Jeanette (Head cook)

Danielle Lynette Sommer (herbalist & Jeanette's Granddaughter)

Ethan (Danielle's son)

Horatio and Grace

Jeremy Nichols and Dr. Terese Mercedes

Matt McBrighton

Russ Carpenter

Joe Carson (Antoinette calls him Joseph)

Antoinette

Andre Marek

Christine and Raoul

Jean-Luc Bucher (12 year old boy; found in stable at Christmas)

_Bal Masque at Château Delanney (Count Delanney)_

Colonel Kraus (Grace calls him Mustard)

Herr Günter (Rick Charmant, in disguise)

Scarlett Pimpernel –Percy-Sir Percival Blakeney (Vicomte)

_The matadors & friends of Percy who helped in the attack:_

Vicomte St. Just

DePere

Moreaux

_New Bodyguards who arrive at Château Mercier after attack:_

Ace (leader)

Ty Derek

Linc

Sam

Sue (Joe's sister – calls her Suzie)

Julia

_Maids at Château:_ Eva, Georgette & Josephina

**Book 3: Chapter 86 to Present**

Erik and Laura

Jeremy and Terese

Joe, Ace and Antoinette

Russ and Danielle

Marek

Mina Boucher (Jean-Luc's mother)

Percy (Sir Blakeney) and Meg

Christine and Raoul

The Contessa (Erik and Raoul's mother)

_The children at the chateau--_

Jean-Luc (Mina Boucher's son)

Ethan ( Danielle's son)

Edward Founteau 14 and his little sister, Charlotte

(Orphans who were found camping on the estate)

Jenna the dog


	108. Chapter 108

**A/N: Well, it's fall…leaves are changing color, children back in school, and the air getting crisp, cooler! I hope each of you is enjoying the change of season and staying well… And…if you are reading our story, please let us know your thoughts!**

Spring is in full swing and the many seeds that have been planted at Château Mercier are taking root.

* * *

**Chapter 108 PROGRESS by Phanna and Phanfan **

_Tuesday, April 24, 1872 _

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV:_

The sun is getting quite warm as Eva and I finish weeding the garden. Meg strolls down the path toward us. When she gets closer, Eva teases her. "Perfect timing, Meg. All the work's done."

Meg smiles. "I planned it that way." We laugh. As we head back to the château the girls chat pleasantly. I'm glad they've become friends. Meg was always so close to Christine, and I know she misses her companionship. Eva's in her mid-twenties, but shows remarkable sensibility. She's a good influence on Meg.

Joseph and Edward are exercising the horses over in the pasture. Eva and Meg step up to the fence and watch. Joseph glances my way, but I merely smile and nod, not wanting to talk to him yet. Meg and Eva strike up a conversation with the men, but I return to the château. Setting my basket of gardening tools on the bench, I remove my hat. As I hang it up, I spot a small posy tied to the peg I always use. Even before I lift it to my nose, I smell the wonderful fragrance of lilac. _Ah! Ace_. He remembers how much I love the scent. A sweet ache fills me. _Mon dieu._ How am I ever going to solve this problem?

I glance around, hoping no one noticed. Everyone in the château knows that Joseph and Ace had a fight. And that I was the reason. It's been two weeks since that night, but I have refused to speak to either of them since then. Now they keep leaving small gifts for me where they can be readily found. It would break my heart to hurt either of them. But I've thought of nothing else.

I amble toward the small sitting room off the Great Hall. It's where Charlotte and I meet each day to do our sewing. When I walk in, her head is bent over a sampler. I sit next to her, glancing at the piece of hooped linen in her lap. "Charlotte, you're doing a wonderful job. Your stitches are small and even. Excellent!" Her face lights up. She's a bright child and always eager to please.

As she practices all the stitches I've taught her, my thoughts turn to Joseph. The night he attacked Ace showed me a side of him that I'd not seen before. He's always been impulsive, so I guess it shouldn't surprise me. I take a deep breath. And Joseph's always full of surprises. Like this morning. I glanced out the window and burst into laughter at the scene in the yard below. Joseph was chasing wild turkeys, trying to capture them. I couldn't hear, but when two of them flew into the tree above his head, I saw him cursing at them.

At dinner three nights ago, Joseph announced that Château Mercier was going to have a fine 'Thanksgiving' dinner this year. All the Americans seemed pleased, but I turned to Russ, not understanding what that meant. "What's a 'Thanksgiving' dinner?"

He smiled and explained. "In America we set aside one day in November to give thanks. It originated in the colonial days when American Indians brought food to share, saving many early settlers from starvation." Joseph then went on to tell us he's built a coop and already managed to capture several of the wild birds. Apparently they'll be the main course.

"Ouch!" Charlotte's pained cry brings me out of my thoughts. She's holding a finger in front of her, looking at a large drop of blood from a needle prick.

"Oh, Charlotte. Let me tend it." She carefully sets her sampler aside and comes over. When I pull a handkerchief out of my sewing basket, a blue feather floats to the floor. I sigh, quite sure who left it. "Did Monsieur Ace stop in before I got here?"

"_Oui."_ Her little face beams up at me. She adores Ace. And he feels the same about her. Both of us have come to love this sprite of a child. Charlotte eagerly explains, "He found two feathers from a blue jay. He gave one to me," she pulls a slightly smaller feather out of her pocket and holds it up, twirling it around. "He put yours in the handkerchief. He told me they reminded him of you and me." The tug at my heart is unmistakable, and I have a sudden urge to cry. I keep my eyes downward as I dab the drop of blood from her finger. When I'm done, she throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. _"Merci."_

Charlotte decides to stop sewing for the day. While she gathers everything into her basket, I pick up a skirt from my sewing stack and work on the hem, making it a few inches shorter. Laura's been educating us about how our long skirts carry the debris and offal from outside into the château and spreads disease. I was horrified, thinking of the future when Erik and Laura's child will be playing on the floor.

Charlotte has just finished when Ethan bounces into the room. "Charlotte, hurry! Monsieur Joe is going to show us the turkeys!"

I laugh and tell her to run along and enjoy herself. After I finish the hem, I make my way back to the kitchen. There's a fresh spring breeze blowing through it from the door that's been propped open. Meg and Eva stand at the counter, chatting while Eva cuts vegetables and Meg gathers them into a bowl. The kitchen is busy with people preparing mid-day meal.

I pour tea and go over to the table to stay out of everyone's way. Jeanette joins me, bringing freshly baked croissants with her. We're drinking our second cup of tea when Danielle comes in and joins us at the table. She dips a spoon into the honey which Sue harvests from the beehives and adds it to her cup of tea. Jeanette offers her a croissant. _"Non, grandmère_. Actually I came to tell you something wonderful. I'm glad you're here, too, Antoinette."

"What is this wonderful news?" Jeanette grins as she tucks an errant strand of grey-brown hair back under her cap.

"Russ has proposed, and I have accepted!"

Jeanette is off her chair and hugging Danielle before I can even offer my congratulations. All eyes turn to see what's happened. Jeanette excitedly repeats Danielle's news. Everyone comes over to add their good wishes. When they return to their work, Jeanette grabs Danielle's hand and sits her down. "When did all this happen?"

Danielle's eyes sparkle. "In Spain. We were standing near a waterfall when he proposed. It was so romantic." A blush tints her cheeks as she adds, "But Russ is always that way."

Jeanette pats her hand. "That's good. A man who is attentive to his wife keeps her happy." Her eyes get misty, and she dabs at them. "Your grandpère was like that." I recall her saying that her husband died three years ago. Jeanette gets up to brew another pot of tea. "So why didn't you tell me as soon as you arrived home?"

"Russ and I felt that Ethan should know first. It's important to Russ that he accepts him as a father. It hasn't been that long since Eliott died. Besides, Russ wanted to make sure Ethan was receptive to our marriage."

"So, is he?"

"_Oui._ Oh, grandmère, it was so sweet. This morning, Russ decided it was time. He told Ethan how much he loved me, and him as well, then asked Ethan for permission to marry me. Ethan was excited and hugged Russ, saying it would make him very happy. It was all I could do not to break down and cry in front of them."

"Count your blessings. You're very fortunate to find such a man." Jeanette then asks, "Have you set a date?"

"We were thinking of the first day of summer, June twenty first." She turns to me. "Do you think we could have a reception here?"

"I think that would be an excellent idea!" Suddenly the sunlight from the door is blocked out. Joseph steps in, carrying Charlotte in his arms. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. "What's wrong?"

I start to get up, but Joseph crosses the room and sets her in my lap. "She's just frightened, but she wanted you." Meg and Eva rush over to offer their help.

I look at Charlotte. "What happened?"

She sniffles. "I was playing with my friend, Thomas," she holds her hand out for me to see, "…and he bit me." Meg kneels in front of Charlotte to comfort her. There's a small red mark on the back of her hand, but nothing more.

I glare at Joe. _"Someone bit her?"_ Out of the corner of my eye, Eva's expression catches my attention. She's gazing at Joseph, and her eyes do not hide her affection for him.

Joseph tries not to laugh as he explains, "Her _friend_ is a turkey." Then he grimaces, adding, "And she's named _all of them_."

_Laura's POV:_

"Put the desk in front of the window. The view of the garden is magnificent." The men set the desk where I direct and go out to the wagon to bring in more furniture. Two carpenters are busy installing bookcases on the other side of the room. We've spent the past week setting up each of the rooms here at the new mansion, _Maison d'espoir, _the name for our 'house of hope.'

Suddenly, I feel queasy and flushed. The day is warmer than usual. I sink down into one of the soft, upholstered chairs. Erik sees me and rushes over. He's been sorting through the artwork, giving directions on where each piece is to be hung. I see his concern and reassure him, "I'm just a bit too warm. I'll sit here for a few minutes." I pick up the newspaper Erik was reading earlier and fan myself.

He turns to Georgette. "Get your mistress a glass of cool water. Then bring a basin of water and a cloth." She sets her broom aside and hurries off to do his bidding. He pulls a chair next to mine and softly admonishes me, "You are working too hard, Laura."

I survey the room. The new mansion is almost ready to accept the first group of children, along with several mothers. They're scheduled to arrive in two days. We've hired a full staff, but many people from Château Mercier will be coming over in one capacity or the other. Some will only be here until Maison d'espoir begins running smoothly and all the new staff have been hired.

"Mina tells me our safe house in Paris is already overflowing. Many of the women and children need to leave Paris and come to this refuge. Several women are afraid to leave the safety of the house because they fear their abuser may find them. So, I want everything to be ready as soon as possible. Lives may depend on it." Sitting here, I glance outside, toward the terrace and beyond. Sam has done a remarkable job of supervising the clearing of several acres close to the main building. Play areas for the children are already being built with plans for expansion later this summer. There's even an outdoor pavilion where classes can be held, weather permitting. The barn and stable have been expanded. Maison d'espoir will also be a teaching farm for the children.

"Everything will be in order soon enough," Erik says, worried. "You must be careful and not overtax yourself. Let Antoinette take more of the responsibility."

"Thank goodness for Antoinette," I sigh, "I don't know what I would do without her." She's been bustling around here the last few weeks, tirelessly overseeing the cleaning of the mansion. Even now she's working in the large sitting room nearby.

As if on cue, we hear her voice. "Derek, can you help her reach the top of that window? I still see dirt smudges there." The thought of her pointing out each and every streak makes me giggle.

Erik raises his eyebrow at me. "And, what do you find so humorous?"

I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Antoinette. She's taking a bit of her frustration out on the workers. Thank goodness, they all seem to understand."

He keeps his voice low. "Well, I certainly wish I did." He isn't happy with the thought of Ace and Joe vying for Antoinette's attention. Or the fact that she might welcome their interest. "How could she even consider Joe? I remember when…"

I pat his hand. "Yes, dear, but people do change. And this decision is for _Antoinette_ to make."

He scowls, snorting in disapproval.

I change the subject. "Some of the team will probably stay and make new lives here, don't you think? Like Russ. He told me this morning that he's looking forward to moving here and becoming the headmaster for the school. Danielle and Ethan will move in with him when they get married. She's going to run the infirmary here. Of course, Matt's always nearby to help when they need a doctor."

"Now that all the plans are in place, everyone seems so excited." He glances around. "It has taken a lot of hard work, but things are going smoothly for the orphanage. Jeremy even mentioned that he thought Maison d'espoir is the perfect place to educate the children who will grow up and make a difference in the world. We will teach them new ideas."

I nod in agreement. Georgette arrives with a tray containing a pitcher of water and two glasses. A younger maid follows behind her with the basin and a cloth. The water must have just been drawn from the well. It's cool and refreshing. Erik dabs my face and neck with a damp cloth, and it makes me feel much better. The weather seems to affect me more this last month. If this is any indication, I wonder how I'll make it through the summer. After all, there will be no air-conditioning. I wonder what it will be like wearing these corsets and layers of clothes in the heat.

We're still talking when Jean-Luc races into the room to remind Erik that it's time for his music lesson. Erik holds his arm out to escort me to the music room. We pass through the foyer and up the wide staircase to the second floor. Off to the right several rooms have been converted into classrooms. To the left is the music room filled with a variety of instruments. A large piano occupies the space in front of the tall windows.

Erik leads me to the rocking chair placed there just for my use. I smile up at him as he leans over and kisses my cheek. Jean-Luc begins by playing what he's practiced since yesterday. The boy has constantly improved under Erik's tutelage. When Jean-Luc plays the piece flawlessly, Erik shows him a new passage which he repeatedly tries with some difficulty. But Erik patiently shows him the intricacies of the fingering.

I fold my arms gently over my belly which is growing rounder by the day. I rock and think about the baby I carry. Is it a son or daughter? Matt says there's a test he can do, but we don't want to know. I prefer to daydream and wonder what the baby will look like.

Jean-Luc becomes frustrated, but Erik tirelessly works with him until he can play the passage. My eyes grow heavy, and I stifle a yawn. I'm so easily tired lately. Matt says that's natural.

Erik's and Jean-Luc's heads bend over the keys, concentrating on the music. When I see Erik's sincere affection for all the children in our lives, my heart swells with pride and love. Suddenly the baby kicks. I rub my hands over my belly, soothing the baby, and smile, deeply content. This child will be blessed to have Erik as his father.

_Wednesday, April 25, 1872 _

_Château Mercier_

_Matt's POV:_

It rained all night. Didn't come down hard, just a gentle rain. The kind that patters against the window and lulls you. The kind that lets you lay in bed and think. I've been awake most of the night, a million thoughts running through my head.

Just before dawn, the rain stops. I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. It's nice to have a real bathroom with a real shower. Joe's done a great job designing and supervising the construction of the bathrooms. There's one on each floor now. Still a lot of cosmetic finishing to be done, but all the essentials are in and working.

Jenna joins me on my morning walk. The paths are muddy, and I try to avoid the bigger puddles. However, Jenna does her best to hit each one. But the sun feels good on my back, and it's hard to stay mad at her when she turns those mischievous brown eyes on me.

Jenna takes off when I reach the kitchen door. I head for the infirmary to check on Dr. Sidney. She's still sleeping, so I work in my office, catching up on some paperwork. It's not long before Eva arrives to help my patient bathe and dress. I hear Eva chattering away in the next room as she goes about her work. But she doesn't get any response from Dr. Sidney. None of us have, and I haven't pushed the matter, waiting to see if Percy can find out anything that will help clarify the mystery of why she's here.

Eva pops her head around the doorframe to ask me if there's anything else she can do. I'm glad Antoinette recommended her. She makes a good assistant. I'm considering training her in some nursing skills. I ask if she'll put supplies away in the outer office. Soon she's humming as she works. I'm still scribbling notes on my patient's chart when I hear voices outside my window. I catch the end of a sentence. "…good to see you again." It's Julia.

A deep male voice responds, "You look quite different today. You're wearing women's clothing." Oh, it's Rajan! Sounds like he's teasing her. That surprises me. He's always so serious. I wonder if Percy is also here with some news. I hurry to finish. We'll probably have a briefing soon.

"I only wore men's clothing that day so I could ride easier," Julia replies.

Rajan emits a short chuckle. "And an excellent job you did! You rode and fought like a man." His tone is sincere. "It is rare to see such talent in a woman." Sounds like he admires her, too.

Julia doesn't say anything. It makes me wonder if she's blushing, which she does if she's caught off guard by a compliment. Interesting. When did all this come about? I hope Julia knows what she's doing. Rajan doesn't strike me as a man who'd stick around very long. I might have a talk with her later.

They must be moving away from the window because Rajan's voice is fainter now, but I catch his words, "I must say that I like you as a woman much better."

Julia laughs. I strain to hear her answer. "Do you?" Then I can't hear them any more.

I've just put away the paperwork when Jeremy taps on the door. "We have company. We're meeting in the library." He nods toward my patient in the next room. So, Percy must have gotten some information.

On the way out, we stop at the door to her room. She isn't paying any attention to Jeremy or me. Or so it seems. But she's staring out the window deep in thought. Does she suspect something's up? She's been alert to everything else that happens around here, so maybe she's wondering about Rajan. It's been an uneasy two weeks for me. I hoped she would open up and talk, but no such luck. It's still like speaking to a brick wall. No response other than what her beautiful eyes give away. I thought women liked to talk. She must be the exception. "Eva's in the other room," I tell her. "If you need anything, send her to find me." She glances at me, then Jeremy and just smiles, continuing her little game of pretending not to understand.

When we reach the library, Percy's by the window speaking to Ace and Joe. I notice they've gone out of their way to avoid each other lately. Everyone knows Erik stopped a fight between them a couple weeks ago. Hell, you could tell by looking at them. Both sported some nasty bruises and cuts, but neither one has said a word about it.

Everyone settles into chairs as I shut the door behind us. Jeremy comes right to the point, "What did you find out, Percy?"

"It took a while, but one of my men found a very cooperative strumpet." Percy grins, and a wave of laughter rolls through the room. "She overheard one of her customers talking about a woman. A foreign woman. She gave us enough information to track those men down. Turns out they were involved in the attack on your group after the masque ball. They were _very_ reluctant to talk. Then denied any knowledge of Dr. Sidney."

Joe asks, "So, you didn't get any information?"

"Well we didn't take that as their final answer," Percy smirks. "After some robust persuasion, we found out that the bandits were promised a considerable sum of money if they successfully robbed and killed all the people in your party that night."

Joe brings his fist down on the table. "I hope you took care of the scumbags!"

Percy's lip curls, his voice droll, "Well, it would have been most challenging to get information out of dead men." He punctuates his words by glaring at Joe. Joe fumes at the barb, but doesn't say anything. I'm with Joe. I hope they wasted these guys.

"Go on, Percy," Jeremy directs.

"Before the night of the ball, Herr Günter and his consorts turned Dr. Sidney over to the bandits, promising additional money if they held her as their prisoner. They made arrangements to return after the attack to pay them and get her."

Jeremy jumps in. "But since they were all killed that night, no one showed up to pay them _or_ pick her up."

"Correct."

Jeremy leans forward. "Did they say why they were to hold her prisoner?"

"No." Percy shakes his head. "They were never told why, but they figured someone would eventually come. The longer they waited, the angrier they got. They planned to demand triple the money they'd been offered because they had fed and taken care of her for so many months."

"She was a prisoner since _before New Years?"_ My gut clenches at the thought of anyone, especially a woman, being held prisoner that long.

Percy knows exactly what I'm implying. "They claimed they were honorable and didn't harm her since they were going to ransom her."

"_Didn't harm her?"_ I can't hold my anger back. "My god, man, she was half dead when I found her!"

"I am aware of that," Percy says sympathetically, "I'm just relating what they said."

"Yeah, I know. Go on."

Percy studies me for a long moment. "Since no one came for her after several months, they decided to get rid of her."

I groan. Regardless of what she is or what she did, or even that she's PTB, no one deserves to be treated like that.

"They don't know she's alive. We only told them that we had found her body." Percy glances at Rajan. "As luck would have it, Rajan noticed something about one of the younger men. Even though he tried to hide it, he was upset when he learned she was dead."

Rajan speaks up for the first time. "I followed him to a local tavern and paid for the drinks. His tongue loosened quickly. He admitted he'd grown fond of their prisoner, but wisely kept it to himself. He knew she was an American. He also knew that the people they were hired to attack were Americans. He made inquiries and found out where your estate was. When the bandits made the decision to get rid of the woman, they asked for a volunteer who would kill her and dispose of the body. This man volunteered to do the deed, planning to drop her off near the château, unharmed. But when the time came, one of the leaders of the bandits shot her before she was turned over to him. They gave him the job of disposing of the body. He left her near the château, hoping she would be found in time. He was very remorseful. He had hoped she would live. You know the rest."

They have no other information. Jeremy thanks them and invites them to stay for lunch. Percy grins as he accepts, no doubt hoping to see Meg. Rajan merely nods his head. I wonder if he'll be looking for Julia.

Jeremy, Ace and I remain after everyone files out of the library. Sitting in a chair, Jeremy tips it back as he begins, "Interesting information. Still doesn't give us insight on why Dr. Sidney came to the past."

"Maybe she was brought back as a prisoner of the PTB," I suggest. "Maybe she wasn't working with them."

"But why transport her to 1871 as a prisoner? She's a microbiologist. What can she do here?" Ace shrugs. "I think she must have been working with them on one of their plots."

Jeremy runs his hand through his hair. "It's anyone's guess right now. And that's a problem."

"Yeah, I'd say it is. And what do we do with her?" I ask. "Now everyone back in the future thinks she's dead. Is that good or bad?"

Jeremy rights his chair and stands. "Matt, we need to try a new tactic. How about you going in and talking to her? Confront her with what we've already found out. Maybe that will change her mind about telling us what the hell's going on."

"And if she doesn't tell us, what will happen to her?"

"She'll remain our prisoner."

"All right." I'm not thinking I like being in this position, but I have the closest relationship with her. It logically falls to me. "I'll do it."

My patient is sitting up in bed when I enter her room. Walking over, I look down at her and give her one last chance. "It's time you talk to me, and tell me who you are." She just stares back, then smiles, still pretending.

Okay, gloves off. I pull up a chair next to her bed and sit down, glaring at her. Her face pales. I take her hand. Startled, she looks at me, her eyes tinged with panic. "You're not going to tell me who you are…" I take a deep breath and plunge ahead, "so I'll tell you who you are." Her eyes go wide in surprise. "Your name is Dr. Dara Sidney. You're a microbiologist."

She tries to pull her hand away, but I won't let her. She doesn't look at me now, just lowers her head. "I also know you're an American. What I don't know is why the PTB sent you to 1871." She jerks her head up, her expression stunned and horrified at the same time. Suddenly her eyes fill with tears, and she breaks into sobs.


	109. Chapter 109

**A/N: Well, I am posting this on Sunday, as ever…just quite late in the day. Sorry for that, but life has been very, very hectic. I have finished writing the book and am now in the process of editing and honing it, beginning to end! That, plus so many other family and holiday demands have me working around the clock…so thank you for understanding. **

The title of this chapter comes from the Robert Frost poem, _The Road Not Taken:_

_I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference._

For many in Erik's domain, two roads are meeting. Some people will take a road which comes together, some the one that diverges. And that will make all the difference.

**Chapter 109 TWO ROADS, by Phanfan, Youalone and Phanna**

_Wednesday, April 25, 1872 _

_Château Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

I grin as Percy finesses a private moment with Meg on our way out of the dining room. He managed to sit next to Meg at lunch, and her mother didn't seem to mind. Antoinette sat at the other end of the table and visited with Laura and Erik, rarely turning her mother's watchful eye toward them. As soon as lunch was over, Antoinette smiled and excused herself, saying she had something to do upstairs. So Percy has latched onto Meg's hand and placed it on his arm, leading her toward the front door.

Ace and I go outside and chat with Rajan, leaving Percy a moment alone with Meg in the foyer. When Percy comes out, the look on his face tells me he's pleased with himself. Clearly he's making progress in his campaign to win Meg over.

"Thank you for all your efforts in gathering the information," I tell Percy and Rajan.

"Noblesse oblige, my friend," Percy quips with a shrug. "Let me know if I can be of any further assistance." He grins broadly, "I take great pleasure coming here to visit."

I notice Rajan looking back toward the windows of the great hall. Julia's looking out one of them. She doesn't wave at him, just stays in the shadows, as if trying not to be seen. Just as I've suspected, Rajan enjoys coming here to visit, too. Percy and Rajan mount their horses. As they ride away, I notice both men look back over their shoulders.

Ace and I head for the infirmary. Matt didn't show up at lunch. He was going to confront Dr. Sydney about her identity, and we want to know how that went. What he found out. As we turn down the corridor to the infirmary, we run into Matt. His face is drawn.

"What happened?" I ask.

"We had a talk. A long talk. She told me everything. She's sleeping now. I gave her a sedative."

"Looks like you could use something yourself," Ace tells him. "Let's go to the library. We can talk there in private."

"We need to have Erik and Laura hear this as well," I add. "They're in the great hall."

Erik and Laura are sitting in front of the window that overlooks the forest. Joe is leaning against a column, visiting them. No doubt discussing his latest project, installing bathrooms in Maison d'espoir. When we approach them, Joe gives Ace a sharp look. Joe excuses himself, saying he has workmen waiting for instructions.

Laura takes one look at Matt's face and asks, "Are you all right?"

He hesitates. "I've just had a heart-to-heart with my patient. She's been through a lot. You all need to know what happened to her. Why she's here."

Erik gently takes Laura's arm and helps her up out of the chair. Her pregnancy is already showing, and he treats her like a china doll. Laura tolerates it with good humor. The five of us go to the library and shut the door. Laura is seated in an arm chair, and Erik stands next to her. Matt settles on the couch opposite Laura. While Ace pours Matt a drink, I walk over to the fireplace and rest my elbow on the mantle.

"Okay, Matt, what'd she say?" I prompt.

"Well, she admitted she's Dr. Dara Sydney, a microbiologist. Turns out she's no ordinary microbiologist, though. She worked on a top secret project."

"Whose project?" Ace asks as he hands Matt the whiskey.

"The United Nations. Several epidemics had broken out. She was working on a project with a special unit which was developing vaccines. When her team took samples of the viruses, she discovered they'd been bioengineered."

"Bioengineered?" I interject. "You mean someone was creating the virus and intentionally spreading it?"

"Yes. Exactly," Matt replies as he takes a drink.

"Why?" Laura asks.

"Dara said population control. With all the environmental problems happening, some of the PTB made the decision to release viruses which were extremely virulent. To get rid of what Dickens labeled "the excess population."

Laura's face goes white. "I can't believe anyone would do that!" she breathes out, shocked.

"Well, I can," says Erik. "The Powers That Be have no conscience. They will do whatever it takes to maintain their position and power."

"So what was Dr. Sydney's connection with this project?" Ace's voice is full of skepticism. "And with the PTB?"

"She's the specialist on the team who figured out that it was bioengineered and what lab it came from."

"How could she pinpoint the lab?" I fold my arms.

"Because it came from a lab where she'd worked. She recognized the structure of the virus since she'd worked on it herself."

Ace snorts out, "You mean she worked for the PTB?"

"Yes, along with her father."

"So she _is _working for the PTB!" Ace declares.

"Not any more. She didn't understand their agenda. She'd been brought into the PTB lab by her father who was also a microbiologist. He fully believed in this population "control" program, but when she realized what they were doing with her research, she got out."

Ace shakes his head. "The PTB isn't going to just let you 'get out."

"She said her father blackmailed them. That if they let her go, and didn't harm her, he would continue working with them. Apparently he loved his daughter, even though this severed their relationship." Matt combs his fingers through his hair. "So, she worked for the U.N. for several years, helping develop vaccines for infectious diseases, especially in third world countries."

"And it was doing that work that she came across this bioengineered disease?" Laura unconsciously cradles her stomach. "And that's how she recognized where it was developed?"

"That's right," Matt says.

"So how did she get here? We know she died in a car accident." Ace presses. "Why did the PTB go to the trouble to bring her into the past?"

"Her father finally developed a conscience. He called her one night. Very unexpected. They had a long talk. She thought he was trying to fix things between them. The next day, she hears about his lab. Blown up. He died in it. The newspapers said it was a terrorist bomb, but Dara suspects her father did it."

"Why?" Erik cocks his head, suspicious. "Did he tell her that?"

"No, he didn't tell her. But the PTB sent their men to track her down within days. They said her father's research had been destroyed in the explosion. They felt she knew his work and could help reconstruct it. Without that information, they'd be set back years, maybe a decade. So they offered her a huge bribe to work for them. She refused. They began to harass her. But she didn't give in to the threats."

"So is that what led to the car accident?" Laura says in almost a whisper.

"Yes," Matt replies. "Dara was working in Africa. Driving on a dirt road. It had been raining and a truck came up behind her. She recognized the two men in the truck as the PTB henchmen who'd been threatening her. She sped up, trying to make it back to her encampment. They tried to run her off the road."

Ace stands and walks to the window. "That doesn't make sense. Why would they try to kill her if they needed her?" He demands.

"They weren't. She figures they were trying to kidnap her. If she disappeared out in the wild, they could stage it to look like her car broke down and she wandered off. People disappear all the time that way. They're never found." Matt takes a deep breath, "But their plans didn't work. Dara's car slid on the muddy road and overturned. She was critically injured, and like Laura, in a coma."

"And the PTB felt that they lost crucial information. Information they would do anything to get, right?" Erik hisses out.

"Yep, that about sums it up. As we all know now, there was a leak in the Program and the PTB knew about Laura. That the time travel was going to be used to take her back to the past. So, the PTB decided they'd piggyback on that signal and bring Dara back at the same time. Like Laura, she'd be alive. And of course, able to give them the information they wanted." Matt takes a swallow of whiskey. "But they didn't plan on her iron will. She wouldn't give them the information. She's been through hell. She was here as their prisoner for several months before they attacked us on New Year's. Since the PTB men were all wiped out that night, she's been the prisoner of the bandits. You know the rest of the story. They intended to kill her, but luckily the one young man who liked her, dropped her body on our property."

Laura studies him. "Do you believe her, Matt?"

"Yes, I do. I saw her eyes while she was telling me this. And her tears. I believe her." Matt's jaw clenches as he looks up at me and asks, "What's going to happen to her now?"

"Well, like Laura, Dara can't go back to the future," I reply.

"We have to send this information back to The Program," Ace pushes the issue, "to double check what she claims."

Matt peers over at Ace. "You ever going to trust her?"

"I'd sure like to," Ace says with a half smile.

"In the meantime," I decide, "let's continue guarding her as we have been."

"If she's telling the truth," Laura says firmly, "then she's welcome to make this her home. Couldn't she work with you in the infirmary, Matt?"

A long moment passes. "Yes, she could," Matt replies tersely. But Matt's eyes say more. A lot more.

_Friday, June 21, 1872 _

_Jeanette's POV:_

"_You may now kiss the bride!"_

Everyone turns to look at the two men who have brazenly shouted this unexpected proclamation. They are none other than the Vicomte Percival Blakeney and Jeremy Nichols. The bride and groom blush profusely as though it has only occurred to them that they are now man and wife.

"_Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" _

The wedding guests now join in with their own chant, calling for a wedding kiss. I can't help but smile and cheer with the others as Russ leans down and kisses his radiant bride. _Mon Dieu! _Danielle is right. If this kiss is any indication of his attributes, then passion is certainly one of them. I feel sure that Russ will make her happy. _My lovely granddaughter, you have chosen well._ I swell with tearful pride. Surely no woman has ever made a more beautiful bride than Danielle.

The joyful mood is all too quickly broken by a not-so-subtle cough from the annoyed Magistrate. He appears to be very anxious to finish this ceremony and be on his way. As is customary for a civil ceremony, the exchange of vows was brief. Only the love between this bride and groom caused it go beyond. Russ insisted on adding a passage he'd written just for Danielle, giving special meaning and added warmth to the sterile civil vows. This obnoxious Magistrate could learn a lot from Russ. And Danielle's grandpère could have shown him a thing or two as well. Sadly, the Magistrate doesn't seem to care.

"_May I introduce Monsieur and Madame Carpenter?" _

The happy couple has already stepped out from under the beautiful archway constructed just for this occasion. I hurry toward the bride and groom, trying not to trip and fall. I want to be the first to congratulate them. The first to embrace Danielle. I rush into Danielle's open arms and hug her. This is truly her moment, her day. Brushing back my tears of joy, I embrace Russ and welcome him to our family. Everyone begins to crowd around us, so I step away from the couple, leaving them free to enjoy the many well wishes of the other wedding guests.

Everything is so perfect. I admire the colorful blooms on the wisteria vines that are carefully woven around the archway. Behind it is Danielle's herb garden which she lovingly tends and gathers herbs from each day. I inhale the magnificent fragrances that fill the air around us. There could not have been a more perfect setting for her wedding. I take another look at the happy newlyweds, then head for the château. I must return to the kitchen and tend to last minute preparations for the reception.

The tables have been set up on the lawn outside. It only remains to bring out the food. Danielle and Russ decided they wanted a simple, informal reception, so I have prepared a delectable buffet for the occasion. The kitchen staff hurriedly arranges the many entrees, pastries and sweetmeats on trays. Then I direct the serving maids to take them outside and place them on the buffet table. As I move between the kitchen and the lawn, I notice a light breeze. Good! That will make the day more comfortable. There are a few clouds moving this way. They'll help block the warm, summer sun. At least for awhile.

I sit down for a moment to catch my breath. I arose earlier than usual this morning. Everything must be perfect for my Danielle today. I don't know what I would have done without the help of all the kitchen staff. The truth is, none of this would have been possible without the generosity of the Comte and his lady. They graciously paid for the reception, as well as Danielle's wedding dress. They insisted that Danielle's gown be sewn by a dressmaker in Paris. It is stunning! My heart swells with gratitude as I send a prayer in thanks for the many blessings in my life.

Russ and Danielle finally arrive after signing the necessary paperwork. It is now official. They are married. Thankfully, the Magistrate has completed his duties and gone.

Everyone gathers on the lawn and lines up at the buffet table. I listen to them joking in good spirit as they pile their plates high with food, then sit down to eat. We will undoubtedly be treated to more jokes later on, in the form of wedding toasts. Looking around I notice Matt is with Mademoiselle Sidney and Sir Percival is escorting Meg. Eva is standing next to Joe. She said something humorous and Joe is throwing his head back, laughing heartily. I saw Ace heading for the guard tower an hour ago. Hopefully he'll be able to join us later. Antoinette's speaking to one of Danielle's new friends who works at Maison d'espoir. The Comte is guiding his wife to a table under the shade of a tree. I sympathize that she must suffer through the heat of summer while she is with child. No longer able to wear corsets, she has begun to wear loose fitting dresses. She's the epitome of elegance, nonetheless. But I doubt she would agree.

As I get up to see what needs to be replenished from the kitchen, I overhear some remarks coming from the table where Sue is sitting with Ty and Linc. Where has Julia gone? She was just here talking to Rajan. That's strange. I don't see him either. I'm suddenly taken aback when I overhear Linc mention _Project Chivari._ If they're discussing what I think they are, the correct word in French is _'Charivari.'_ They wouldn't dare! Would they?

The Comte seems to have overheard the discussion as well. He glowers at them. I hope he'll put a stop to the idea of such loud banging and headache-causing noise outside the bridal chamber tonight. He stands and calls for everyone's attention. "I wish to make it very clear that neither the French Charivari, nor the American Chivari is to be done to the newlyweds."

I breathe a sigh of relief.

The Comte clears his throat, then adds quite pointedly, "That includes not kidnapping the bride in her wedding gown!"

Then I hear choking sounds behind me. I glance around. Derek is slapping Jeremy on the back. Jeremy seems quite beside himself, laughing. _Mon Dieu!_ I have much to learn about such strange American customs.

As children will do, they quickly eat their food and run off to play. They begin having fun playing ball. Edward helps the smaller children, especially Charlotte. She squeals in delight when he lifts her high into the air to catch a ball. Jenna is with them, chasing after the balls they don't catch. We were concerned about having the turkeys running loose today. We didn't want them interrupting the wedding ceremony. It was enough having Jenna running around trying to get someone to play with her. Joe came to our rescue and after an exhausting chase managed to corral the turkeys into the coop.

It's becoming a bit windy and the clouds are looking darker than before. Could a storm be brewing? I watch as Jean-Luc throws the ball to Ethan. He throws it too high. It goes over the fence into the turkey pen. Jean-Luc opens the gate just wide enough to allow Ethan to run in and retrieve the ball. As Ethan comes out, Jenna plants herself in front of the open gate and won't move. Jean-Luc is forced to open the gate wider so Ethan won't trip over Jenna.

Jean-Luc yells, "Hurry, Ethan. Before the turkeys get out!"

Ethan flies out the gate past Jenna. But the turkeys are right behind. "Too late," Ethan screams. Jenna and the boys manage to get out of the way as the turkeys run past them. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least the children are safe.

All of a sudden Ty yells out _"Corral the turkeys!"_ Everyone freezes and looks up just in time to see the wild turkeys heading straight in our direction! As soon as the men begin chasing the turkeys, the birds scatter in different directions. I notice the Comte scowling. He looks as though he'd like to wring a turkey neck or two!

Julia comes running out of nowhere followed by Rajan with a wild, squawking turkey held in his fists. I was right. They were together. Rajan puts the turkey in the coop. Then he joins the chase. Sir Percival materializes out of nowhere. He brandishes his sword. But Meg makes a timely reappearance, and at her insistence, he puts it away. Just as I suspected. She was with the dashing Sir Percival the whole time.

The winds suddenly pick up, beginning to gust and blow. My worst fears are realized when we hear the loud crash of thunder. The ladies frantically try to hold their hats on with one hand while keeping their skirts from billowing up and exposing their legs with the other.

As if this weren't bad enough, lightning flashes across the sky and rain begins to pour. I anxiously look around to see where the children and Jenna are. I don't want them playing outside during a thunderstorm. To my relief, they're all returning to this end of the yard. Ethan runs up to me for a hug. Jenna is gleefully jumping up on everyone and leaving muddy paw prints on our clothes.

Having given up on the turkey chase, someone yells out, _"Corral the horses!" _Several men run to the pasture to take the horses into the stable just as the heavy downpour hits. The women rush about bringing the food inside plus anything else that's not nailed down. Startlingly, Meg slides on the muddy path and falls down. I rush to help her up before Sir Blakeney returns. I know she won't want to be seen in her current bedraggled condition. I help her inside and remove her shoes. Holding up the hem of her muddy dress, she makes a mad dash for the stairwell and goes up to her room.

Russ and Danielle managed to get inside before the rain started. Thankfully the beautiful wedding dress isn't ruined. The Comte wastes no time carrying his wife inside. No doubt he didn't want her to slip on the mud. He's always so protective of her.

With everyone safely inside, the loud thunderstorm rages on. But the party continues. The food is deposited on the table in the dining room and the fire lit in the grand hall. People stand in front of it, drying off and laughing.

Then a most unexpected event occurs. The Comte appears with his violin case. He announces that the bride and groom should have a wedding dance. He takes out his violin and begins to play. Heavenly music. Russ bows formally to Danielle, asking her for the dance. She blushes, then beams a smile at her husband. He takes her in his arms and sweeps her around the floor, as if floating. Everyone gathers to watch. I dab at the tears in my eyes. This has been a wedding day that no one will ever forget.

_Tuesday, June 25, 1872 _

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV:_

My indecision troubles me constantly. I toss and turn at night, not getting any sleep. Nor can I eat. This morning when I put on my gown, it was loose from the weight I've lost. My emotional state makes me unfit company for anyone right now. Dinner isn't for another hour, so I want to go for a walk and try to clear my head. Try to make a decision.

Normally I use the kitchen door, but the past few days I've even tried to avoid Jeanette. She's sympathetic, but I think even her patience with me is wearing thin. And I don't blame her. I go out the front door and have just reached the corner of the building when Joseph's voice startles me. "Hello, Antoinette." He smiles warmly and asks, "May I join you?"

My stomach clenches, but I give him a weak smile and nod. I cannot put my decision off any longer. We head down the path which leads to the far end of the southern pasture. As we stroll, he tells me about his work around the château and Maison d'espoir. In his usual manner, he throws in small anecdotes, hoping to draw me into the conversation. But I don't say much in return, preparing myself for the discussion that I know will come up. My mind races, wondering what I'm going to say to him. I've put this off for weeks. How can I tell him my feelings if I don't know myself?

We stop beneath an ancient oak tree. Its branches create a canopy of greenery and overhang the pasture. Joseph leans his back against the fence, facing me. The creases at the corners of his eyes deepen when he smiles and says, "You know, Charlotte visits the turkeys every day." He shakes his head. "She's determined to make Thomas her friend, but the turkey's just not interested. She follows him around, watching him forage for food. I'm afraid she's hatching a plan."

I attempt to laugh, but it doesn't come out. So I merely smile. "Yes, she can be quite determined when she sets her mind to something."

Joseph studies me for a long moment. "So can I, Antoinette." His words catch me by surprise. The moment I dreaded is here.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say.

He sighs, props his elbows up on the fence behind him, and says, "I've waited a long time for you to answer my question about courting you." His voice is calm, not condemning, even though it probably should be.

I look down and straighten the folds in my skirt. Finally I get the courage to look at him. "Joseph, I…" My mouth goes dry.

He waits for me to continue, but I can't. "When you didn't give me an answer, I knew you had doubts. You even told me what some of them were." His eyes soften as he speaks, "But I figured I could overcome all of them and make you love me."

"Oh, Joseph!" Hot tears sting the back of my eyes. "I care so much for you!"

"I know you do. But _caring_ isn't enough for me." He straightens up, stepping away from the fence. Toward me. "I want you to _love_ me. With your whole being."

My heart breaks. I've thought about little else except my feelings for him. But I just can't say the words he wants to hear. "Joseph, I didn't intend to ever hurt you."

"I know that, Antoinette." He reaches up and cups the side of my face, running his thumb near my mouth. "The night you met Ace in my room, I knew I'd made a mistake. When he asked, I told him you and I were just friends. Maybe if he'd known how much I cared about you, he would have kept his distance."

"But, Joseph. He's never been dishonorable. He's never declared any feelings for me."

"Really?" He smiles, but it's cheerless. "Remember, I saw him kiss you."

My cheeks burn at his reminder of that night.

"And I saw how you looked at him." His voice is sad, his eyes pained. "It's not the way you look at me."

"Oh, Joseph, I'm so…"

"Shhh. You don't have to say anything. I know when I'm licked." He steps forward and pulls me into his arms, just hugging me. He holds me for a long time. Then I feel his warm breathe in my hair. "Antoinette, I'll always love you." His voice is strained. I hear him swallow hard. "But I love you enough to want you to be happy. I've seen how miserable you are, not knowing what to do."

Beneath my cheek I feel his chest expand as he takes a deep breathe. "So I'm releasing you from this bond between us." He lifts my chin so he can look into my eyes. He kisses me tenderly before he whispers softly, "I'll be here if you ever need me."

Then he's gone.

I can't move. Just stand here, my heart aching. Knowing that Joseph made the decision for me. Knowing that I should be relieved. But all I feel is empty. And horrified for causing him such pain. I look around, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, I want to be in my secret place in the woods. I hurry along the path, hoping no one sees me. Moving quickly, I enter the forest. I ignore the whipping branches and rush to the clearing just ahead. When I break through the last bit of undergrowth, my emotions boil over. There, on the mossy grass, I collapse into a heap and begin to sob.

I don't know how much time has passed when strong arms lift me and pull me into a lap. Ace. I sob harder and curl my arms around his neck. Gently, he murmurs, "Shhh, it's okay." He rocks me gently back and forth, comforting me.

He doesn't mind when his shirt becomes soaked with my tears. He doesn't mind when I sniff unladylike. Just hands me his handkerchief and continues to hold me close and rock me soothingly. I feel like I've known this man all my life. Why is it so comforting to have him near, to be held in his arms? Then I remember Joseph. And what I have done to him. My tears start anew.

Finally, I have no more tears or self pity. But I stay where I am. In his arms. But I can't look at him. He remains quiet, waiting for me to speak first. If I want to. I've learned that about Ace. He doesn't press you. If you want to talk, he'll listen. Does he already know what happened? He seems to know everything that happens around the château. How do I explain?

"I..." My voice breaks. I reach up and dab my eyes. I can feel how swollen they are. I keep my head lowered, hoping he won't notice. I clear my throat and try again. "I don't know what came over me. I've just been so under the weather lately."

"Hmmm. Thought you were still upset about the fight. Glad you're talking to me again."

If possible, my cheeks turn even warmer in embarrassment. "I needed time to think." I add in a low voice, "It was upsetting to have the whole château know the two of you came to blows over me."

He laughs. "Yes. It's impossible to keep secrets around here." His voice is serious when he continues, "But you have friends here who care about you."

Is he speaking of himself? "Like who?"

"Like Jeanette. She was coming back from the garden and saw you and Joe talking. Joe left, but you took off toward the woods in a hurry. She could tell you were upset. Came to find me. Apparently she knows everything, too."

I try to make light of the situation. "You're the perfect gentleman, Ace. You're always there to help a lady in distress."

His laughter rumbles in his chest. "So, fair damsel, I'm your rescuer?"

I don't dare look at him, knowing my face is still puffy and red from crying. I take a moment to think about that. About the time he caught me when I fell. About his compassion the night Sir Blakeney brought Meg and me home. About the countless times he just listened. And now, tonight. "I believe you are."

"That's good to know." He eases me onto the ground next to him and gets up. Taking the handkerchief, he wets it in the cool water of the pond. "Here. Put this across your eyes. It will help."

The coolness soothes my warm skin. "Thank you. I must look a sight."

"No, Antoinette, you look beautiful. Like always."

I look up and give him a small smile. "Ace, I want to…"

"You're upset right now, Antoinette. When we talk, I want your full attention." He extends his hand, helping me to my feet. He pulls me to him, gently kissing my cheek. His eyes linger on me. _"And we will talk."_ Then he smiles and brushes hair back from my face. We retrace our steps through the woods. The sun is getting lower in the sky. It's been hours since I left for a walk. Looking at his pocket watch, he comments, "Charlotte will wonder where you are. She likes it when you tuck her in."

"She likes it when you say goodnight, also. Will you come in with me?"

He nods and takes my hand.

* * *

Thank you for your reviews! They are valued!! Please leave one and let us know your thoughts as Book Three of the Epic Case is coming to an end soon.

The next chapter will be a "don't miss" one! There will be many arrivals, including Erik's mother, The Contessa!!!


	110. Chapter 110

**A/N: I hope you had a fun Halloween! And here is our Halloween treat for all of you!! Yep…a chapter after only two weeks! And, our next chapter will also post in two weeks, then the following chapter on Thanksgiving, keeping our tradition of holiday postings! But, then we take a bit of a December sabbatical and will post only on Christmas Eve. **

**Thank you to each of you who posts your reviews! We keep getting more readers…but fewer reviews. The Christmas chapter is the end of Book Three! Our ongoing story will depend on receiving regular reviews letting us know you want it to continue!**

The Contessa has arrived for her visit. But it is turning into much, much more than she could ever have imagined!

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**Chapter 110 THE CONTESSA by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Friday, August 2, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_The Contessa's POV:_

The summer heat is particularly uncomfortable today. The open carriage window allows for a bit of breeze, but the dust blows in as well, settling on skin and clothing. Last week I sent a message to Erik and Laura, informing them of the day I'd be arriving. They immediately wrote back, saying how anxiously they awaited my visit. I was quite pleased they also extended an invitation to Raoul and Christine to visit. Christine was delighted and begged Raoul to accept. She wants to visit friends of hers who reside with Erik. Raoul agreed reluctantly. Secretly, I'm hoping this may be another opportunity for Erik and Raoul to further their relationship.

Raoul wets a cloth from a water container and hands it to Christine. She waves the cloth in the air to cool it, then dabs at her face and neck. The summers are far warmer in Spain, so the heat doesn't bother me as much. The countryside here is still green, even with the lack of rain. Colors flourish all around. A lavender field stretches in endless rows. White and yellow wildflowers on the hillside sway in the breeze, and cows and horses graze near an old gray barn. But, I miss the mountains and deep valleys around my estate. Alejandro rides next to the carriage. When he catches my glance, he tips his head slightly, as if reading my thoughts. He's been my loyal _capitan_ these past twenty-five years. A trusted advisor along with the duty of leading my guards.

A contingent of Raoul's guards also follows close behind us, along with the empty de Chagny carriage. Except for the baggage. Christine packed several trunks of clothing, even though Raoul insists they'll stay only a few days.

When we reach the entrance to Château Mercier, four of Erik's men await and escort us to the main house. I recognize two as friends who traveled with Erik to Spain. I have just a moment to glance around at the lovely entrance courtyard before Alejandro dismounts and assists me out of the carriage. Erik and Laura come down the steps to greet me, welcoming smiles on their faces.

"_Mi hijo,_ it is wonderful to see you again." I hug him warmly and kiss his cheek. Turning to Laura, I smile. "My dear, you look radiant." Dubious, she glances down at her full figure, large with child. I laugh and embrace her. I whisper in her ear, "You have an inner glow of a woman who is very content."

She kisses my cheek, chuckling. "_Oui,_ Contessa. That, I am."

When Raoul and Christine step down from the coach, Laura gives a sincere greeting while the brothers regard each other warily. But it doesn't seem as tense as the last time I saw them together. During my stay at the de Chagny estate, Christine told me about their journey to Burgos and how Erik saved her. Perhaps that helped narrow the chasm between my sons.

"Welcome to Château Mercier," Erik bows formally toward Raoul and Christine, "I trust you will have a pleasant stay."

Raoul returns a stiff bow. "Thank you for the invitation."

Laura steps forward and takes Christine's hand. "I'm glad you're here. Antoinette and Meg are so excited. I've sent someone to let them know you've arrived." Christine smiles politely, but she looks a bit stunned as she takes in Laura's state of advanced pregnancy. Laura adds, "Please. Let's go inside and get out of the hot sun." Erik offers an arm to me, the other to Laura.

The interior of the château is lovely, but differs dramatically from the de Chagny estate. Raoul's mansion is traditional and contains the artwork and furniture which have been in the de Chagny family for generations. But here the interior is light and open. That appeals to me. The windows and doors are not covered in heavy draperies. Here, the lighter drapes have been drawn back, letting the breeze flow through the rooms. It's reminiscent of my home in Spain and feels comforting.

We're lead upstairs to our suites. The little maidservant bobs a curtsy, then begins to unpack my trunk. We're to visit with Erik and Laura after we've rested and refreshed ourselves. I look around the large suite. It's decorated in cool blues and greens. Two tall doors lead out to a _terraza. _I step outside to glance around. In the far pasture I can see my beautiful Andalusians frolicking and playing. I must visit them soon so that I can report back to Señor Guarna on how they fare. But even at this distance I see they are content and happy. As I knew they would be under Erik's care.

The maidservant escorts me to the "bath" room. I am impressed by its accouterments, especially the hot, running water. She fills the tub and leaves me to luxuriate in it as I wash away the dust of the journey. After the maid helps me change into a fresh gown, I go downstairs to the great hall.

When I enter, Erik stands and invites me to sit next to Laura on the settee. Raoul and Christine haven't come down yet, but several men are across the room, enjoying drinks by the liquor cabinet. A light breeze stirs the air from open windows. Laura offers me refreshment. Tea. Kept cool in the underground waterhouse and served in tall glasses. Sprigs of mint have been crushed and infused into the flavor. Quite delicious. Several trays of delectable pastries are offered. "No. _Muchas gracias_, I will wait for dinner."

Sue and Julia join us, and we exchange greetings. They talk for awhile, then excuse themselves. When they are gone, I cannot help but ask, "Just before I came down, the maidservant showed me your 'bath' room. I must ask how you were able to accomplish these marvelous things. Especially the running hot water! It is amazing!"

Erik laughs. "We have many clever friends. Joe was responsible for designing and supervising the installation of those conveniences. I will introduce him to you. I am sure he will be glad to tell you about them."

"I look forward to meeting him." Christine's laughter echoes through the hall. When she enters the room, she's holding the arm of a young woman. On her other side is a woman who appears to be a few years older than Erik. Raoul is with them, but heads for the liquor cabinet.

"Contessa," Christine beams happily, "may I introduce Madame Antoinette Giry and her daughter, Mademoiselle Meg Giry?"

"Christine has told me so much about you both." I smile. "I'm glad to finally meet you." They take seats near us, but Raoul has joined the conversation with the other men. Christine chatters excitedly with Madame Giry and Meg. It's not long before Meg asks Christine if she would like to sit outside and talk. When they leave, the room is much quieter.

"Did you have a pleasant trip from Spain, Contessa?" Laura asks as she takes another sip of her cool tea. I study her. She's remarkably advanced in her pregnancy. She told me the baby wasn't going to arrive until mid-September. But she is already quite large. Judging from my own experience, I believe it may come sooner.

"Yes. I arrived in early June before the weather turned so warm." I chuckle. "I believe I've attended every formal dinner and Opéra House in Paris these past two months. I haven't been out in society as much as this for many years. Even reacquainted myself with several old friends. I've enjoyed my visit with Raoul and Christine immensely."

"Our social schedule is not quite that active. Especially right now." Erik has remained standing behind Laura. He gently squeezes her shoulder. She places her hand over his, giving it a soft pat. "Mother, would you care to walk with us? Laura still insists on walking each day. Matt tells me it is good for her and the baby."

"And who is Matt?"

"The physician here. You will meet him at dinner."

"You have a resident physician?" Erik nods offhandedly. _Most unusual. _"Yes, I'd love to take a walk."

He helps Laura up off the settee, then takes her arm. The sky is devoid of clouds, but flowers perfume the air on the summer breeze. I enjoy this time of year. The deep heady scent of nature's blooms. The sounds of the bees as they go about their business. But most of all, I enjoy the sound of children. It is no different here. Sounds of laughter and a dog barking tell me children play nearby.

As we get closer to the stable, I realize that most of the structure is new. The outline of the original stable remains, but an extensive renovation has tripled the size of the building. When we enter, I'm amazed. It is the cleanest stable I've ever seen. The stalls run along the length down both sides, but on closer inspection, I notice there's a system of running water in each stall. A stable boy is washing a stall clean. I cannot help but ask a multitude of questions.

"Let me find Joe Carson to answer your questions." Erik calls a handsome man over and introduces him. Joe turns out to be most interesting and a wealth of information. Before long we're involved in serious discussion. He shows me how they take the waste water and run it into a 'holding tank' to be used for fertilizer later. I make a mental note to see what else Joe has come up with that could be useful on my estate in Spain.

Joe and I step outside and rejoin Erik and Laura. They're sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of a large tree. Joe continues to tell me about other improvements he's done around the estate, including some of his innovative ideas in the grape vineyard.

Suddenly the air is broken with screams. Meg's hurrying toward us and shouting, "_Help! Christine collapsed."_

Joe takes off running as he orders Meg to tell Matt. I hurry close on Joe's heels. Erik helps Laura up and they follow at a slower pace. We find Christine lying on the ground, not moving. Joe bends down and quickly examines her. He mumbles something that sounds like, "damn corsets," but surely that could not have been what he said!

He gently picks her up and heads to a building on the side of the château. A brown-haired man opens the door. "Matt, I think she's just fainted," Joe explains as he carries her inside. I follow.

"Take her into the room on the right." The man orders, then turns to a woman working at a table covered with glass tubes and receptacles. "Dara, grab the smelling salts. I'll need you to help me loosen her garments."

I wait as everyone disappears into another room. Glancing around, I notice something strange on the windowsill. I walk over to take a better look and find several plates with moldy bread. So moldy, in fact, they have a blue-green substance growing on them!

"Weird, huh?" Joe's voice startles me. I didn't hear him come back into the room.

"Indeed. Shouldn't this bread be disposed of?" I say, perturbed.

"It's an experiment of Matt's," he nods toward the door where they took Christine, "and Dr. Sydney's. If it's successful they'll be able to save a lot of lives."

"Dr. Sydney? You mean that woman who was working here is a doctor?"

"Yes. Of sorts."

"What sort?"

Joe's mouth drops open, as if caught by surprise. "Well," he says hesitantly, "a type of doctor that deals with certain kinds of diseases, I guess you could say."

I start to ask Joe another question when Meg arrives with Raoul. I make a note to continue this conversation with Joe later about this strange 'experiment," and just what "kinds" of diseases he's referring to.

Joe explains to Raoul that Dr. Mc Brighton and an assistant are examining Christine. A minute later Erik and Laura arrive. "Is she all right?" Laura asks, anxiously. Her face is flushed, and she's breathing heavily. Erik makes her sit and has a maidservant bring her a cool cloth and a glass of water. We can do nothing but wait.

Finally, the doctor opens the door and asks Raoul to come in. It's twenty minutes before Raoul comes out, his face ashen. I rush over. "Raoul, is she all right? How serious is it?"

His eyes look glazed. "She's all right, mother. She fainted from the heat. The physician told us that…that," he swallows hard, "we're going to have a child, mother."

_Thursday, August 15, 1872_

_Maison d'espoir_

"Adela, slow down. You are skipping some of the steps." Antoinette walks toward the young girl. "Let me show you how it's done." Antoinette waves her hand toward the young man sitting at the piano. The music starts and Antoinette patiently demonstrates the sequence of steps for Adela. The other girls watch. When Antoinette tells all the girls to line up again, the music starts and this time Adela does much better.

"The dance class is large," I comment to Erik and Laura as we watch Madame Giry teach the children. But the ballroom is not only used for dance instruction. At the other end an area has been altered to cater to the imaginations of the young children. Tall mirrors line one wall while nearby colorful costumes hang from pegs. A multitude of shoes are tucked beneath two long benches where the children can sit. In the center, the floor is raised to create a stage.

Laura nods her head in agreement. "All the children were anxious to learn, though several of the boys were shy at first. Most of these children come from the streets. They've never had a dance lesson before."

Two girls at the end of the line giggle. When Antoinette glances their way, they stop. But even with the admonishment, the girls seem happy. "It looks like they're enjoying themselves," I observe. "Of course, it helps that Antoinette shows so much patience with them."

"I can assure you, mother, that her patience has vastly improved with her classes here." The corners of Erik's mouth curl up in a wry smile. "When she was Dance Mistress at the opera house, she could be quite stern with the ballet rats."

"Perhaps she has changed in this past year."

"Yes." Erik's eyes take on a far away look. I wonder if he's thinking of something that happened in his past. Then he adds, "Perhaps we all have."

We watch until the song ends, then Erik leads us back out into the hall. We stop at the doorway of several classrooms and observe the lessons for a few moments before moving on, not wanting to disturb the teacher or students. After completing the tour of the second floor, Erik suggests we return to the office downstairs. Erik supports Laura's arm as we descend the steps. I'm amazed that she isn't confined to her suite. It seems almost improper for her to still be moving about—especially traveling back and forth between Château Mercier and Maison d'espoir.

When we enter the office, Erik settles Laura into a rocking chair. I choose a lovely deep green upholstered arm chair. Erik asks the maidservant to bring refreshments. He returns to Laura's side. "Maison d'espoir is quickly filling up," he tells me. "If it continues at this pace, we will need to open more establishments next year. As you can see, this is not just a home for the children. They are being educated to become self-sufficient. They will also learn new skills so they can go out into the world and change it."

_Change the world?_ What an odd thing to say. I have found that Château Mercier holds many intriguing mysteries. I start to ask what he means, but Laura speaks up, quickly changing the subject, "The children who arrived during the first few weeks have lost some of their gauntness and seem to be thriving." Tears glisten in her eyes. The past few weeks, her emotions surface quite often. I recall how my emotions were affected during my three pregnancies.

The task they have taken on impresses me deeply. "What a wonderful mission you have undertaken. And you did not need to take on such responsibility, or expense."

"But this home was desperately needed." Laura continues, "There were so many children who'd lost their families during the war. Just living on the streets in Paris. Jean-Luc was one of those children."

I met Jean–Luc when he had a piano lesson with Erik. A charming lad. And very talented. It pleased me to watch Erik work with him. Laura adds, "It broke our hearts when we heard his story. So when we had the means, Erik and I decided this is what we wanted to do."

"But it is not just the children we help here." Erik peers down and Laura. "It was Laura's idea to help women who had no place to go. Many of them lost their husbands and had no means to support themselves—or their children."

Suddenly, Laura's eyes flare. "But there are many women who are abused by their husbands." Laura visibly shudders. "When I first came here, I was exposed to a situation that was abominable. I learned then that a husband can abuse his wife." Laura leans forward, emphasizing her point. "A wife has virtually no rights under the law to prevent it. No legal recourse. And very little right to own or control her property."

I study Laura. What she says is true, but it is the way things are. The way they have always been. Where does she get such ideas that it can be any other way?

Erik steps over to the fireplace and leans his arm against the mantel. "Jean-Luc's mother, Mina, has been instrumental in running a home in Paris to help women who need a refuge. By this past June, the shelter there was overflowing, so we added a building, extending the protection of Maison d'espoir to women as well as orphans."

Laura smiles as she adds, "Actually it has a side effect we never imagined. We think of the orphans without parents, but there are many mothers without children. We've already sponsored several adoptions. Monsieur and Madame Pointelle who work with us here at Maison d'espoir have adopted a brother and two sisters. We have decided to open another refuge in America. The Pointelle family, as well as several of the women who are now residing here, will move there next spring to open another safe house."

"You are helping women leave France?"

"Yes. The law will not protect them if they stay here." Erik shakes his head. "Sadly, we know of two women who have been killed."

"_¡Dios mío!_ That's unconscionable."

With marked sadness in his voice, Erik replies, "Indeed." Erik reaches down and takes Laura's hand. "Come, let us have lunch. The cook here is _almost_ as good as ours."

As we pass an open door, Erik asks if I want to step outside and see the large play area they've created. I gladly agree. A group of children are running to and fro, playing tag. Others are tossing a ball around. I wish Raoul and Christine had stayed longer and visited here. To see the plight of so many orphaned children makes one appreciate the blessings we have been granted. Sadly, Raoul insisted on taking Christine home the next day. He wanted her to see his physician immediately. He sent a letter telling me that the child will be born in April. I will make plans to be there at that time.

When we round the corner of the building, Danielle is kneeling next to a small boy, probably four years old. She's wiping blood and dirt from a gash on his knee. He's trying to be brave, but tears stream down his cheeks. When she's done, he's still crying so she hugs him close to her, heedless of the dirt covering his clothes. "Hush, Pierre. It's all right."

He begins to sob so hard he can barely take in a breath, but he manages to stutter out, "I…want…my…maman." I can feel tears form in my own eyes at his heartbreaking words.

Danielle has tears running down her cheek, too, as she rocks the boy and tries to reassure him. Laura takes a step forward, but Erik stops her, then leans over and says something in her ear. She nods, but keeps her gaze on them.

Suddenly, Jean-Luc comes running up to Danielle, holding a squirming puppy in his arms. Danielle smiles gratefully at him. "Now what do we have here?" She asks the boy in her arms as the puppy barks excitedly.

"Madame Carpenter, I thought Pierre might like to play with the newest puppy." It occurs me that Jean-Luc has done this before. Then the boy in Danielle's arms lifts his head and peers down at Jean-Luc. His tears stop and a huge grin breaks out on his face. Danielle sets the boy on the ground and within minutes the two boys take off with the puppy chasing them.

Danielle turns away, wiping her eyes, then she walks over to us. "It's nice to see you again, Contessa."

"The pleasure is mine, Danielle. I heard that you married your young man. Congratulations."

"Thank you." She blushes.

"Will Pierre be all right?"

She turns to see where the boys are. A group of children sit on the ground, rolling a ball back and forth while the puppy chases it amid peals of laughter. "Yes, he just has a small cut on his knee. Nothing serious. We found that the puppies and kittens help the children." She pauses. "He's just so young and still needs his mother."

Laura explains the now familiar story of so many of the children here. "Pierre lost all of his family. One of the older children brought him into our shelter in Paris. It's a miracle he even survived."

Erik pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at her wet cheeks. "He is safe now. And with the care he will get here, he will recover." Erik smiles,"You're more emotional right now because of the baby."

"I know. But there is so much to do." Then Laura adds wistfully, "And so little time."

"Ah! But my dear! You have all the time in the world! You are still young!" I reassure her.

Abruptly she covers her stomach with her hand. "Oh dear, the baby is so active today. Never stopping." Then she chuckles, "I think he will be a basketball player. It feels like he is already leaping for the basket."

"Basketball?" I ask, perplexed.

Erik clears his throat. "A game they play in America, mother."

"I see." Playing with balls in baskets. America must be a very strange place, indeed.

_Saturday, August 31, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

"I wish to have Joe come to Spain."

Erik blinks at me. "You want him to move there? That is impossible. He has a commitment…"

"No, _mi hijo,_ I would just like to borrow him for a time. He has taken me on a tour of the estate and explained how to build a 'solar panel' and increase the efficiency of a waterwheel. He even instructed me on how to 'store energy' and reuse it later. And his ideas in the stables! He's pointed out all the advantages, including the health of the horses in such an environment. But I have to admit that my mind is fairly bursting with all of this information. It is impossible to remember everything!"

Erik walks over to the window and gazes out at the pouring rain. The doors were open earlier, but the rain became so heavy we had to shut them. Thankfully, the heat of the past few weeks has finally lifted. He nods his head. "You are correct. Joe has made improvements everywhere around this estate."

Laura is sitting on a settee across from me. A maidservant sets a large tray on the table between us. "Thank you, Eva." Laura tries to reach the teapot, but she cannot bend forward far enough. She slides closer to the edge of the settee, but it still isn't close enough.

"Please allow me to pour, Laura," I offer. She smiles in gratitude and rests back in the settee. I pour a cup for her and one for myself. I look at Erik, but he shakes his head. "Sue also showed me some of her ideas." I indicate the small jar of honey sitting on the tray. "She had Joe build moveable frames for your bee hives. On my estate we have an entire field set aside for our honey bees, but currently we must destroy the frame and the entire colony to harvest the honey. With her idea, we'll be able to slide the moveable trays out to harvest the honey. The hive and colony won't be harmed." I add honey, then sip at my tea.

"You obviously have been very busy when you are not spending time with us," Erik observes.

"Indeed, _mi hijo,_ your estate is filled with all sorts of unusual innovations. But many of them are only revealed on closer inspection. Or with persistent questions. It's amazing that you have so many talented people living at your château."

Erik smiles. "Indeed, mother, we are most fortunate." But he doesn't look me in the eyes. He still has many secrets. I take a deep breath. Maybe he will reveal more of them to me one day.

"So, I would be grateful if you could spare Joe for a few months." I continue, "If he could spend time on my estate to teach my men how to construct these wondrous inventions." I peer over my cup at Erik and add, "I would be very pleased."

Erik glances at Laura, then nods. "I will talk to him and see what we can work out." Then he pauses for a few moments, considering. "On one condition, mother. You know many of the landowners in your area of Spain. I agree to your request if you will share this information with them. That could benefit us all in the future."

What an unusual request. "Yes, of course. I will gladly share what is learned from Joe. Indeed, an excellent idea." I study my son. _Benefit all of us in the future?_ Once again his words puzzle me, but I say nothing further. Soon Antoinette comes in and tells Laura, "Madame Tourre and Danielle have arrived. They're with Matt right now."

"Thank you." Laura attempts to set her cup on the table, but it's too low. She can't reach it around the girth of her large belly. Erik rushes over and takes it from her hand. Then he slides his arm around her waist and helps her to her feet. Slowly, they make their way out of the great hall.

Antoinette remains with me in pleasant conversation. I like this woman. Although she has no title, surely she is the manager of the household since Laura is often absent with her many endeavors. Unexpectedly, Charlotte runs into the room. She stops when she sees me. "Oh, excuse me." She smiles brightly and executes a perfect curtsy, her dark curls bouncing. _"Buenos dias,_ Contessa." I find it charming that Charlotte always greets me in Spanish whenever we meet around the château.

"_Buenos dias," _I reply_._

She glances nervously at Antoinette. "I didn't mean to bother you. I thought you were alone."

"Do not worry. What do you need, Charlotte?" Antoinette says kindly.

The child runs over to Antoinette with a small sewing hoop in her hand.

"What are you sewing?" I ask.

She holds the hoop up to show a man's handkerchief. In the corner is the beginning of embroidered initials. "It's a special present for Monsieur Ace. For his birthday." She turns to Antoinette and holds a finger up with a bandage coming unwrapped. "It came loose. I don't want to get blood on my gift."

Concerned, I ask, "Did you hurt your finger on a needle?"

"Oh no, Contessa," her curls go from side to side as she shakes her head, "Thomas accidentally bit me when I gave him some food." Behind her, I see Antoinette grin. Soon Charlotte's finger is bandaged once more and she scurries off.

"Now, I must know what is so funny," I ask.

"Charlotte has taken a bunch of turkeys under her wing. Especially one of them who she named Thomas. She insists he's her friend. He'll come up to her because she offers him food--along with her hand which often gets nibbled, too." Antoinette laughs as she continues, "The other day, I saw her leading them around the courtyard like a mother duck leads her ducklings. You see, she drops food in a trail…"

"…And they follow!" I join in her laughter.

Antoinette and I begin to laugh so hard, tears come to our eyes. When we turn, Erik and Laura are standing near us. By their expressions, they think Antoinette and I have lost our senses! We explain what Charlotte's been doing.

"Oh dear. This may not turn out well at all," Laura shakes her head. "At Thanksgiving, you see…" Suddenly she grabs her stomach and groans. Her knees give out, and she begins to collapse. In a flash, Erik catches her and holds her in his arms, steadying her. She curls against his chest. "The baby. I think it's time, Erik."

Antoinette calmly stands and declares, "Take her to your bedroom. I will get Matt and Dara. Danielle's here also." She turns to me, "Would you please tell the kitchen staff? They know what to do."

"Of course!" I reply as Antoinette rushes from the room. I go and take Laura's hand. "All will be well, my child."

But Laura's face has gone deathly white. With his resonant voice, Erik tries to be reassuring. "I am here with you, my love. I will not leave your side." But his voice cannot hide his concern. When I look up into Erik's face, burning fear radiates from his eyes.

____________


	111. Chapter 111

**A/N: Again, thanks to each of you for your reviews! And thank you to our new reader who told us that she lives Down Under! We always love to hear where our readers live! She also made a comment that The Case had restored her interest in the Phantom genre! I was very happy to read that! Apparently another version depicted Erik a bit dark and psychotic! Well…the original premise of The Epic Case was that Erik was not psychotic, but rather a genius who had experienced such rejection and cruelty because of his deformity, he developed PTSD. That is a psychological condition which I wanted to write about within this story, and with even more depth in the book I am writing. PTSD is caused by the conditions, the trauma, a person has suffered, and compassion, understanding and treatment are needed to help the person. Instead, society often reacts with further misunderstanding and rejection. I hope my writing about Erik will shed light and understanding on this very important issue.**

**As promised, we'll be posting the next chapter on Thanksgiving! **

Laura may be in labor, the baby may be coming. Will this be more than Erik can stand? Will the Phantom reappear?

* * *

**Chapter 111 AGONY, by Phanfan**

_Saturday, August 31, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Erik's POV:_

Laura cries out and collapses. I swoop down and catch her in my arms. Carefully I lift her and draw her to me. She rests her head on my chest, her arms holding me tight.

Antoinette hurries off to get Matt. The Contessa says something to reassure Laura whose face is as pale as a ghost. My heart sinks into my stomach. "I am here with you, my love. _I will not leave your side_." My mother gives me a look of understanding, then leaves to instruct the servants in the kitchen.

"The pain has passed," Laura breathes out.

"Are you able to walk up the stairs?" I ask. She responds only with a nod. Keeping my arm around her waist, I support her. I want to carry her, but for fear of hurting the baby, that has not been possible since Russ and Danielle's wedding. She leans heavily on me as we walk slowly up the stairwell. Halfway up, we meet Laura's maid coming down with the laundry basket. Her eyes go wide as she takes in Laura's condition. "May I help?"

"Yes, go to our room and prepare the bed, then get Madame Mercier's nightgown. I will need your help getting her into bed." She curtsies and runs back up the stairs.

In the hallway outside the door to our bedroom, Matt arrives in a dead run. "How are you doing, Laura?" He asks, studying her face.

"I think labor has begun." She tries to smile.

"Has your water broken?"

"No, not yet."

With Matt on the other side, we support Laura over to the chair by the bed. The maid has pulled off the quilts and is busily smoothing down extra layers of sheets. When she finishes, she takes Laura's nightgown from the wardrobe. "I will come and get you when she is in bed," the maid declares as she shushes us into the sitting room.

When the door closes behind me, I glare at it. Matt goes over to the wine cabinet and returns with a goblet of cognac. He presses it into my hand. "You look like you could use this."

Antoinette and Danielle come bursting into the room without knocking. When Antoinette gives me a questioning look, I explain, "The maid is helping Laura into her nightgown and putting her to bed." Antoinette and Danielle exchange a quick glance and hurry into the bedroom. As the door closes, I mutter, "Why can they go in, but I cannot?"

Matt shrugs. "It's a female thing…" I gulp down some cognac.

The door slams open. This time Jeremy, Ace and Julia come barging into the room. Has everyone forgotten how to knock? I take another swallow of cognac.

"How's it going?" Jeremy glances from me to Matt.

"I don't know," Matt replies. "I haven't examined her yet."

_Examined her?_ I glare at Matt.

"This is a little soon, isn't it?" Julia asks. I glower at Julia.

"Well, it may only be false labor," Matt replies off-handedly.

"What?" I ask, taken aback. "What is false labor?"

"Oh, it means she may have a few contractions, but they stop and she doesn't deliver just yet," Matt explains.

"Really?" Now I am flummoxed. How could she be having labor pains and not have a baby? I am torn between relief that maybe she will not deliver prematurely—and dread at the thought of going through this _again. _I throw down the rest of the cognac. "So, how soon will we know?"

"Well, there's no telling. Sometimes the pains stop on their own."

I stare at Matt. "That is no answer!" I put down the empty goblet and begin to pace. My mother arrives, and thankfully Matt answers all her questions. I am in no mood. She and Julia sit on the settee and whisper to each other. I ignore them.

As if matters could not get worse, Joe arrives. With Eva and Sue. They do not knock, _either._ Try as I may, I cannot help but overhear their litany of questions and Matt's answers. Joe finally passes his opinion, "Well, I've delivered a lot of foals. Laura's tough! And strong! She'll do just fine."

I come to a dead stop. _Did I understand that right_? "Did you just compare Laura to a horse?" I snarl at Joe. He winces. I am about to tell Joe a thing or two when the bedroom door opens and Danielle sticks her head out. "Laura's ready for you now, Matt."

"_Matt?"_ I blurt out as he grabs his medical bag and disappears into the bedroom. I stare at the closed door. _Shocked_. Why is _he_ able to go in there _and I am not?_ The next thing I know, Jeremy is putting a glass of cognac in my hand. I take a deep draught and begin pacing again. My mind is raging. What if Laura is merely having false labor? But then, what if she is premature because something is wrong with the baby? What if the baby is malformed? And will be stillborn?

I check the clock each time I turn to retrace my steps. The pendulum ticks off the seconds, but the hands do not seem to move. And Laura! _Mon Dieu!_ She is so small. And the baby is so large. How will she deliver such a big child? Her pain! I gulp more cognac. It burns all the way down.

Finally Matt emerges from the bedroom. I stand, frozen, waiting. The Contessa rises and walks over to me. She places her hand gently on my forearm. Swallowing hard, I ask, "How is Laura?"

"Well, the water still hasn't broken, so it could be false labor." Then Matt clears his throat. "Actually, I hope she doesn't deliver yet."

"What? Why do you say that?" I demand.

"The baby hasn't turned. That is, it's head hasn't turned downward, toward the birth canal."

I can feel the blood drain from my face.

"You mean the baby is coming breech?" The Contessa asks.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Matt's brow furrows.

My heart skips two beats. "But the baby…is it…well, it has not…"

Matt stares at me, as if witless. Does he not know what I am asking? "Oh! No!" His eyebrows shoot up. "The baby is just fine. I could hear the heartbeat. Very strong and regular. The baby's fine, Erik." Then he hesitates, studying me. "But there is something you need to know."

I glare at him, "Yes?"

"As you can tell, the baby is very large. I think we may need to deliver by Cesarean section."

"_Madre de Dios!_" The Contessa crosses herself.

"Cesarean?" As I breathe out the word, my knees give way. I take a step back and drop onto a side chair. And take another drink.

"Surely that will not be necessary, doctor," the Contessa says imploringly. "In all the years I lived in Paris, I never heard of…of a _successful_ Cesarean." **

"Techniques have been developed, Contessa, so that Cesareans can be done and both the mother and child survive," Matt says calmly. He exchanges glances with me. _So, there are modern surgical techniques which can do the procedure. _After all, Matt is a surgeon. And he would not let anything happen to Laura. _Surely._

"And, it's still too early to know if she's in labor," Matt smiles reassuringly. "She may not deliver yet."

I gulp down the rest of the cognac and hand the glass to Matt. "I'm going in and see my wife now!"

"And I will go with you, _mi hijo_," the Contessa says firmly.

_Will I ever be alone with my wife?_ "Of course, mother." I nod and motion for her to proceed ahead of me.

With chilling fear, I follow my mother to the bedroom, anticipating what will confront me—a dark room with curtains pulled. People moving about somberly, with sullen faces, speaking in whispered voices.

When we enter, I am taken aback with what I find. The curtains are pulled back and the French doors to the balcony opened. A gentle afternoon breeze blows in, bringing with it the fragrance of late-blooming roses. Everywhere is hustle and bustle. Danielle is making one of her palliative brews on the table in front of the fireplace.

The maid is bringing in a chamber pot and putting it under the bed. Laura is propped up by a myriad of pillows in a semi-reclining position while Antoinette combs her hair soothingly. Meg stands on the other side of the bed, chattering away like she's at a picnic. And, Dara is opening her medical bag. Meg? Dara? I did not even know they were here. They must have come into the bedroom directly from the hallway.

When the Contessa and I arrive at the bedside, Laura holds her hand out to me and smiles. I take it, relieved to feel her soft, warm hand in mine. I bring it to my lips and kiss it, gazing into her eyes. "How are you doing, my love?" With effort I make my voice steady and calm, lest I disclose my aching fear.

"I'm fine now that you are here. Where have you been?" Her eyes search mine.

I clear my throat. How do I explain that I have been shuffled aside in the flurry of others caring for her? "I am here now. And this time _I will not leave your side!" _When relief floods her expression, I resolve that as the husband and _lord of this manor_, they dare not sweep me aside again.

The Contessa is comforting Laura, reassuring her that all will go well, when Danielle arrives with her brew. "This is red raspberry tea and chamomile," she says, handing the cup to Laura.

"Raspberry? Chamomile?" I ask dubiously. "Of what benefit can that be?"

"I've been giving Laura red raspberry throughout her pregnancy. It's one of the ingredients in my morning sickness brew. It also helps prevent miscarriages and during labor it eases pain and helps with the afterbirth. The Chamomile will also help to relax her during labor."

I frown at Danielle. Herbs seem to be little help in these circumstances.

"Danielle's right, Erik," Dara interjects earnestly. "Red raspberry is rich in vitamins and minerals, especially A and B complex, and has phosphorous and potassium. That's very beneficial for the baby and tones the uterus for delivery."

Everyone stares at Dara. She has a tendency to forget where she is and deliver technical information from the future. Thankfully, she cannot speak French, so most of the servants do not understand her. Those who can regard her as having some strange, esoteric learning. Or maybe a little touched in the head. But I read about these vitamins and minerals when I was in the future, and I notice Laura takes great interest in Dara's comment.

"There was a famous Quaker herbalist, Henry Box." Laura smiles at Danielle and Dara. "I recall reading an article about his work. He said red raspberry is the best gift God ever gave to women, so I think this tea will be just right." Well, then, I decide it is acceptable if Laura approves and takes comfort.

The Contessa takes a seat on the chair in front of the fireplace, with Antoinette and Meg joining her. Dara and Danielle say they will return shortly and take their leave. I remove my jacket and cravat and hand them to the maid. Pulling a chair next to the head of the bed, I take Laura's hand. Before I can say anything, her hand tightens around mine, and she closes her eyes as a wave of pain sweeps over her. But she makes no sound.

For three hours we continue in this manner. We talk a little, but mostly Laura rests. Although she never makes a sound when the pain comes, her hand clenches mine tightly. I am beside myself, not able to do more for her. Danielle and Dara provide fresh cups of the tea every hour and Matt comes in even more frequently to check on her. Finally he asks me to join him by the door. "The pains are getting stronger and closer. I don't think this is false labor," he whispers.

"But the water has not broken," I counter.

"Would you mind stepping out of the room for a little while? I need to examine Laura again," he says.

I glare at him. I do not like this "examining" he does. Before I can say anything, the Contessa is at my elbow. "Yes, we will wait outside, Doctor. I sent for some food to be brought to the sitting room." She rests her hand on my shoulder. "It may be good for you to have something to eat. It is dinnertime."

I glance back at Laura, desperate. But her head is resting on the pillow, her eyes closed. "All right." I glower at Matt. "But tell her I will be right back."

"Of course."

The Contessa leads me into the sitting room and takes me to a table set for dinner. Jeremy and Ace join us, while the others go downstairs to the dining room. My butler serves an elaborate dinner and the Contessa initiates polite conversation. But my eyes keep going to the bedroom door and the clock. Minutes tick by. I try to eat, but manage only a few bites. _What is taking Matt so long?_ Jeremy keeps my wine glass filled, and I drink it steadily as I watch the door.

Finally it opens and Matt enters. I throw down my napkin and hurry across the room. "Well?" I demand.

"She's definitely in labor."

"The baby is coming?" I gulp. "How soon?"

He combs his fingers through his hair. "She's up to five centimeters dilation. Could be hours. Could be sooner. But you never know with labor." Then he says in a lowered voice, "And, we may have to consider doing a cesarean."

Again he says that word. That nightmare word which has agonized me ever since he first uttered it. "But I took you to mean you have techniques in modern medicine to perform a cesarean safely."

"Yes. That's right." He half smiles, but I can tell, _feel,_ that he is holding something back. "You can go in with her now. She's waiting for you."

I turn on my heel and head for the bedroom door. There is no turning back now. What will happen, will happen. But the deepest fears stab my heart. What if the baby dies? Or Laura?

_Jeremy's POV:_

Erik's pushing his food around his plate and slicing his meat into shreds. I make sure his wine glass is refilled each time he empties it. He's already in a state, and Laura's labor is just beginning. This is going to be a long night. When Matt comes out, Erik nearly tips the table over getting to him. Matt speaks calmly to Erik, but whatever he's saying doesn't seem to calm him at all. Erik's energy radiates off him like an electric coil, then he goes into the bedroom. Peering over at me, Matt nods toward the hallway. I get the message and excuse myself. The Contessa smiles graciously, but her eyebrow rises with suspicion. She doesn't miss much. Like her son.

When Matt faces me in the hallway, I don't think I'm going to like what he's about to tell me. "Shoot!" I order.

"Well, the baby is large and it's coming breech."

"Yeah I heard that. Is there a complication?"

"I think it's pretty certain Laura will need a cesarean section."

"But surely you're trained to do cesareans." Then I get a sinking feeling, "You are, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm _trained_ to do cesareans. I've witnessed them as an intern. But I'm trained in emergency medicine. I'm used to battlefields…," he pauses, as if having trouble getting this out, "…so you see, I've never actually performed a cesarean."

I scrutinize Matt. He's a brave man, going through enemy attacks to reach the wounded and do his work. But suddenly I realize this isn't like tending a soldier on the battlefield. This is personal. This is Laura. I decide to cut to the chase. "Are you telling me you aren't confident about handling that?"

"Yes, Jeremy. I am telling you that. We don't have a modern operating room or gynecological surgical tools. What if there's a complication? Unusual hemorrhaging?" His eyes turn pained. "I don't want to take any chances. I could never live with myself if anything happened to the baby. Or Laura."

Or Erik, the unspoken name hangs in the air. We both realize the consequences if he loses Laura. "Alright, what are you proposing?"

"I want a gynecologist—the best—from the future. As damn soon as you can! That doc will perform the cesarean, and I'll assist. Tell them to send all the sterilized surgical instruments and medicine we'll need, including blood in Laura's type, which is AB positive. I'll have Laura moved down to my infirmary."

"Have you told any of this to Laura or Erik?"

"No. Not yet."

"When you gonna tell them?" I press.

"Well, not yet. I'll tell them I'm moving Laura out of precaution."

"Good luck trying to keep this from Erik!"

Matt shakes his head. "Yeah. Thanks!" He goes back into the bedroom. Racing upstairs to my room, I go down the hidden stairwell to the communications room in the lower level. I send off the emergency signal, then start typing the message, hoping Terese is on duty. After I send off my explanation of the problem and Matt's list of requirements, I lean back in the chair and wait. Time grinds by slowly. _What's taking them so long? _Then the incoming message begins printing out.

"Hi, big guy…" I grin. That's Terese. "…message received. We're on it. Will be sending top gynecologist and all supplies requested to transport location. She'll be all ready, even dressed in 19th century garb. Aiming time transport for an hour before you sent message. So, get going. PS We're all rooting for Laura."

I check the time. They're aiming at an hour before I sent the message, and that was a half hour ago. And, it's almost a half hour trip to the transport location! With the two hour window for arrival, she'll be there. May be even waiting now. Got to send Joe off with the carriage. Pronto.

As I race up the stairwell to my room, it hits me for the first time. They're sending a woman! We asked for the best. But a woman doc in this century? We'll just have to make sure no one but the inner group knows she's a doctor. We can tell everyone she's a friend of Laura's from America. Dropping by. Coincidentally. Yeah, sure. Well, it's the best we can do.

When I burst into the sitting room of Erik's suite, it's empty. So, Matt's already moved Laura. Joe will no doubt be down there, along with the entire Team. When I reach the main floor, I have to wade through a mass of people to get to the corridor leading to the infirmary. The great hall is crammed with the women and children from Maison d'espoir who heard Laura is about to deliver. Going down the corridor, I have to weave around the mansion's servants. Finally I get to the infirmary, only to find the door locked. I pound on it. Linc cracks it tentatively, then opens it to let me in. I was right. The Team's all here, along with Meg and the Contessa.

I wave Joe and Ty over. "Get the carriage and get to the transport spot as fast as you can."

"What's up?" Joe asks. "Who's coming in?"

"You're picking up Laura's doc from the future. Per Matt's request."

Joe lets out a low whistle. "I see. Does anyone else know about this?"

"No. And we don't want them to. Yet."

Joe and Ty exchange knowing glances. "Feel like setting a record for the round trip to the transport location, Ty?" Joe grins.

"I sure do!" Ty grins.

"We're outta here!" Joe and Ty walk calmly to the door, but when it closes behind them, I can hear the noise of scuffles as they rush through the crowded hallway.

Now I have to tell Matt. I let myself into the next room. It's got two patient beds. Laura's in the second bed, over in the corner, surrounded by Erik, Antoinette and Danielle. Laura's moaning, low, from a labor pain. Damn! The doc from the future better get here in time. Matt's nowhere in sight. I go into the next room which serves as Matt's examination room and surgery. He's there, with Dara, scrubbing everything and getting ready.

"The doc's on her way, Matt. Joe and Ty just left to pick her up at the transport area. They're really moving, so should be back within an hour."

"Her? It's a woman doctor?" Dara asks, almost excited.

"Yes, but I don't think you should meet her. Don't you think it's best that as few people in the future know you're here as possible?"

She studies me, considering. "Yes, I guess you're right. I'll disappear when she arrives." Then she sighs, "It was a nice thought for a moment. Talking to a woman from the future who's a doctor. Talking shop a little." She turns back to her work, but I notice Matt give her a look. It's a look that goes beyond sympathy. I recognize it. I slip back into the next room.

Erik glares at me. "Where have you been?" His voice carries the disapproving tone of _what could be more important than this?_

"Sorry. Duty, you know." I smile sheepishly. He glowers. I can tell his mood isn't getting any better. Laura moans again, and we both forget about our male stare-off. Laura's hand clenches Erik's. He holds it firm, giving her something to brace against. The pain passes and Laura closes her eyes, seeming to drift into sleep.

Erik watches her, his mouth set in a straight line of worry. No, that's not it What's going through his mind is apparent in his eyes. Something akin to agony. Matt rejoins us and stops next to me. "How can she sleep during that? Did you give her some drug?" I whisper.

"No, I haven't given her any meds or painkillers. She insists on natural childbirth. She'll only take Danielle's teas," Matt wipes his hand across his brow. His eyes are like Erik's. Pained and frustrated.

I wince as the carriage passes the window, going down the driveway, hell-bent for leather. Erik looks up and sees Joe driving, with Ty following on his horse. He watches them until they're out of sight. I can tell his mental gears are whirring. Then he turns and glares at Matt and me. "Where are they going in such a hurry?" Erik hisses out.

Matt and I exchange glances. "Danielle, could you help Dara prepare the surgery?" Matt asks. When she leaves, he clears his throat and explains, "They're going to the transport area. I asked for another doctor, a gynecologist, to come and help with the delivery." He puts on a reassuring smile, "We want Laura to have the best care, don't we?"

Erik's eyes narrow at us. Matt isn't fooling him for a minute. Laura moans, her hand tugging at Erik's again. He turns his attention back to her, but his face has gone white as the sheet covering Laura. Maybe that's what he's thinking about, too. The white sheet over Laura. Like in the hospital when she was dying.

I settle on a chair in the corner. Matt stands at the foot of the bed, waiting, watching. Everyone feeling helpless. The pains turn so bad that Laura no longer drifts off between them. She never cries out, but her grasp on Erik's hand during the pain lasts longer. And they're coming more often. I notice she does breathing exercises like I've heard about. This goes on for about a half hour.

Then she screams. Matt springs into action. "Could everyone wait outside for a minute? I need to check the dilation."

"I will be right back," he says as he brushes hair from her face and kisses her forehead. She nods, but doesn't say anything.

Danielle and Dara come in to assist Matt, while the rest of us go into the waiting room. As soon as we enter, the Contessa comes and takes Erik's hand, "How is she doing_, mi hijo_?"

"Her pains are getting more frequent." His jaw clenches. "More severe." Restlessly, he goes over to the window and gazes out, his back to everyone. My guess is he doesn't want us to see his face, read his feelings. But it's clear to me he's terrified. Finding out about the backup doctor didn't help. I go over and sit with Russ, Ace and Linc. They give me questioning looks. I shake my head. They get the point.

Suddenly the door opens and Danielle waves at Antoinette. "Matt asked you to come and help."

Erik strides anxiously to the door, arriving at the same second as Antoinette. Danielle steps aside and lets Antoinette in, then blocks Erik's path. "No, Comte. I'm sorry, but the doctor says you are not to come in now."

"_What?"_ Erik gasps.

"The baby's coming right now. The doctor said it's best for you to wait out here."

"But…" Erik doesn't get another word out. In one swift maneuver, Danielle shuts the door. The sound of the bolt snapping into place puts a definite end to the debate. Erik stares at the door. Stunned.

"Go get some cognac," I say under my breath to Linc. "Fast!"

He's out the door in a flash. More sounds of bodies being shoved aside, along with questions about Laura, are heard from the hallway. Erik glares at the door for at least a minute, as if deciding whether to break it down. Finally he stomps to the window and begins pacing. No one dares say a word.

Linc returns with a bottle of cognac and as many glasses as he could tuck under his arm. He sets them down on a table in front of the Contessa. She graciously pours the cognac and hands it to me to deliver to Erik. Which I do posthaste. When he turns, he finds me in his path. I hold up the glass. He glowers at it—and me—then takes the cognac and gulps down half of it. I wince. That's gotta burn. I get out of his way, and he continues pacing, pausing only to drink more of the cognac.

The Contessa hands out glasses of cognac to those who also feel they could use some. She holds up the last glass to me, but I decline. She proceeds to drink it herself. I suppress a chuckle. She's getting a glimpse of the Phantom for the first time, I suspect.

Erik keeps pacing, and I keep filling the glass when he empties it. The clock ticks off the seconds, as everyone watches Erik and listens for any sound coming from behind the locked door. But none come. Very strange. Wouldn't Laura be making some sounds with the final labor pains? Or has Matt used his anesthesia? Is she unconscious? Is he performing the cesarean? A shudder goes through me at the thought. Matt didn't want to do that himself. He wanted the specialist for that. My eyes follow Erik, striding back and forth, barely containing his emotions. No doubt these thoughts are also going through his mind.

Julia and Meg whisper some words of comfort to the Contessa who studies her son with growing concern. The minutes go by. Still silence. Then a baby's cry. Erik stops dead in his tracks, staring at the door and listening. He sways back and forth slightly. Well, he has downed a lot of cognac. More crying. Good, loud, healthy crying!

Suddenly the door swings open and Antoinette's face appears. "Erik, come in! Matt said for you to come and see this."

_See this?_ That's a strange thing to say. What does Matt mean? Panicked, Erik rushes to the door, waving for me to come. Yeah! I wouldn't miss this for anything. When we enter, Danielle has a baby on the first bed, washing it gently. She looks up at Erik, grinning broadly, "It's a boy, Comte!"

Erik comes to a stop, again swaying slightly. As he gazes down at his son, I stand next to him. Yep, a boy and a fine one at that! I watch Erik's face as he gazes down at his son, his eyes searching for any sign of a deformity. Then pride and wonder break out on his relieved features.

Antoinette touches Erik's shoulder. "Matt says you are to come in and witness the birth, Erik."

Erik stares at her with dazed, confused eyes. "What do you mean?" he breathes out, "the baby's right here."

Antoinette smiles, "The second one. Would you like to see the second one born?"

Erik's mouth falls open, but he doesn't move. Antoinette takes his arm and leads him into the next room. I stay with Danielle and Baby Number One, but the door to the surgery is open enough for me to keep my eyes on Erik who stands just inside the door. Although I can't see Laura or Matt, I hear their voices as he tells her when to push and when to stop. She responds to him, so it's clear she's conscious. And from the sound of it, delivering the babies without a cesarean.

I study Erik as he witnesses his second child coming into the world. I also notice he's swaying even more. Maybe I overdid the cognac. A look of awe and amazement come over his face. The next second, I hear the baby crying.

"It's a girl!" Matt exclaims. "And she's perfect!"

The next thing I see, Dara is cradling the baby in soft blankets and holding her up in front of Erik. Erik looks down into the baby's face, beaming. Then, suddenly his knees give way, and he crumples onto the floor with a _thud! Out cold!_

_Erik's POV:_

Stabbing pain. Right between my eyes. I groan and lift my hand to my head. Which is splitting in two. Rubbing my forehead, I slowly open my eyes. It's dark, nighttime. Candlelight flickers around the room. Then I make out two figures sitting on the bed next to me. The Contessa and Antoinette. They're holding babies. Babies! _My babies!_ I shoot up, trying to sit, only to have another stab of agony go through my head.

"_Merde!"_ I spit out.

"Take care, _mi hijo_. Such language in the presence of your children!" The Contessa chides with a smile.

"Apologies, mother," I breathe out. "Perhaps I had too much cognac."

"Perhaps this is a day where you have had too much of many things," the Contessa smiles sympathetically. "Except, of course, children. Two seems just right, wouldn't you say?" She nods toward the babies that Antoinette and she hold.

I am speechless. Trying to comprehend everything. "How is Laura?" I ask, suddenly panicked that something may have happened to her while I was unconscious.

"She's fine," Antoinette replies. "Matt's with her in the other room, and Dara and Danielle are bathing her and helping her into a clean nightgown."

I hold my head between my hands, thinking back, trying to get my bearings. "As I recall, I saw Laura giving birth. So, there was no need for a cesarean?"

"No, there wasn't, Erik." Antoinette replies. "Danielle told me that when Matt checked Laura, he realized the baby was already coming. There was no time. And, since there were two small babies instead of a large one, he was able to deliver the babies naturally."

"They seem so tiny," I observe, utterly amazed.

"But they're fine, Erik," Jeremy says. I look up and notice for the first time, he's standing at the foot of my bed. "Matt says they're not premature. He estimates they're about five pounds each. And healthy."

"Would you like to hold your son, Erik?" The Contessa smiles, with tears in her eyes.

"Hold him?" I gaze at the tiny miracle. So fragile. What if I break him? "I've never held a baby."

"Well, then, _mi hijo,_ it's time for you to learn." In her most regal air, the Contessa rises and walks over to me. "I present your son to you," she says solemnly as she places the bundle into my arms.

I stare down into the precious, perfect face of my son. Tears come to my eyes. _Laura, this is Laura's doing._ She always makes things right. I pull back the edge of the blanket and study the tiny fingers. With a sense of renewed hope I touch them gently. Will he use those some day to make music?

I examine each detail of my son's face and hands. Such an unusual feeling, his little body moving about in the blanket. When I touch his cheek, his mouth moves toward my finger. Ah! So you are wanting your mother! I smile.

Soon Matt comes out of the surgery with a tall, grey-haired woman I've never seen before. "Dr. Stephenson, I'd like to introduce Erik, Comte de Chagny."

"An honor to meet you, Comte. I have heard much about you," she smiles knowingly.

I glance nervously at my mother. I wonder what she is thinking about a woman doctor who appears so suddenly when need arises. As expected, the Contessa is scrutinizing the women with intense curiosity. Under my breath I tell her, "I'll explain later, mother." Turning to the woman doctor, I reply, "Thank you for coming." With a formal nod, I ask, "How is my wife?"

"She's doing fine. No complications at all. Dr. McBride did a superb job with the delivery."

Matt seems embarrassed by the compliment. He mumbles something about Laura being conscious and doing natural childbirth helped a lot with the delivery. With a relieved smile, he adds, "Laura's anxious to see you, Erik. And I think the babies are needing their first meal."

When I stand, I steady myself and determine that the effects of the cognac are almost gone. Except for the headache, of course. But in my joy, I dismiss that. Laura beams her special smile when she sees me carrying the baby. Antoinette places our daughter in Laura's arms, then silently leaves, closing the door behind her. Alone. _Finally._

I lean over and kiss Laura. "How do you feel, my love?"

"I'm fine. I took no drugs except Danielle's tea. That seems to have helped the labor. And the delivery. You see, there was no need for another doctor," adding with calm assurance, "everything went smoothly, don't you think?

Dumbfounded, I stare at her and just nod.

"And, I have no pain, anywhere!" Then she gazes lovingly into the face of our daughter, "Only contentment!" She glances over where I was standing when I passed out. "And how are you feeling?" she asks with her pixie smile.

"Like the happiest, most fortunate man on earth!"

* * *

** "Unfortunately, surgical techniques of that day also contributed to the appallingly high maternal mortality rates. According to one estimate not a single woman survived cesarean section in Paris between 1787 and 1876. Surgeons were afraid to suture the uterine incision because they thought internal stitches, which could not be removed, might set up infections and cause uterine rupture in subsequent pregnancies. They believed the muscles of the uterus would contract and close spontaneously. Such was not the case. As a result some women died of blood loss -- more from infection." (Source: **National Library of Medicine, National Institutes of Health, Cesarean Section - A Brief History, Part 2, Published April 27, 1998)**

18


	112. Chapter 112

**A/N: For each of you in the United States, I hope you are enjoying a special, restful and joyous Thanksgiving's Day! I hope you are all enjoying your favorite foods and the company of friends and family! For those of you outside the U.S., let me just say that today we celebrate the blessings we have received in the the past year. I hope each of you also have had blessings in your life you can reflect back on. **

**Thank you to each of you who posted such special comments and reviews about the last chapter, the birth of the twins. I have prepared a response to all your comments, including responses to Mominator's very good questions!! I tried to post it and was unsuccessful. Internet problems. But I will continue trying to post my reply, so check out the replies if you, too, had questions about the labor and delivery and why Matt didn't detect two heartbeats!!**

Well, at Chateau Mercier, Erik, Laura and everyone else are celebrating a very special, blessed year and giving thanks.

* * *

**Chapter 112 GIVING THANKS, by Phanna**

_Thursday, November 28, 1872_

_Château Mercier _

_The Contessa's POV:_

"Thank you, Joe." I place my hands on his shoulders as he helps me dismount. Each day since arriving at Château Mercier, I go out at the break of dawn to ride one of the Andalusians. This morning I rode Aldonza, the white mare_. _When I arrived at the stable, Joe was already there, so I invited him to join me. We've been out longer than usual, but we had many things to talk about.

He smiles warmly. "You're quite welcome." We lead the horses into the stable. Joe begins to unsaddle the grey mare. I secure the stirrup and reach to loosen the cinch on my mare. Joe stops what he's doing. "Contessa, don't trouble yourself. I can do that."

"No need. In fact, I like to tend to _Aldonza_. Did you know her name means 'sweet' in Spanish?" I pat the mare's proud, curved neck and smooth my hand over her long mane. "The mare you rode, _Leta,_ means 'winged'."

"The names suit the mares." The muscles of his arms and shoulder tighten when he swings the saddle effortlessly onto the saddle rack, then he removes the padding and blanket.

When he's finished with _Leta_, he walks over and removes the saddle from _Aldonza._ "I'm pleased you have consented to accompany me to Spain after the new year. You will like my estate," I assure him. On our ride today, I went into great detail about what I wanted him to accomplish on my estate.

"I'm looking forward to it, Contessa. Erik has given me six months to develop a plan and train your men." We lead the mares toward their stalls. Through the open stable doors I can see Alejandro coming down the path with Jeanette. She smiles at my handsome _capitan_ when he offers to carry her basket. They are deep in conversation as they walk toward the château and disappear inside. "Are you trying to talk Jeanette into going to Spain, also?" Joes asks with that rakish grin of his.

I shake my head, denying it. Then it comes to me how Alejandro has been spending time with the _señora._ I laugh. "But Alejandro might."

He continues to tease me about absconding with all of Erik's people as we walk outside into the gray morning. We stop in front of the stable door. "I wish I could spend the morning with you, Contessa," he says. Do I detect honest regret in his voice? "But, I have some business to take care of." He glances at the sky. "Hope the weather holds out for awhile."

During our ride this morning, it snowed large, soft flakes for awhile. The air had a wintery crispness. Dried leaves tumbled and scattered in the gusts of wind, catching against the fences and trees. "I saw two squirrels scurrying around the ground yesterday, scavenging for food. Winter will come soon," I observe.

Joe looks around. "Yeah, signs tell me we're going to have a hard winter," he points to the oak tree. "Lot of acorns this year."

Shivering at the thought, I pull my cape tighter. "Well, I hope we leave for Spain before it gets too bad." Joe escorts me to the château, then heads back to the stable.

The château is quiet when I enter, except for noises coming from the kitchen area. I go upstairs to change from my riding habit and take advantage of the hot shower in the 'bath' room. I've come to enjoy this form of bathing. After my maid has helped me into a special gown I have chosen for this day, I go downstairs. I'm delighted to hear baby sounds coming from the great hall.

I'd only planned to stay with Erik and Laura until the beginning of October. But events unfolded which indicated to me I was needed here. I have come to learn that twins are very different from having a single child. The babies were so little when they were born, they required their mother's milk every three hours! Laura was feeding and caring for the two children, then sleeping for a little over an hour before it was again time to feed the babies! Day and night, for weeks! Erik helped by holding and rocking the babies! Even helped with their care! He changed diapers! I had never seen a Comte change a diaper before! Then during the afternoons, Laura would still go to Maison d'espoir to take care of matters there.

After a month of that unending work, Laura collapsed! Giving my opinion most tactfully, I advised Erik and her to employ a nanny and wet nurse. They finally concurred. It was my pleasure to assist in finding two fine ladies to fill those positions. The added benefit of helping with these matters is that I have been able to spend so much more time with my grandchildren, which has been my joy.

As I walk through the great hall, I notice that all the chairs and settees have been rearranged over near the fireplace. The rest of the great hall is being turned into a dining room for the 'Thanksgiving' feast later this afternoon.

I spot the nanny with little Erik and Elizabeth in front of the warm fire. Laura turned the sitting room of their suite into the children's nursery. The nanny has taken the bedroom across the hall from their suite and often takes care of the children in the early morning. I find the children are nestled in the special bed that Laura calls a 'playpen.' Joe built it for the twins. A most clever design. It keeps them safely contained and off the cold floor.

The nanny is talking to the babies, her plump form leaning over the playpen. _"Buenos días, _Riana. How are the children doing this morning?"

Without meaning to, I've startled her. She straightens quickly and swivels around. Her round face brightens as she sees I'm alone. I suspect she's still intimidated a bit by Erik. _"Bonjour,_ Contessa. They've had their baths and want to play." She picks up a silver rattle and shakes it back and forth. Both children watch, fascinated. Within moments they resume kicking their small legs and swinging their arms, now trying to reach for the shiny toy.

I walk over and pick up little Erik. Or is it Elizabeth? Both are dressed in white this morning. It's impossible to tell without seeing beneath their diaper. The baby beams a tiny grin. I tickle his chin and he rewards me with a wet burp. I use the corner of the blanket to dab his chin. His small fists grab my finger and try to put it in his mouth to suckle. Without checking, I know this is little Erik. He never stops eating. I play with him for a few minutes, then return him to the playpen and pick up Elizabeth.

Both have their parent's coloring. Raven black hair covers their small heads. It is apparent they're extremely intelligent. Whenever I remind them that I am their _abuela_, they smile indulgently, as if I have no need to tell them something they already know.

Riana reaches for her cup of tea and comments, "I've never had such happy children under my care before." She takes a sip and continues, "Of course, this is the first time I've been in charge of twins. The children like to be together and often cry if they're separated."

I've noticed that also. Elizabeth's tiny hand grabs a strand of my hair and tugs it toward her mouth. I gently unpeel her fist and give her the rattle instead. She stares at it, then puts it to her mouth and tries to eat it. I look down into the playpen. Maybe this _is_ little Erik, and I had Elizabeth before. _No importa. _There will be time enough to tell them apart.

A number of servants enter the room and position tables in three long rows, covering them with linen tablecloths. They fashion fresh boughs of pine into most unusual centerpieces. Fragrant candles are added along with colorful strands of berries woven through the greenery at the bases. They bring in pumpkins and gourds to decorate the sideboards where extra food will be placed. The mantle of the fireplace has also been draped with a long garland of the fragrant boughs. All very festive.

The heat from the fire sends the heady scent of pine into the room and reminds me of the forests and mountains near my estate. I close my eyes and pretend for a moment that I'm back there, riding through the forest on my favorite mare, _Esmeralda_. The scent of pine rises from crushed needles beneath her hooves. The clean mountain air and sound of the wind rushing through the pine branches overhead come back to me.

Elizabeth's giggles draw my attention. I'm just in time to see her swing the rattle in her small hand, hitting herself on the forehead. Startled, she looks up at me. I assure her it's all right. Her lower lip trembles, but she doesn't cry. She's so brave even at this tender age. I glance at both of the children who have made my life complete. Tears sting my eyes, but I quickly admonish myself for being such a sentimental _abuela._

I have already thought of a special Christmas gift for Erik and Laura. And for myself. In the guise of a friend, I had an artist visit and secretly sketch the babies. He promised to deliver the oil portraits by mid-December. He'll also visit at regular intervals for periodic portraits to be done of the children. I will make similar arrangements for Raoul and Christine when the time comes.

"Good morning, mother." Erik and Laura stroll across the great hall and take seats next to me. The babies begin cooing immediately. I hand Elizabeth, or is it little Erik, to Laura as Erik walks over and picks up the other twin. Erik addresses little Erik, "Son, your mother and I heard you fussing with your sister very early this morning. You must learn to sleep later." Little Erik looks into his father's face and grins, then begins to blow bubbles. A new trick he's learned just these past few days. Erik chuckles.

We manage to keep the children occupied and talk about the plans for this afternoon. Laura admits, "I wonder how Joe's going to handle the situation with the turkeys and Charlotte."

"I think he'll find a good solution," I reply with assurance. "He's a very competent man." Erik looks at me, askew, but makes no comment.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Laura asks.

"No, I was hoping to join you and Erik."

The babies have fallen asleep in their parent's arms. Gently, they are placed back in the playpen.

Laura takes Erik's arm. He extends the other for me. "Shall we, ladies?"

_Antoinette's POV:_

"Don't pull it so tight, maman!"

"You ate too much at lunch. I have to pull your waist in another inch for you to fit into the blue dress," I retort, but I let up on the corset strings a bit. I'd dismissed the maid so I could spend some time with Meg while she dresses for the Thanksgiving dinner. The château will be brimming with guests soon. Including Sir Blakeney.

I tie the strings, and she steps into the dress to see if the corset cinched her waist small enough. It did. "How do I look?" Meg holds out the skirt of her new gown, twirling around.

"You look lovely, Meg." I fasten the small pearl buttons up the back of her dress, then arrange the golden curls around her shoulders. Sensing her growing excitement, I study her a moment in the cheval mirror before asking, "You have a great affection for Sir Blakeney, don't you?"

Her cheeks turn pink, and she begins to play with the folds in her skirt. Finally she faces me. "Would you be truly upset if I say that I do?"

I've already given this much thought. I've seen how Sir Blakeney treats her when he visits. And he visits often. But I cannot fault him for his conduct. He's been the model of decorum. I knew it was inevitable that Meg would one day fall in love. Maybe Sir Blakeney is the one. "_Non_, Meg. I'm not upset." I begin to pick up the gowns she scattered about trying to decide which to wear. "You are a grown woman. Perhaps it is time for me to let go."

She rushes over to hug me. "I love you, maman."

"I love you, too." It seems only yesterday that she was a baby in my arms. Where does the time go? Clucking at her, I say, "Now sit down while I finish styling your hair."

We meet Julia on the stairs. It's clear she also spent extra time on her appearance today. She's wearing her finest day dress which compliments her chestnut-colored hair. I suspect it's because Rajan now accompanies Sir Blakeney on every visit. Meg and Julia hurry toward the great hall. I head for the kitchen.

I find Jeanette in the middle of a crisis. From what I can gather, Eva tripped and dropped two pies. Jeanette has her arm around Eva's shoulder, trying to convince her that it won't make a different. That's true. The kitchen staff has prepared too many desserts that the overturned pies won't even be missed.

"But they were _pumpkin_ pies." Eva's words tumble out_. Why is that particular type of pie so important,_ I wonder. "Monsieur Joe specifically wanted _pumpkin_ pies for dessert."

Oh! I see. It's obvious to anyone who pays attention that Eva's in love with Joseph. I've done my best to put her in Joseph's path anytime that I can think of a reason. He's always polite and takes time to talk to her, but Joseph simply doesn't seem to return her affections. And it's not just Eva. He's not interested in any woman. The only time I've seen Joseph return to his former _joi de vivre_ is when he's around the Contessa.

Jeanette finally calms Eva down and sends her to the great hall to help set the tables. Heaving a sigh of relief, Jeannette walks over to me. I pour two cups of tea, and we sit at a table out of everyone's way. "Disaster averted?" I ask.

She laughs. "It's been one right after the other, starting with myself. I broke three eggs this morning in the hen house."

Jeanette's cheeks are flushed. Most of the time they're flushed from the heat of the kitchen, but she's been different lately. Her eyes sparkle even more than usual, and there seems to be an extra lightness in her step. I can't resist teasing her. "Was Alejandro waiting for you outside the hen house?"

She sputters on her sip of tea. I hand her a napkin, waiting. She starts laughing_. "Oui._ He was."

"He's quite tall and very handsome."

"_Oui."_

"Vigorous and strong, too."

Her eyes take a far off look. _"Oui."_ Suddenly, she blinks. "Antoinette! Those are the very words I said to you."

"_Oui,"_ I counter. "You're not planning to leave with him when he returns to Spain, are you?"

She places her hand on her chest, her eyes widening. "Of course not! I couldn't leave my family."

I study her, but keep my opinion to myself. I have learned lately that when you're in love, everything changes.

The sound of running feet echoes in the hallway. Suddenly Ethan and Jean-Luc come bounding into the kitchen. Ethan rushes over to Jeanette and hugs her. "Maman and Père are still talking in the foyer."

Ethan has been calling Russ 'père' since the wedding. It makes me happy to hear that Ethan and Russ are so close that the boy thinks of him as his father. Jeanette often comments about how happy Ethan and Danielle are.

Jeanette leans over and gives Jean-Luc a hug. I ask Jean-Luc if Mina rode over from Maison d'espoir with them. He shakes his head. _"Non._ Maman had to return to Paris this morning. There was an emergency. But she said to tell everyone that she misses them." His eyes light up. "She promised she's not going to let anything stop her from spending Christmas with us."

Both boys are sitting near the kitchen hearth with a freshly baked cookie and glass of milk when Russ and Danielle come in to greet everyone. I take my leave while they bring Jeanette up-to-date on what's happening at Maison d'espoir. I hurry toward the great hall to make sure everything is in readiness, and that the tables are set to perfection. Our guests will be arriving at any time, and there are always last minute details that need attending to.

As I near the library, I hear clanking bottles. Matt is telling Joseph and Jeremy where to place them. Laura insisted that the liquor and cigars be moved into the library, so that the men could retire there after dinner. She's adamant about keeping all smoking away from the children.

I find Eva in the great hall finishing the table settings. She's placing a damask napkin and silverware at each place. Georgette follows with an elegantly inscribed name card that she tucks into the greenery above each place setting. The air is filled with scent from bowls of spices and fragrant candles which have been placed throughout the room. Sue taught the women how to use lavender, raspberry leaves and pine to scent beeswax harvested from the bee colony.

Erik and Laura come downstairs just as the first guests arrive. The Contessa joins them in the foyer. Laura has regained her figure and looks splendid in a forest green gown. Erik's cravat is the same dark green. The Contessa wears a gown of deep burgundy trimmed in black Spanish lace. Her hair is elaborately fashioned with a matching lace Mantilla. Louis opens the door and greets the first guests, Sir Blakeney and Rajan.

"Most pleased to be invited on this special occasion," Sir Blakeney says with a bow to Erik and Laura. Based on my observation, he seems "most pleased" to drop by whatever the occasion. And Meg always seems to be equally pleased.

Not unexpected, Meg and Julia appear and invite the two men into the great hall. Baron Sarcheon and his baroness arrive with their four children, two older sons and two daughters. Erik and Laura graciously greet them and answer questions about the twins. Carriages are now lined up and wait their turn to offload their passengers. Next come Monsieur and Madame Trouché who live on the sprawling farm to the west of Château Mercier. One of their daughters is Gizette, a charming girl about Charlotte's age. Momentary mayhem lets loose when Jenna manages to slink into the foyer. She wants to welcome everyone as well. The children are delighted, but I have Ty take her back outside after whispering to her that I will give her a bone after dinner if she behaves.

The delicious aromas of baking turkeys and fresh bread fill the air, and the guests eye the elaborately set tables, anxious for dinner. Children run to greet each other, and a game of tag starts up between three young girls. Ty and Derek are laughing with a young man from a neighboring farm who sometimes works in our stable. Jean-Luc and Ethan have their heads bent, most likely hatching a new scheme of some sort. A handsome widower who lives a few miles away is smiling at Sue. He's holding his four year old daughter in his arms. She's fast asleep, even with all of the activity.

Everyone is in a party mood, talking to old friends and making new ones. Erik and Laura move from one group to the next. I watch Erik with amazement as he graciously visits with his guests. He has changed. He wears the mantle of Comte with grace. But I am most proud of the way he has taken on the responsibilities of this estate—and fatherhood.

Jeanette comes over and pats my arm. "You did a fine job of making everything in the great hall look so festive!"

"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without everyone's help." I spot Stefan and wave him over. "Is everything going smoothly at Maison d'espoir?" They were running short on napkins and silverware, so I had Stefan deliver extra supplies to them.

"Oui, Madame Giry." He smiles. "The children are very excited to have such a special holiday." Laura insisted that Maison d'espoir have a full Thanksgiving dinner also. All week the children there have been excited, making decorations for their dining hall. Stefan bows and disappears into the crowd, in search of his fiancé.

Finally dinner is announced. With a bustle of merriment, everyone searches for their name card. It doesn't take long for the tables to fill up. The children sit by their parents. Laura wanted all the families to be together for the celebration. I'm helping some guests find their seats, when I notice Joseph quickly switching two name cards at the head table. Curious, I watch to see what he has planned.

Erik escorts Laura to the head table. Just as Jeremy is turning to the Contessa, Joseph hurries over and offers his arm to her. Jeremy looks surprised, but the Contessa smiles warmly at Joseph, obviously pleased. Joseph escorts her to her chair on Erik's right side. As Erik holds out Laura's chair for her, he notices Joseph seating his mother. From the frown that crosses Erik's face, I can tell he is not pleased. But when Joseph sits down next to the Contessa, Erik scowls darkly. And Erik isn't the only one who notices. Eva is watching Joseph from the next table.

When I find my place at the head table, Matt holds my chair then sits next to me, with Dara on his other side. Charlotte stares over at Joseph. I watch her closely. She seems sad, but not inconsolable. I wonder what will happen when the turkeys are served. She finds her way to the chair beside me, but keeps looking around and finally asks, "Is Monsieur Ace going to be here?"

"Non. He volunteered for guard duty so everyone else could attend the dinner."

Her face turns sad. "Oh." Across the table, Russ notices and tries to cheer her up by asking about her dance lessons. Her spirits brighten as she tells him.

Small appetizers are brought out, including trays of stuffed mushrooms, a savory recipe from Danielle. Dara takes a bite of a mushroom and says to Matt, "I need to experiment with mushrooms. The compounds in the fungi called polysaccharides can stimulate the immune system and…"

Matt glances nervously at Monsieur and Madame Trouché who are seated across from them. Dara still forgets herself. He whispers to Dara that they can talk about it later. She smiles beguilingly at him. Flustered, Matt quickly turns his attention back to the food. I've noticed they spend much of their time together these days, working in the infirmary. But a few times I've caught Matt looking at her the way he used to look at Laura.

As the wine is poured, Erik stands to make a speech. "Today is a traditional holiday in America. It celebrates family and friends gathering to give thanks for the bountiful blessings they have received in the previous year. Here at Chateau Mercier we have been especially blessed." He smiles down at Laura, then lifts his glass to everyone. "To our families and friends on this special day. _Santé."_

Laura lifts her glass and says, "Let us give thanks."

"Cheers!" Sir Blakeney says, tipping his glass toward Erik.

"_Salud,"_ the Contessa says.

I add, _"A votre santé."_

With a flourish the main course is brought out by six servers. Each carries a large tray with a plump roasted turkey surrounded by buttered potatoes, squash and julienne carrots. The servers set a platter at each end of the long tables. Large bowls of whipped potatoes topped with melting butter, caramelized yams and an assortment of every vegetable available at this time of the year are also served.

When one of the platters is placed at our end of the table, all I can do is stare at the golden turkey, wondering if we're about to eat Thomas. Charlotte's _best_ friend. I look at Charlotte. Her face is drawn, but I'm surprised to see that she's not crying. Her eyes keep darting toward Joseph. I take her hand, trying to give her strength to get through this. Her hand tightens in mine when Joseph stands to carve the turkey. Just as he's about to plunge in the long knife, he stops and dramatically throws his hands in the air. He glances around at each of our concerned faces. "Did you really think I could allow Charlotte's best friend to be eaten?" He pauses for effect. Then he looks directly at Charlotte and grins, adding, "I hid another turkey coop out in the forest where she couldn't find it," he points the knife at Charlotte, "so we could have turkeys for this dinner!" Everyone breaks into relieved laughter.

Charlotte leans over and whispers, "I knew Thomas would be fine. Monsieur Joe told me not to say anything because he wanted to play a joke on all of you."

I stare at her, amazed she could keep this secret. Then I laugh and pull her close for a hug. "You played your roll most convincingly. Maybe you should consider the theatre."

When the dinner is over, two of the tables are quickly cleared away, leaving one against the wall laden down with food, including the mountain of desserts. Plates and napkins are stacked to the side, along with baskets containing silverware. I've already arranged to have food packed up for anyone who wishes to take some home.

Most of the men retire to the library for after dinner drinks and a smoke. Sir Blakeney whispers something in Meg's ear, then joins the men. Rajan quietly disappears outside, and when Julia disappears soon afterwards, I suspect she followed him.

The children are invited to the ballroom where indoor activities have been set up for them. The women gather around the fireplace. Several logs have been added to the fire, and the flames radiate warmth throughout the room. Quite welcoming on such a cold day. The skies outside are still overcast, and I wouldn't be surprised if snow falls before evening.

A tea and coffee service have been placed on the table in front of the settee. Laura serves while the women compliment her on the fine meal. They talk about their families and ask Laura about little Erik and Elizabeth. Laura's eyes soften when she speaks of them. Some of the ladies offer friendly advice and relate their own stories, eliciting many sympathizing nods and occasional chuckles from the other women.

When the Contessa chats with Danielle and Sue, I'm surprised to overhear that Joseph will be going to Spain with her for six months. She says he'll be supervising work on her estate, similar to what he did here. But I wonder if there's more. Joseph seems to enjoy her company. In fact, when I think back on the past few months, the Contessa seems to enjoy his company as well.

Eventually, with the encouragement of all the ladies, Laura asks Riana to bring the twins. While little Erik and Elizabeth steal everyone's attention, I slip away.

_The Guard Tower_

_Antoinette's POV:_

It's dark when I push open the door to the guard tower. The wind buffets my cape, and I almost lose my grip on the basket I'm carrying. Strong hands reach out to grab me. "It's awfully cold out here, Antoinette."

"I brought you some hot food and coffee. You must be freezing."

Ace nods toward the corner. "There's a fire to keep warm." He steps nearer. "But I'm glad you're here. You can keep me warm instead." He slides his hands, _his cold hands_, beneath my cape and around my waist, pulling me close for a long heart-pounding kiss.

Ever since he comforted me after Joseph forced me to face realty, many things have changed. When Ace and I talked a few weeks later, I knew Joseph had made the right decision. For all of us. Joseph deserves someone who will love him with their whole being. And I am not the one. After our long talk, Ace drew me into his arms and kissed me. Thoroughly and passionately. But also with a promise that he would always be there for me. My head was clear for the first time in many months. I knew that Ace and I were meant to be together.

Ace moves his lips to my ear and whispers, "A penny for your thoughts."

"A penny?"

"Oh. Make that a _franc _for your thoughts."

His warm lips move from my ear to my throat, slowly trailing kisses. "I can't remember a thing when you kiss me like this," I breathe out.

He laughs and pulls his lips away, but continues to hold me close. "So, what were you thinking about when you looked so far away?"

Snowflakes begin to swirl around us in the crisp night air. "I was thinking about how much I love you." I reach up to brush the white crystals off the shoulders of his coat, then move my fingers over the shadow of whiskers on his cheek.

In the silence, we hear a faint gobble from the forest to the west. Ace grimaces and asks, "How did Charlotte take it when she found out the main course was Thomas? I had a talk with her, Antoinette, trying to prepare her for what was going to happen. But, try as I may, she was still upset."

I shake my head and smile. "It was very dramatic. Joseph was about to carve the turkey when he stopped and announced that Thomas was safe and sound. Apparently Joseph hid another turkey coop and those were served as the main course." Then I tell him how Joseph let Charlotte in on the 'joke,' adding, "And the little mademoiselle went along with it!"

I can feel the rumble of laughter in his chest before it breaks free. "Wish I'd seen that."

I reach up and kiss his cheek. "That was from Charlotte when she found out you couldn't be there to tuck her in."

"Antoinette, I've never asked you," he hesitates, which is unusual for him, "do you want more children?"

"I've thought about that. But I'm getting too old to have babies." Ace starts to protest, but I put my hand over his mouth. "However, if you want a baby…"

"Not necessarily." He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm. The warmth of his lips sends my pulse racing. "I just want you."

"But, I have been thinking. About Charlotte. What if we adopt her and Edward? If they're agreeable."

"I've been thinking the same thing. Edward's only fourteen. But he's still young enough to need a family. And we're both crazy about Charlotte. She thinks of you as her mother already." He grabs me up and swings me around, not letting my feet touch the ground. "But promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Promise that we can still enjoy _pretending_ to make a child."

I throw my arms around his neck and pull his lips down to meet mine. His eyes deepen with passion, igniting my own. I have time to whisper, "I promise," before I offer him my whole being.


	113. Chapter 113

**A/N: Merry Christmas to each of you! We had a lot of fun writing this Christmas chapter, although we started three weeks ago and did the writing around all of our Christmas preparations—decorating, baking, parties, gift wrapping and mailing to family and friends! But, we did it! And, hopefully this will arrive at the perfect time for you on Christmas day…after all your gifts are opened, your Christmas dinner enjoyed, and your family and friends have taken their leave.**

**So, now, this is our gift to you. We hope you are in your comfy robe. With a cup of hot chocolate or coffee with a tad of rum or cognac or Irish cream. Then settle in and read about Erik and Laura's Christmas. It is an extra long chapter we hope you will enjoy.**

**It is also the end of Book Three of the Epic Case. Some of you have suspected we are considering ending the story here. Well, we have been. But, we have received both reviews and private PMs which say that you are not wanting the story to end. I think we need to know if you still enjoy our story. **_**If so, let us know.**_** Then our continued time and efforts would be justified. **

**The book for publication is completed and I am now in final edits. It's a long book (are you surprised? LOL!) with 92 chapters and two epilogues! As I have said before, it is a very rich telling of Erik's story which places him in the real history of his times and gives a compelling insight into his deepest feelings and experiences. That project, of course, continues to take the main focus of my time. **

**So, if we decide to continue writing The Epic Case, the first chapter of Book Four will post on Sunday, January 24****th****. **

* * *

It's Erik and Laura's first Christmas since they married. So much has happened in the past year. And, they have been blessed in so many ways. But sometimes it is the simplest things that are most precious.

* * *

**Chapter 113 Tidings of Joy and Comfort, by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Christmas morning, __December 25, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV:_

A faint noise awakens me. I glance around, but the room is still dark. The embers in the fireplace are buried beneath a layer of ash, leaving the room cold. The pale gray sky outside the window announces dawn is not far away. Before I went to bed, it was still snowing. I love snow covering the ground on Christmas. Louis readied the sleigh in case it was needed for transportation between here and Maison d'espoir. Huddling deeper under the warm blankets, I fall back asleep wondering if Ace is still on duty.

Icy hands moving up my thigh bring me out of sound sleep. "There you are," I mumble, "I fell asleep waiting for you." Ace's cold hands give me gooseflesh, but I pull him closer. He's chilled to the bone.

He curls around me, seeking my body warmth. "Linc was late relieving me. He thought he saw someone in the forest and went out to check. Didn't find anything but deer tracks. But he said it looked like someone had used a branch to cover their tracks." I hear the worry in his voice, but he dismisses the matter. "Probably just a poacher."

His lips are warm as he kisses me. He unfastens my nightgown and pulls it off. The cold air hits my bare skin, and I mutter in protest. His laugh rumbles deep in his chest. "You won't be cold for long," he whispers in my ear. Then he continues his path of warm kisses across my bare skin. Indeed, it is not long before we are both quite warm.

In the faint distance I hear the sounds of the château stirring in the early morning, but I block everything out. Ace demands all my attention. His hands slide along the length of my body as he pulls me against him. I touch the hard curves of his strong back, feeling the power beneath my fingertips. We caress each other until we can wait no longer. I wrap my arms around him. As he carries us to the pinnacle, I cannot contain an enraptured moan.

Suddenly the door bursts open. "Maman, are you all right?" Then Meg sees Ace and shrieks.

I freeze. Ace grabs the blanket and deftly covers us. We sit up, and I move slightly behind him, trying to hide myself. Heat sears my cheeks. I'm mortified that Meg has walked in during our lovemaking. Why didn't Ace lock the door?

Meg just stands in the doorway, her hand still on the knob. Her shocked expression tells me she's aware of what was happening. "I…I…," she averts her gaze, looking down at the floor, "I was on my way downstairs and heard you groan. I thought you might be ill." Her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

I cannot utter a word, so Ace speaks up, "It's only polite to knock before you enter a room." I blink. _Knock?_ _Meg should knock before coming into my room?_ I stifle a sudden urge to laugh.

Before she can open her mouth to speak, Jeremy rushes into the room, barefooted, half dressed and brandishing a sword. _A sword? _Ace's hand squeezes my bare leg beneath the blanket to reassure me. Jeremy looks around, and realizing there's no danger, lowers his sword. A knowing grin curls the corners of his mouth. "Everything under control here?"

Derek suddenly appears in the doorway. "I heard a scream. What's up?"

I can feel my laughter ready to tumble out at this ridiculous scenario. I lean against Ace's back trying to quell it, but can't hold it back any longer. My strangled noises cause him to look over his shoulder at me. When he sees I'm struggling with laughter, he relaxes and turns back to our audience. _"I…,"_ he begins.

Ty interrupts, shoving Derek out of the way. "Hey, is this a morning meeting?" He glares at Jeremy accusingly, "No one told me about it!"

"_Enough!"_ Ace's voice reverberates against the walls. Meg's mouth falls open. Everyone stares at Ace. That sets me off in a new fit of laughter. Making sure the blanket is still tucked around me, Ace moves toward the edge of the bed. "You all have three seconds to get the hell out of here because I'm getting up to get dressed!"

Meg shrieks again and runs out of the room. Ty and Derek follow with Ty still mumbling about never being told anything. Jeremy grins, then pulls the door shut behind him, leaving us alone. At last. I take one look at Ace and start laughing uncontrollably. Tears run down my face as I try to explain. "I know I shouldn't find this so funny, but…," I point at the hallway, "the looks on their faces! Oh, Ace, I must be terribly perverse. But after my initial mortification, all I could see was the humor in it!"

Ace grins down at me and shakes his head indulgently. He gets out of bed and pokes at the embers in the fireplace until they glow red, then tosses on more logs. Next he walks over to examine the lock on the door. "Yep, knew I'd locked it!" He points at the metal. "The strike plate on the doorframe is loose. That'll get fixed today!" He returns to the bed and sits on the edge, studying me. "By now, everyone probably knows what happened. I'm afraid, my dear, that your reputation has been compromised."

I move closer to him and wrap my arms around his neck. "As long as I have you, I don't care a wit about what they think." _Except Erik, _it occurs to me. I hope he doesn't hear about this before I can talk to him.

"Well I do care. And it's up to me to fix this."

I kiss the stubble on the side of his face. "We still have time before the day's festivities begin…" I whisper the rest of my suggestion in his ear. He smiles in agreement and puts off any idea of getting up now.

By the time we make our way to the bathroom and fill the claw foot tub, it's mid-morning. Having running hot water now is such a pleasure. I like all of the 'modern' renovations in the château. When the tub is filled, Ace steps in first and sits down, bending his knees to fit. Then I join him. He grabs the bar of soap I left on the short stool. He puts it to his nose. "Lavender? Didn't you bring my soap?"

I look around. "I had it wrapped in my towel. It must have slipped out."

I get up to find it, but he stops me. "Don't bother. I can use yours this time." He rolls the bar between his hands, creating a thick lather. Then with a wicked grin, he reaches out and begins to wash my back. And then my front. I do the same for him. Soon the room is fragrant with the scent of lavender. We're careful not to spill too much bathwater on the floor. Finally the water turns cold. We dry each other and dress. I turn my back to Ace, asking for his help with my corset. He's quite adept at it now. And, as usual, he always comments, "Damn contraptions. I'm glad you took Laura's advice and don't wear it so tightly now. She's right about the damage they do to a woman's insides."

"And much more comfortable, too." I pick up my dressing gown and towels, and we head for the bedroom.

I hang the towels near the fireplace to dry. Ace is sitting in the chair, pulling a boot on. "I need to talk to Jeremy. Remember," Ace glances sideways at me, "he's leaving for several hours to see Terese."

"I'm glad he'll be able to spend some time with her." I hand Ace his other boot and add, "It still amazes me he can be gone for ten days in the future and yet return here after only a few hours."

'That's one of the advantages of time travel." Ace pulls his boot on and stands.

"I suppose if I hadn't experienced it myself, I wouldn't believe it."

He takes me in his arms. "I'm glad you did. It makes it easier that I don't have to watch every word I say. You know you can't…"

I stop him. "Oui. I understand that anything we say is just between us." He smiles and I brush a lock of errant hair from his forehead. I tidy the room while he banks the fire.

As we go downstairs sounds of merriment can already be heard. Everyone has been looking forward to Christmas. The château will be filled with people coming and going all day, including the entire staff, all the resident workmen and stablemen, as well as the neighboring families. Even Christine and Raoul accepted an invitation.

At the bottom of the stairs, Ace says, "I'll join you as soon as I finish with Jeremy. He wants to brief me since I'll be in charge until he gets back." I tell him to meet me in the great hall when he's done.

At that moment, Jeremy comes around the corner, his eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of visiting Terese. I smile and put my hand on his sleeve, saying under my breath, "Please give my regards to her."

He pats my hand. "I will." The men start for the library. Jeremy leans toward Ace and sniffs. "Ace, you smell like lavender!" Ace grunts in response, and Jeremy laughs. When they go into the library, I head toward the kitchen to visit with Jeanette.

Linc is outside the kitchen door. Just standing there. Odd. I bid him good morning and then enter the kitchen. Jeanette moves around the room, giving instructions to the kitchen staff. "Georgette put the fruit in the large silver bowl." Then she turns to Eva. "You always do such a nice job of arranging the napkins and silverware. Would you do that and make sure everything looks festive? There is more greenery on the table in the pantry if you need it."

Eva's face lights up. She quickly disappears through the door, and I hear her greet Linc. Ah. Now it makes sense. I've seen Linc and Eva together quite often lately. Thank goodness she came to her senses when Joseph didn't return her affections. I wonder if she'll fair better with Linc. I hope so.

Jeanette then gives instructions on serving the dishes just coming out of the oven. Preparations have been going on for several weeks. A buffet has been set up so that most of the staff will be free from duties. Everyone's in a festive mood. Especially since last week when each member of the staff received a Christmas bonus. The reaction to the bonus ranged from shocked to ecstatic. That was Laura's doing. Many times I've heard her discuss with Erik and Jeremy how upset she is at the low wages which are paid to household staff and workers. We have explained to her that it is the custom in this century to provide workers on an estate with room, board and their work clothes and a small monetary stipend in addition. I remember one time she flared up in anger. "But the stipend is barely enough to buy a pair of shoes after a year's labor." It was explained to her that paying excessively large salaries would draw undo attention to the Mercier estate. So she found a way around it and gave everyone a bonus equal to a year's salary. In addition, every person received warm cloaks, gloves and hats. Everyone one at Maison d'espoir was also gifted in the same manner.

Jeanette's cheeks are flushed and strands of hair have pulled looses from the combs in her hair. Exquisite hand-carved combs, if I'm not mistaken. Hmmm. She comes over and sits with me at the table. I push a cup of tea toward her. "Looks like you've been very busy," I comment.

"_Oui._ Almost everything is done, though. Just a few more courses to place on the buffet table."

I nod and glance up at her hair combs. "I don't remember seeing those before."

Her cheeks flush even deeper. She clears her throat, then smiles at me. "They were a gift from Alejandro. We sat and talked for many hours last night."

"_I see."_

"Oh, Antoinette! He is so…so…"

"Virile?" I supply.

She laughs. "Oh my. You're not going to throw my words back at me again, are you?"

I shake my head. "No. But you must tell me about last night."

She lowers her voice. "Alejandro enjoys removing my hairpins and letting my hair fall loose. He said the combs will be much easier." She takes a sip of tea and shakes her head. "He loves my hair, but I can't understand why. It's got so much grey in it. I'm not a young mademoiselle, you know."

I smile. "I'm not either. But that doesn't mean we cannot still experience love…and passion."

"_Oui! _And Alejandro is so passionate! He confided in me the Contessa plans to visit her grandchildren frequently," her eyes twinkle, "and he promises that he'll return with her."

"So he's serious in his feelings for you!"

"I believe so." She tilts her head. "Time will tell."

Joseph saunters into the kitchen and looks around. When he spots us, he walks over. "Merry Christmas, ladies."

The tension between Joseph and me has disappeared. We often stop and speak with each other, catching up on what we've been doing. I still enjoy listening to his inventive ideas and plans for the château and Maison d'espoir. If he holds any grudge for what was between us, he never lets me know of it. "Merry Christmas to you, Joseph."

Jeanette beams up at him. "I bet you're here to get some of my special cinnamon croissants. I set several aside just for you. I know how much you love them."

The creases at the corners of his eyes deepen when he smiles down at her. "Absolutely! They're the best I've ever had." She goes to get them. When her back is turned, he places a small, wrapped gift on the table next to her tea cup. He thanks her when she hands him a napkin filled with the warm croissants, then nods to me and leaves.

Jeanette picks up the gift. "What's this?"

"Joseph left it for you."

She meticulously unwraps the gift and sets the beautiful paper aside to be used later. She opens the small velvet box and shows me the brooch nestled inside. It's a delicately carved ivory flower. "Oh, Jeanette, how lovely. It will look so nice on you!"

"What a thoughtful rascal! He does surprise me at times." She looks over at me. "It's a shame you didn't…"

"Stop! Don't go any further. You know I made my choice."

She sighs, _"Oui." _

I look at her slyly. "Well, you know, he's still available!" We both dissolve into laughter.

After we finish our tea, Jeanette accompanies me to the great hall. The room hums with cheerful conversation and the happy voices of children. The fireplaces at the front and back of the hall are both ablaze. Warmth radiates into the room, keeping the chill out. Glancing out a side window, I'm pleased to see it's still snowing. The children have already been outside to frolic, bundled up in their new warm clothing. Several lopsided snowmen stand in the side yard. Louis is helping one of his grandchildren build another one. I watch as he lifts his grandson up to place a hat on the snowman's head.

Jeanette joins Russ, Danielle and Ethan on the other side of the room, laughing at some joke. Mina and Jean-Luc are nearby. Both boys are busily opening presents. I stand just inside the door, taking in the room. The large spruce stands in front of the windows. Tall enough to almost touch the high ceiling. A magical gold star crowns the top. The higher part of the tree is decorated with many elegant ornaments, ranging from shiny glass-blown figurines to red velvet bows. Garlands of berries intertwine through the limbs. Branches droop from fruit studded with cloves and rolled in ground cinnamon. The scent creates a luxurious fragrance.

The lower half of the tree is decorated gaily with homemade ornaments contributed by all the children in the château. Some of them are quite unique. Several incorporate bird feathers and one is even fashioned from a bird's nest. Sue showed the children how to cut snowflakes from white fabric, then stiffen them to hang from the branches and green garlands around the great hall. Smaller tatted and crocheted snowflakes are sprinkled liberally over the tree. I taught Charlotte how to tat and many of them are her handiwork. Beneath the tree are dozens of presents for the children.

Sue and Julia are just now handing out the gifts to the thrill of the children. Colorful wrappings are quickly discarded and exclamations of surprise fill the air. No child will be without gifts this year. Erik and Laura saw to that.

Charlotte is opening one of her presents. Her face lights with delight when she holds up the doll dressed in a ballerina's tutu. It is the gift from Ace and me. I glance around, but don't see Edward anywhere. He must still be outside in the stables.

Matt and Dara are sitting side by side on a settee, watching the excited children. At one point, Matt leans over and whispers something in her ear. She smiles up at him, and he takes her hand.

At the front of the hall, Erik and Laura are sitting on the grand oak bench, enjoying the blazing fire in the great stone fireplace. Baron de Tristan and his baroness are wishing Erik and Laura a _Joyeux Noel_. I can tell that Erik invites the couple to join them, but the Baron shakes his head, pointing to their two young boys who seem anxious to participate in the celebrations with the other children. The Baron and his wife go off to watch their sons opening their gifts. Soon another neighbor greets Erik and Laura. As they turn to leave, I see Erik quickly hide a yawn behind his hand.

Jeanette told me little Erik had his parents up most of the night. He had a stomach ache, so Laura and Erik walked the floor with him. He must have eaten something that didn't agree with him because there was no fever or illness. Thankfully, Elizabeth wasn't affected. They finally sent a message to Danielle, and she sent over an herbal tea for the little babe. It worked. This time, Erik can't hide his yawn as he leans over the small crib next to him and checks on his sleeping son. Even from across the room, I can see the look of love and protectiveness on Erik's face.

As other neighbors arrive, a constant stream of visitors make their way to greet Erik and Laura. The Contessa sits in a high-back chair next to Laura who holds Elizabeth in her arms. The baby is mesmerized by the activity of the children around the tree. The Contessa tries to get her interest by shaking a rattle, but Elizabeth keeps leaning forward, reaching toward the other children as if she wants to get down and play. I notice that while Joseph speaks with one of the neighbors, his eyes keep straying toward the Contessa. Meg and Ty are deep in conversation near the fireplace. No one has noticed me yet. That's good. I'll stay right where I am at the entrance and wait for Ace.

Most of the gifts have been handed out, and many of the families are beginning to move into the dining room to take advantage of the sumptuous buffet set out on the holiday-festooned tables. As they pass me, some glance my way with a smile. Have they heard about what happened earlier upstairs? Heat flushes my cheeks. Surely, I'm just imagining it. But I know that nothing stays secret in the château. _Please hurry, Ace._ I can't face these people alone. I quietly step out into the hallway and busy myself lighting the candles in the foyer. I pray no one arrives right now. Like Sir Blakeney and Rajan. Or Raoul and Christine.

"Are you okay?" Ace's deep voice never sounded so good.

I turn to him, relieved. "Yes. Now that you're here." I glance around, then lower my voice. "I feel like everyone knows what happened."

He offers his arm. "Don't worry, Antoinette. Everything will be fine."

He leads me into the great hall. We walk straight to the front of the room where Erik is speaking with Derek. The Contessa and Laura are occupied with Elizabeth playing on Laura's lap. When Meg and Ty see us approach, they stop talking. Erik notices and turns around. When he spots Ace, his jaw goes rigid and anger flares in his eyes. He stands to confront Ace. _Mon Dieu!_ He knows!

"Merry Christmas, Antoinette. Ace." Laura says warmly.

"Merry Christmas to you, Laura." Ace glances around at all of the faces staring at us expectantly. Keeping his voice low so that it doesn't carry any further than our group, Ace drolly adds, "Well, I see that everyone is aware of what happened earlier upstairs." Ace glances at Meg. I want to kick him! Doesn't he see that Erik is already incensed? Meg blushes and has the sense to look embarrassed.

Erik's voice is also low, but filled with fury. _"You will explain yourself, Monsieur! In the library! NOW!" _

I move forward to say something, but Ace squeezes my hand to stop me, signaling that he'll take care of this. "There's no need for that. I can explain what…"

"_You damn well better!"_ Erik blurts out.

_Mon dieu._ _We've invoked the Phantom._

"He damn well better do wha', Erik?" A familiar voice booms out from behind us. Ace and I turn. _Marek!_

"Erik wants to know why I was in bed with Antoinette," Ace replies. Several people around us gasp audibly. I can't believe what Ace said. Is he deliberately trying to anger Erik?

Marek shakes his head. "Well, man, I agree tha' ya better have a good explanation for tha' one!"

Ace looks Erik squarely in the face. "We were going to talk to you and Laura today. Things didn't quite work out the way we planned." He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. Erik growls, but Ace's next words stop him from moving forward and wrapping his hands around Ace's throat. "May I present my wife, Madame Thomas?"

For several seconds everyone freezes, silent. Then Marek throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh. To make matters worse, he steps forward and gives Erik a hard slap on his shoulder. "Well, Erik, sounds like a damn good explanation t' me!"

That breaks the tension. Except for Erik. He still looks unhappy. We should have gone to him right away and let him know we were married. But then I didn't anticipate how this would all unfold.

Everyone rushes to ask questions. Ace finally holds his hand up, "Whoa. Let me answer all of your questions at once. When Antoinette agreed to marry me, we talked about a wedding. We didn't want anything fancy and decided to have a small ceremony and inform everyone later."

Laura asks with a smile, "So when did you find time to get married?"

I return her smile. "Last Saturday. We wanted to be married on the first day of winter—the 21st."

Meg takes my hand. "But, maman, why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, Meg…" I sigh.

"I understand." She hangs her head. "I can't keep things to myself."

I hug her. "We didn't want any of the fuss. We'd already posted banns in November. When we went into Paris to finish our Christmas shopping, Ace and I went to the Magistrate's office, and he performed the ceremony."

Erik takes Ace aside, but I'm close enough to overhear what he says. "I am the only family Antoinette has. The proper thing would have been to come to me and ask for permission to wed her."

"In hindsight I see that I should have done that." Ace has finally come to his senses. He's trying to smooth Erik's ruffled feathers. "However, I do hope that…"

I cringe, wondering what he's going to say next. Thankfully, Marek jumps into the conversation, "Erik, remember where Ace is from. It is no' done tha' way anymore. Besides, they're already married. Give him a break, man!"

Erik is quiet for a long moment, then addresses Ace again. "You are fortunate that you married her. I would not have accepted anything else."

Marek thumps Ace on the back. "Congratulations, laddie. Ya made a good choice!"

Ace gazes into my eyes, smiling. "Yes, I know."

Marek lifts his nose in the air. "Ace, are you wearin' lavender?"

"Nah, you must be imagining it."

Erik turns to Marek and asks, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Well, ol' man. I've come t' see your wee bairns." Marek raises his hand to slap Erik on the shoulder again, but Erik halts him with a glower. So Marek shrugs instead and grins at him. "Came t' see if they're as cute as mine."

_Marek's POV:_

Erik raises his eyebrow and snaps back, "Well, if you're offspring look anything like you there's no competition."

"No, thank goodness, they favor Claire." I turn and look down at the beautiful little bairn in Laura's arms. "Ahh, and I see yours take after Laura."

Erik glowers at me.

Laura beams me that pixie grin of hers and says, "Marek, I'd like you to meet _our _daughter, Elizabeth." She holds up the baby, giving me a good look at the large, dark eyes and black crop of hair.

"May I hold her?" Laura hands me the wee bundle. "You're a bonnie li'l lassie." I say as I cradle her. She coos back at me, then with the deft speed of her father, her little hand grabs my beard, giving it a good yank. I grunt loudly and her eyes open wide, startled. Then she giggles. I look at Laura and announce, "She just won m'heart. This one's a charmer." Then I look over at Erik and add, "She's going t' keep you verra busy when the boys start comin' around."

Erik's eyebrow flattens. He's not quite certain whether that was a compliment or a warning.

"I understand there are two. Where's the other bairn?" I ask. Suddenly a small, dramatic squeal emanates from the crib. "Tha' sounds like wee Erik." Big Erik frowns at me as he leans over and picks up the wriggling baby.

"Indeed, this is _our_ son." He holds him up with a smug look of pride. Elizabeth reaches out for her brother. She manages to grab his fist and brings it to her mouth. Little Erik lets out a yelp. Turning to Laura, Erik asks with a sly grin, "Do you think we should feed her before she eats her brother's fingers?"

Everyone laughs as Laura turns to the nanny. She asks her to take them to the nursery, give them lunch and settle them for a nap. I give Elizabeth a kiss on the forehead as the nanny takes her from my arms. "See ya later, lassie." On cue my stomach growls and I realize I haven't eaten since last night, what with all the time traveling around I've been doing. "Speakin' of food, I'm hungry, too. Could someone show me which direction t' get t' the chow?"

"Antoinette and I were just going to fix a plate," Ace replies. "Care to join us?"

As newly arrived guests come up to visit Erik and Laura, I follow Ace and Antoinette into the dining room. There I discover a long buffet table groaning with a veritable feast. I grab a plate and start at one end, working my way down. I sample a little of each dish: pork, fish and duck. Everything but the oysters. I hate the little critters. Then I move on to the yams, green beans and asparagus, but once again pass when I reach the brussel sprouts. I cut off a large portion of one of the loaves of bread and scoop up a dollop of butter. I glance at the dessert table, piled high with cakes, pastries and sweet meats and decide I'll come back for those later.

I sit next to Ace and Antoinette who bring me up to date about what's happening around the château. While we chat, I keep my eye on the entrance. A clump of mistletoe hangs over the doorway and occasionally one of the men catches a woman as they enter and steals a kiss. When the stable boy lays one on a very pretty chambermaid, I chuckle and ask Ace, "Who hung the mistletoe? Tha' seems t' be a very opportune location."

He rolls his eyes. "Joe put it up."

I take a big bite of juicy pork and study the mistletoe. _Just who is Joe trying to corner_? Erik and Laura enter the dining room, but he doesn't seem to notice the mistletoe and misses his chance. When Laura and he settle in at the head of the table, I notice Erik stifles a yawn. Several times. Finally when a yawn escapes, I ask him, "Are we borin' ya?"

"We didn't get much sleep last night, Marek," Laura explains. "Little Erik had an upset tummy and cried most of the night."

"Been there, done that," I grin. "Comes with bein' a parent."

"But I've noticed it's very different with twins," Antoinette pipes up. "One baby keeps you busy, twins double the work. It seems to be never ending. I was pleased when Laura hired a nanny to help out."

"But last night little Erik could not be comforted," Laura shakes her head. "He wouldn't stop crying, so Erik and I took turns walking him. Nothing seemed to work. He didn't get to sleep until daybreak."

I glance over at Erik and catch him stifling another yawn. Then Percy enters the dining room with Meg. He glances up and smirks when he catches sight of the mistletoe. Moving swiftly to catch Meg while she's directly underneath, he plants a lingering kiss on her. She doesn't seem to object at all. In fact, she appears to be enjoying it. I glance at Antoinette. She's notices, too, but doesn't grimace. It seems things have progressed considerably since I was here last. Erik, on the other hand, is frowning. Does he object to Percy's advances on Meg, or that the mistletoe is there without his permission?

Percy takes the seat of honor next to Erik with Meg on his other side. Percy's in a lively mood and aims some barbs at Erik when he yawns again. Percy ascribes Erik's tiredness to _other_ night time activities, having not heard about little Erik. Percy even mentions the dark circle under Erik's eye and continues his ribald insinuations. Erik's not amused, but Percy doesn't let up. I keep watch on Erik's deteriorating mood. Percy's definitely skating on thin ice.

Then it happens. Like an explosion. The Contessa is coming through the doorway with Joe at her side. When she steps under the mistletoe, Joe takes her by the elbow and halts her. In the next instant, he's kissing her on the lips. Erik's chair shoots back as he jumps to his feet and flies the short distance to the door. Joe has barely stepped back from kissing the Contessa when Erik's fist connects with a resounding blow to his jaw. Joe reels and looses his footing, landing flat on his back.

The room goes silent. Erik towers angrily over Joe, breathing heavily, barely holding himself back from further attack.

As Joe rubs his aching jaw, he looks up at Erik in astonishment. "I meant no offense. Just a kiss under the mistletoe."

"You have no right to make such advances to the Contessa," Erik hisses. "Under _any _circumstances."

As Joe gets to his feet, he shakes his head, still trying to clear it. And probably trying to figure out 19th century sensibilities. I never covered _mistletoe_ and _Contessas _in my training class with the Team. And Joe clearly thought it was a nice set up he could get away with.

The Contessa steps between the two men. "Are you all right, Señor Carson?" She asks with appropriate dignity, but her eyes betray that she's far from offended.

As Joe stands up and straightens his jacket, he half smiles. "I'm fine." Then he bows deeply to the Contessa, "Please accept my sincere apologies."

"I do," the Contessa replies. "My son is correct, of course, that it is not proper to kiss a Contessa." Erik nods in approval of his mother's words. Then she adds with a quirk of a smile, "Without her permission." Erik glowers.

Erik refrains from further comment and escorts his mother to the buffet table. Joe remains at the door until the Contessa is seated safely next to Erik. Joe then scoops up a plate of food and seats himself across the room with Sue and Derek. As conversation begins again at our table, I notice that Percy treats Erik with new deference. Being a nobleman himself, Percy clearly agrees with Erik's reaction. But I also wonder if he's now realizing that he has to tread a bit more lightly to avoid Erik's wrath. And fist.

As we're leaving the dining room on our way back to the warmth of that blazing fire at the front of the great hall, Christine and Raoul arrive in the foyer. While the doorman takes their cloaks, Erik and Laura greet them. Laura with hugs. Erik with a formal, perfunctory nod of the head. The look in his eyes tells me he's considering their presence a duty. As for the Contessa, she's beaming at her sons and their wives, clearly in her glory. Laura asks Christine and Raoul if they would like something to eat. They decline, saying they would prefer first to warm up in front of the fire. So Laura and the Contessa take them into the great hall, with Erik, Ace, Antoinette and me in tow.

Erik's shoulders are rigid with tension as he glares at his brother's back. My gut feeling is that Christine and Raoul are the final straw for him. The last thing we need is another Erik explosion. My mind starts turning on a plan. "Erik, could you join Ace and me in the library for a minute?" I grin innocently.

The two men look at me, perplexed. But Erik doesn't put up any objection. I think he's taking this as a respite from having to deal with his brother. When we get to the library I go over to the cabinet and pour three cognacs. As I'm handing them out, I suggest we settle in front of the fire for a chat.

Erik takes his cognac and sits down in the side chair with a sigh. Exhaustion or relief, I'm not sure.

"Mighty fine bairns ya have, Erik," I begin, laying the groundwork for my proposal.

"Thank you," he smiles with pride.

"But a lot o' extra work, being twins, I take it."

"Yes, especially since their nursery is so close. It's in our sitting room. Whenever they fuss at night, Laura always takes over from the nanny." Then after a pause, he adds, "So I always help."

"Lots o' sleepless nights?"

"Yes, especially the first couple months when they had feedings every three hours. Day and night."

"'Twas a good thing t' bring on a nanny and wet nurse, then." I observe.

"That has helped somewhat," he mumbles and take a big gulp of the cognac.

"And, no doubt you're still occupied with the running o' the estate," I prod him.

"Of course. We are still refurbishing Château Mercier and have workmen coming from the village five days a week. I have been doing the designs for the remodel, while Joe oversees the actual work. But Laura and I are totally in charge of the refurbishing of Maison d'espoir," he pauses, thinking. "And the hiring of the teachers and staff. And all the problems that arise with the newcomers. To say nothing of those who are now residents." He takes another sip of cognac, then continues, "And then there are Jean-Luc's music lessons several times a week. He is definitely a prodigy. Will make a fine concert pianist. And, of course, his mother, Mina, is dealing with violence against the women being cared for in the Paris shelter. So we have been putting in place the plan to start another home in America where they can escape to safety." He yawns. "Then for the last couple weeks, supervising all the Christmas bonuses and preparations for today."

"So ya might say you've been a tad busy," I reply drolly.

He stares down at the cognac goblet in his hand. "Uh. Well, now that you mention it. I guess we have been."

"Maybe that's why you're yawnin' most o' the time. And bein' a bit testy?"

Erik glares at me over the edge of the goblet.

"When was the last time you and Laura had some time t'yourselves?"

His face goes blank. There's a long pause as he searches his tired brain. "Well, I cannot remember exactly. But it would have been before the babies were born."

"So that's at least four months?"

"Or possibly more."

I glance over at Ace and can tell from the look on his face, he knows where I'm going with this. "Don't you think it's abou' time tha' Laura and you had a visit t' the gamekeeper's cottage?"

Suddenly Erik gets my point. His face lights up. Followed just as quickly by a frown. "That would be very welcome. But it is Christmas, and we have a houseful of guests. Just never time."

"Well, I think it's time." Turning to Ace, I continue, "You're in charge right now. And Jeremy will be back soon. Don't you think the two o' ya can step into Erik's shoes for a day or two?"

"We'll certainly try!" Ace says without hesitation. "I'll set Antoinette on getting the cottage ready. The servants can have it done in a couple hours."

I turn to Erik, "Well?"

He stares at the two of us, amazed. I can see the wheels turning in his head. Being alone with Laura in that cozy love nest is definitely the Christmas present he wants. Then he shakes his head. "Looks like you have it all figured out, except for one thing."

"What's that?" I challenge.

"Laura! She won't leave the babies."

"Ach, man! I have tha' base covered. I'll be in charge o' the bairns. I'm right experienced. I've got three o'my own. And ya do have a nanny and a wet nurse. We'll manage just fine!"

Finally Erik smiles. "Well, this might just be possible." He jumps to his feet and on the way to the door tosses back, "I just have to convince Laura."

We follow him into the great hall. He makes a beeline for his wife and whispers something in her ear. They excuse themselves, and we watch as Erik takes her into the library. I scratch my beard and wonder. _Who's going to win that debate?_

_Erik's POV:_

At the edge of the front steps, the Contessa gives Laura a hug, then smiles warmly up at me. "I am most pleased you are taking this time for yourselves. You both need some respite. And time with each other." She gives us a knowing smile. "And while you are away, I will have my final visit with Raoul and Christine before I leave for home."

I glance over the Contessa's head at Marek. He gives me a conspiratorial grin. I lost the lively discussion with Laura in the library. Although she clearly longed for some time to ourselves in the gamekeeper's cottage, she just could not bring herself to be away from the children for several days. But Marek had been busy in our absence. He had told the Contessa, Raoul and Christine about the proposed three day sojourn for us at the cottage. He pointed out to them that during that time Raoul and Christine could take the Contessa to Paris to visit and shop. And attend holiday parties. Apparently Raoul jumped at the opportunity. I surmise partly to be with mother. And partly to save him from having to spend the day in my presence. At any rate, Marek later told me all three of them agreed it was a "splendid" idea. So, when Laura and I emerged from the library, Laura was outnumbered, and for once, outmaneuvered. She conceded. Graciously.

The Contessa remains at the top of the steps, but Marek and Ace escort us down to the sleigh which is waiting to take us to the cottage. After Laura is settled into the seat, Ace says to me under his breath, "Everything will be fine. And Jeremy will be back in a couple hours. But there were tracks on the property this morning. Probably poachers, so I'm sending Derek and Ty to set up camp next to the cottage. They'll keep guard, just to make sure you'll be safe and undisturbed." Just then Derek and Ty ride out of the stables with a pack horse laden with tent, blankets and equipment.

"I see," I nod in acquiescence. Always someone nearby. Laura and I are never completely alone any more. But it is a precaution I cannot dispute.

Marek slaps me on the shoulder. "Ah…don't give 'em a thought. And Uncle Marek will make sure your bairns are well-cared for. Just enjoy your time with Laura." He gives me a wink, then shoves me up the steps into the sleigh. Before I can make any retort, he tells the driver to go. The sleigh jumps forward with a jolt, then settles into a smooth glide over the snow. I look back at Marek who is grinning like a Cheshire cat. Totally pleased with himself. Well, for once, I do not disagree.

Laura snuggles against my chest as I pull the wool blanket over us. It is getting toward sunset and more snow is coming down. But there is no wind, so the snow settles gently on our faces in a magical dance of powdery white. Her body is so warm against mine that soon the cold is forgotten. She runs her hand up the back of my neck and pulls me down into a kiss. With a glance at the driver to assure that he is paying attention only to his team of horses, I pull Laura to me and indulge in slow, deep kisses. By the time the sleigh halts at the cottage, we are breathless. Laura's face is flushed, and she gives me a smile that promises more. Much more.

As the sleigh returns to the chateau, Ty and Derek take their horses into the small stable which was constructed last summer. They will no doubt pitch their tent there and begin their vigil. I hurry Laura into the cottage. The fire's warmth is beginning to spread throughout the small space, welcoming us. As we take off our cloaks, then unlace and remove our shoes, we take in Antoinette's preparations. Baskets of fresh breads, muffins and cheese sit next to sweet meats, fruit and a roasted duck on the ancient oak table. The wine rack is filled with the finest wines and a bottle of cognac and two goblets sit on the small side table in front of the fireplace. Pillows and velveteen quilts cover the settee and the bed has been made with fresh linen and even more piles of quilts. I chuckle. Well, we certainly will not freeze to death. Or starve. But another matter occupies all my attention. And it has nothing to do with food or sleep.

I immediately begin to undo the laces on the back of Laura's dress, kissing the skin as it is exposed. She groans happily, beginning to allow her own needs and desires to take precedence over her motherly preoccupations. For once I do not object to Marek's interference. The dress drops in a pile at Laura's feet and the corset soon joins it. I hold her to me and kiss her lips, neck, shoulder and breasts, rounder and even more beautiful from nursing. Suddenly she breaks out in gooseflesh. "A bit cold, my love?" I ask.

"Yes," she smiles. "Let me get into my night gown and robe." She looks longingly over at the fireplace. "I'll join you at the settee, all right?"

"Of course," I breathe out in anticipation. I toss my jacket, cravat, shirt and trousers on one of the dining chairs, then get my robe from the dresser. I cross over to the fire and stoke it, adding a couple more logs. When I turn around, Laura is already on the settee, pulling a coverlet over her. She smiles and beckons me. I sit next to her and once again she snuggles against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I kiss her forehead and wrap my arm around her, bringing her as close to me as humanly possible. At moments like these, I just want my body to merge with hers. Into one. I can smell the lilac soap in her hair. Her hair, so soft. Her body, so warm. For many minutes we luxuriate in holding each other and gazing into the fire that laps hypnotically at the wood. So comfortable. So content…

I can barely keep my eyes open… Sleep… _No._ I do not want to sleep. Not _now._ Laura's breath gently puffs on my chest. Slowly, regularly. I look down. Her eyes are closed. She's deep in sleep. So beautiful. So peaceful. I do not want to disturb her. And my eyes. They will not stay open. The fire. Feels so warm. I think I'll….

_So…a Merry Christmas to all. And to All a Good Night!!!_

* * *

END of BOOK THREE


	114. Chapter 114

**A/N: Well…it is decided. The Epic Case will continue into Book Four! Heartfelt thanks to each of you who posted or sent private pms telling me how much you enjoy the story and encourage us to continue! I also appreciate those of you who understand why we might have needed to end the story because of my concentration on the book. However, we got the message, loud and clear, that you wanted more of a resolution to Erik and Laura's story, as well as the others. Because the book is taking my focus, full time, we have decided to post one chapter a month. We will announce the posting schedule in advance for those readers who don't receive alerts. **

**The next chapter will post on February 14****th**** for Valentine's Day. KFC will be returning to give us the story of Jeremy's visit with Terese! You won't want to miss that one!**

**Now for an update on the book. I am in the intense work of editing and honing, from beginning to end. I also need to prune a lot of words to get the book down to a certain word count. I am finding that not difficult when I layer in my current writing style which has definitely changed over the last three years. The first section of the book introduces Erik and his "situation" when brought to the future. It also gives a detailed telling of his personal story, set in the backdrop of the real history of the 19****th**** century. Laura has her job cut out for her, trying to get to the truth, since Erik is not forthcoming. At all. And there is always the PTB, manipulating from the shadows. The book is a suspense/thriller! As any experienced writer knows, a book has peaks and valleys. Some sections set the foundation for the action to follow, but by the middle of the book, it's a roller coaster ride to the end! And, as I have said, the book is different from the Epic Case! You will be surprised!**

Everyone at the château has tried to give Erik and Laura some needed time alone. But is that meant to be?

* * *

**BOOK FOUR of the Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera**

**Chapter 114 Midnight Clear by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Christmas Evening_

_December 25, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Antoinette's POV:_

I knock on the door. Suddenly Ace grabs me from behind and gathers me in his arms. I recognize the look in his eyes. I glance around_. "Ace!_ What if someone sees us?" He just laughs.

We're in the hallway outside Erik and Laura's suite. I want to stop and see if Marek needs anything before we retire for the evening. I open my mouth to say more, but his hands move down to my backside. He draws me against his strong body, then leans over and kisses me. A long passionate kiss. His breath is warm on my neck as he whispers, "No one here, but us." Then his lips move to the sensitive skin exposed by my décolletage. Tendrils of pleasure curl through me. I run my hands along his shoulders, encouraging him to continue.

Suddenly, we hear, "I'll be right there." We freeze. Ace heaves a deep sigh and reluctantly straightens my décolletage. I place my hand on his cheek and lean close to his ear. "I promise this will be a quick visit."

"It better be," he moans softly just as the nanny opens the door, her arms filled with toys.

"_Bonsoir,_ Riana. We just wanted to see Monsieur Marek." I glance around the sitting room, but he's not here. Nor are the children! "Where is he?"

"He's in the master's bedroom, rocking the babies and telling them a story while I put the room in order." She turns and walks over to the large trunk in the corner and begins putting up the toys.

"_Merci."_ Ace and I quietly open the bedroom door and slip inside. The rocking chair faces the other way, so Marek doesn't see us enter. His voice is thick with his Scots' burr, as he tells a story to the twins. "To be sure, 'twas a fierce battle at Castle La Roque tha' night. The English held Lady Claire prisoner, and their leader, the evil Lord Oliver had every intention o' hangin' her." _Mon dieu! Is the man daft?_ _This isn't a story for innocent babes._ Before I can stop him, he continues, "And then I saw your auntie Claire and how frightened she was. I rushed t' her side intendin' on gettin' her safely away. Suddenly, I was attacked. I was in the midst o' a mighty battle," his arm cuts the air like he's fighting, "when suddenly a sword came down and cut off my…."

"_Marek!"_ My loud whisper stops him.

He looks around and spots us. "I was just tellin' the wee bairns a good night story." He smiles sheepishly and points with his chin to the two babies cradled in his other arm. They're sound asleep. "Ach, looks like it worked!"

"Well, I think that's enough excitement for tonight!" I admonish him as I take Elizabeth from his arms. "It's time to put them in their beds." We carry the babies back into their nursery. Marek gently tucks the covers around Little Erik, then tells Riana that he'll look after the children, so she can take the night off. Ace and I sit down on one of the settees in front of the fireplace. When Marek walks over, I notice for the first time he's wearing an apron. He unties and tosses it on a chair.

"Looks quite fashionable on you, Marek," Ace says with a deadpan face. I stifle a laugh.

Marek takes it in stride. "Well, ya see, little Erik had a messy nappy earlier, and I was no' abou' to ruin my only set o' clothes. Didn't bring more since I was no' countin' on babysitting!"

"_You_ changed a diaper?" Ace asks in mock surprise.

"O' course, man. I've got three bairns o' my own." He glances around the room. Riana has left, and we're alone with the sleeping babies. "T'would be a bit easier if we could all use disposable diapers," he grins. "But even the cloth diapers tha' Erik and Laura use are a lot better than fourteenth century diapers. Those are just made from animal skins and lined with anythin' absorbent, like milkweed. I've shown them how t' weave a rough cloth, then fold it into layers for nappies. Fastenin' was a challenge. Finally came up with a system o' ties." Puffing out his chest a bit, he adds, "They're now o' the opinion tha' Scots are verra inventive."

From his expression when he talks about his life with Claire, I can tell how much he misses his family. "Does Claire ever 'travel' with you?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No, she knows nothing abou' this part o' my life. I always leave when she's sleepin' and return before she wakes. It's easier tha' way."

"I see." I'm glad my being transported to the future allows me to talk about it with Ace. "So how old are your children now? Are they still babies?"

He scratches his beard and leans back in the chair. It makes a noisy protest under his large frame. "Christophe's getting' ready t' turn five. He's a braw lad. Takes after his uncle, Claire's brother. I already see the makin' o' a fine leader in him. Three-year old Katherine is the apple o' my eye. And she knows it. She's already got me wrapped around her l'il finger." Then he runs his hand through his hair and chuckles. "But François is causin' my hair to turn grey. He's just eighteen months old. I hate t' admit it, but he takes after me. Into trouble every time he turns around."

Ace and I laugh, imagining a smaller version of Marek. "So, do ya have plans t' start a family of yer own?" Marek asks.

I blush. But Ace doesn't seem to mind such a personal question. "Actually, we've already started one." Marek smiles and starts to comment, but Ace stops him. "We're going to adopt Charlotte and Edward."

Marek blinks. Apparently that isn't what he expected to hear. But he quickly recovers. "Wonderful idea. There are t' many bairns withou' parents. Especially after all the sufferin' France has gone through recently."

"Our thoughts exactly."

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door and when I get up to answer it, Joseph's standing there. "Antoinette, I need to talk to Ace. Now. Marek too."

"Of course."

When I turn, both men are already behind me. A look passes between them, and I know something's happened. "Please stay with the children until I return," Marek says. Then they're gone.

_Ace's POV:_

As soon as we step into the hallway, Joe gets to the point. "Linc was scanning the grounds with the night vision binoculars and just spotted intruders in the forest near the gamekeeper's cottage."

"Damn! Too close to Erik and Laura." I glance at my watch. On top of that, Jeremy's returning soon. We can't take a chance that he'll be spotted transporting in. "How many?"

"At least half dozen."

"Did you get a signal from Ty and Derek?"

Joe shakes his head. "No, so I doubt they've spotted the intruders yet."

"Okay, Joe. Go down to the great hall. I just saw Sue and Julia there. Have them send Matt and Dara to stay with Antoinette and the babies. Tell them to notify Linc and put all the men in the château on alert. Then grab Sam and meet us at the stables. The four of us will go to the cottage."

Just as the horses are saddled, Joe and Sam arrive. We waste no time and head out in a gallop. It stopped snowing about an hour ago and clouds still dot the sky, but they're breaking up. We avoid the patches of moonlight and reach the cottage without seeing any trace of the intruders. Maybe they're just poachers—got their kill and left. The cottage is dark, and smoke is coming from the chimney. Erik's not going to be happy about our interrupting him, but it can't be helped.

Ty and Derek are surprised to see us. "Linc spotted intruders in the area," I explain. "Joe, go tell Erik and Laura to return to the château through the tunnel." He nods and takes off, staying in the shadows along the building. "Ty, Derek circle to the west. Sam, take a position where you can see the cottage door. Don't let anyone go in. I don't want any surprises from that quarter." I point toward the copse of trees. "Marek and I'll go east. That should put them between us." Everyone sets out.

Marek and I head into the forest, keeping our eyes out for tracks or signs of recent activity. We pull our dark clothing around us, trying to blend into the forest shadows. We've barely walked fifty feet when I hear leaves rustle off to my right. Marek hears it too. We listen. And wait. Nothing. Still cautious, I signal to Marek that I'll go toward the sound. He motions that he'll go straight ahead. Suddenly, a large man launches himself from an overhead branch on top of me. The momentum hurls me against the tree trunk, then onto the snow-covered ground. I throw a punch, but he's quick. My fist just grazes his jaw. Then he's on his feet, aiming his knife at my belly as he lunges toward me. I kick the nasty looking blade out of his hand, grab his arm and twist hard. He sprawls forward, trying to catch his balance, but I sweep his feet out from under him. He goes down. Hard.

Pinning him to the ground, I twist his right arm behind him and dig my knee into the small of his back. His rapid breathing creates small puffs of white in the cold night air. "Who are you?" I demand. He tries to pull loose from my hold, but I come down harder with my knee and jerk up on his arm. "I'll ask you again," I increase the pressure, "who are you?"

A scuffle to my left tells me Marek's in the middle of his own battle. Suddenly a small sliver of light falls across the face of the man I'm holding to the ground. The beam of light gets broader. Surprised, I glance up. _Who the hell's opening the cottage door? _A tall dark shape in a black cloak steps out. _Damn._ It's Erik! Jeremy'll have my hide if anything happens to him on my watch. And Laura. Might as well add Antoinette, too. _Triple damn!_

_Erik's POV:_

Warm hands are running along my bare skin inside my robe. Soft hands. I open my eyes and see Laura's smile as she playfully strokes my chest and moves ever lower…

Suddenly there's a pounding on the door. We bolt out of the settee. Laura gathers her robe around her, fear flashing in her eyes. I put my finger on her lips, indicating to remain silent. I hastily retrieve my Punjab lasso from my cloak on the way to the door. Opening it a crack, I peer out. It is Joe! "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Let me in."

"I think not." The audacity of this man. "Explain yourself!"

"There's danger!" Reluctantly I open the door just enough for him to enter. I glower at him and have the satisfaction of seeing him grimace. "We've spotted intruders outside the cottage. Ace says you and Laura are to return to the château. Now! Use the underground tunnel. I'll stay…"

"You will not! You have given your warning. Now leave." My voice brooks no compromise. He leaves.

I secure the door and hurry back to Laura. Her face has gone pale. "Hurry! There are intruders. It is not safe here." I grab her cloak and wrap it around her shoulders. Rushing her over to the trapdoor in the floor, I lift it and take her hand, steadying her as she climbs down. "I will be close behind you."

"No, Erik." She stops halfway down the ladder and looks up at me. "Come with me now."

I hand the lantern down, pleading with her, "Go ahead. See to the children."

"Promise me you'll follow." Fear edges her voice.

"I will, my love." I watch until she reaches the bottom of the ladder, then lower the trapdoor. I gather my cape, ready my Punjab lasso in my hand and go out. Bright moonlight reveals the scenario before me. Marek lands a heavy fisted punch into the stomach of an older, burly man. The man doubles over in pain. Marek takes one more swing and knocks him unconscious. Ace has his knee in the back of another man on the ground. The man's face is turned toward me. A gypsy! Then someone slips out of the shadows of the trees. Ace does not see the man coming at his back with a knife.

My arm goes up to throw the Punjab lasso. In the instant that I am about to send it on its deadly journey, the gypsy on the ground shouts, _"The Devil's Child!"_

I hesitate. The man repeats, _"You're the Devil's child!"_ Something in his voice, or perhaps his words, halts the intruder moving toward Ace with the knife. Then Joe is there. Aiming a pistol at the man, Joe tells him to drop the weapon. He does. Ty and Derek have accosted two other gypsies and shove them toward our group. I notice Sam covertly remaining in the shadows at the corner of the cottage.

Ace grabs the gypsy on the ground and yanks him to his feet. I walk over to get a closer look of his face. Could this be one of the gypsies who accompanied the carnival? "Where did you hear those words?"

His black eyes narrow at me. "From our _drabarni. _She is my grandmère."

"Your _drabarni?"_ I remember that was the Roma name for a healer. Or a fortuneteller. "Where did she hear that name?" I demand.

"Many years ago she traveled with a carnival. Times were bad, so she used her skills as a fortuneteller to earn money for our _kumpanio_. She said she would set up her table next to the cage which held the Devil's Child. There were always large crowds around his cage."

Memories begin to flood my mind. Images of faces leering at me and no way to escape them. Horrific images I had locked in the dungeons of the past. My heart begins pounding, my blood racing. "What is that to me?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"Perhaps everything, Monsieur. When the crowds were gone, the Devil's Child was allowed to cover his face. He fashioned a mask. A mask which covered the right side only. Just like the mask you wear."

I sway slightly, remembering. I look over at Marek and Ace. Even here, even now, after so much has happened, so much has changed, my past skulks in the dark corners, still haunting me.

The man scrutinizes my face. "So I am right? You are the Devil's Child?"

"Yesssss," I hiss out. "Why are you here?"

The young gypsy's back stiffens, and he glares at me. "We have business with you."

"Business?" Joe blurts out. "Like poaching? Or stealing our horses or cattle?" The young gypsy turns and snarls at Joe.

"Joe, let Erik handle this." Ace orders.

"What is your business?" I demand again.

The young gypsy turns back to me. "We have something that belongs to you. We have your _chavi_."

"My _chavi?"_ My throat closes around the words.

"And just wha' might a _chavi_ be, then?" Marek asks. Irritating as ever.

I glower at him. "It means a girl."

"A girl?" Marek repeats, studying the gypsy. "Ya mean t' say the girl is his child?" Marek points at me, dumbfounded. Sometimes I could strangle that man.

"Yes!" The gypsy responds without hesitation.

"What makes you think it could be my child?" I ask, angry, and wishing now that I had not stayed my hand when I was about to throw the lasso.

The man looks around at the older gypsy as if for reassurance. "The _drabarni_ said so! She said it was your child. The _chavi _is like you! _Prikasa!"_

_Prikasa? _Bad luck. A bad omen. "Why do you say she is _prikasa?"_ I ask, but I already know the answer. The gypsies are superstitious. They believed the devil marked my face. That I was its child. I got used to people thinking that. Even the people at the opera house were superstitious, so I learned to use it to my advantage. I became the _Phantom._

"Because the face is scarred. Like yours."

"It could not be my child!" I spit out. "I am not Roma."

"Neither is this girl. Her mother was a French girl, a dancer in Paris. A little over a year ago we found her in an abandoned shed, about to give birth. She was alone. The father of the child had rejected her. Our _drabarni_ tried to save her life, but nothing could be done. She died giving birth. It would have been better if the child had also died. It had the devil's mark on its face. We cared for it, fearing the wrath of the devil if anything happened to it. We have been looking for you ever since. To return your child."

"Well, then, let's see her." Laura's voice comes from behind me. I spin around and find her standing in the door of the cottage. _Mon Dieu!_ She heard everything!

The gypsy bows, startled by Laura's sudden appearance. "As you wish, Madame. With your permission, I can send one of my men to fetch the _chavi._ We camped nearby when we heard that the lord of this château wears a mask on one side of his face. Our _drabarni_ had foreseen that our search for the Devil's Child would soon be over."

"Yes, bring her," Laura says calmly, but she does not meet my gaze. Could she possibly believe what she is hearing? That I am the father? I look over at Ace and Marek. They are studying me, as if considering whether this may be true.

The gypsy tells one of his men to go back to their horses and ride with all speed to bring back the _chavi._ As soon as he leaves, Ace orders the gypsies to sit in the lean-to. Ty and Derek keep their guns fixed on them as Sam brings more wood over to the fire and stokes it up.

I stare over at Laura. She has not moved, just stands there like a statue in the moonlight.

"Erik, please come inside," she calls out. "Until they return."

I cannot read her eyes, shadowed by the hood of cloak, but her voice is strained with emotion. Does she believe the words of the gypsy? That I fathered this girl? How could she? I glance over at the men guarding the gypsies. Joe and Derek are looking at me. Accusing me with their stares, like the people at the opera house. Always wanting to believe the worst of me. My anger intesifies. My heart begins pounding and blood races in my veins. I turn on my heels and head for the refuge of the forest.

"Erik! Stay here!" Ace shouts out behind me. I ignore him and keep walking. How dare he tell me what I can and cannot do! I disappear into the shadows of the trees and race up the hill. I just want to be alone. Away from their stares. When I get to the top, I look down at Château Mercier. Smoke rises out of all the chimneys and most of the windows are lit up. So, no one sleeps tonight, watching. And waiting. Like me.

A twig snaps off to the side. With one motion, I turn and raise my arm, aiming the Punjab lasso.

"Whoa! Would ya look where you're throwin' that thing?"

Marek! "And I trust you were not planning to use that?" I point to the gun in his hand.

"Well, not on you." Then he breaks out in that irritating chuckle as he puts it away. "Although tha' has been mighty tempting. A time or two."

As I lower the lasso, I snarl at him, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd take a little walk. It's been a fairly boring day up t' now. I figured keeping ya company would be a lot more exciting."

I glare at him. "What are you implying?"

"Well, maybe some more gypsies are hangin' around. Figured I might get more action—a bit o' a fight—since ya seem determined t' stomp around the forest. All alone and quite the target."

"I can take care of myself!" I hiss back.

"And then there's your charmin' self! Going off half-cocked, but fully ready t' explode. I wouldn't want t' miss the fireworks!" He has the unmitigated gall to grin at me.

I take several steps and stop in front of him, glowering at him. "What do you mean half-cocked?" I demand.

"Well, someone comes and says you're the father of a wee lass, and ya take off."

"I could see your face. Ace's. Joe's. The child was conceived just before the Communards captured me and you took me to the future. You are all thinking, maybe it is true!"

"Well, man, is it true?" He asks.

My fist connects with his jaw in response. He reels back, into a tree, knocking the wind out of him. Leaning over, he gasps for air. "Well, now, do ya feel better?"

"Considerably!" I stand over him, my fists still clenched.

"You needed to blow off a little o' that steam." He looks up at me. "I take tha' to mean you're no' the father?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, don't ya think it might be a good thing t' tell Laura instead o' me?" His eyes narrow, accusing me.

"I heard her voice. She thinks it might be true!"

"What else is she t' think, what with the way you're behaving?" He wipes blood away from the corner of his mouth. "Don't you think you owe it t' her t' tell her straight? She's down there worryin' sick about you, man. Does she deserve that? Or are you gonna just keep bein' pig-headed?"

_Laura worrying sick about me? _Oh, hell! I turn and start down the hill, traveling as fast as I can. I had not thought about how she feels. Completely preoccupied with my own indignation, my own anguish. When I arrive at the clearing around the cottage, nothing has changed. The men are guarding the gypsies, and Laura stands at the top of the door steps. I walk up the steps, slowly, trying to see her face within the folds of the hood.

When I reach the top, she opens her arms. Thankful, I hold her to me. Her entire body is shaking. "You are freezing!"

"Yes, I am. A bit!" She says through chattering teeth.

"_Merde!_ You will catch your death!" I sweep her up and take her into the cottage. I have been tromping up and down hills, working up a sweat. All the while she has been standing there, waiting for me, getting a chill! If she gets sick over this, it is my fault. I throw our cold cloaks on a chair next to the fireplace. Grabbing a thick quilt, I wrap it around her and pull the rocking chair as close to the fire as possible. Holding her on my lap, I gather her to me and rub her icy hands between mine.

"Tha..tha..that feels so good," she breathes out.

I kiss her mouth tenderly. Her nose is cold, and her cheeks, frigid. I press my lips all over her face, trying to bring warmth and comfort.

She starts to giggle. I gape at her, surprised. "Well, this is where we left offff," she says through lips numb with cold.

I stare at her. "Is it really? Nothing has changed?" I ask, almost disbelieving.

"Nothing at all," she replies with her pixie grin. "I don't think that little girl is yours, Erik. And if she is, that doesn't matter to me, either. She's being delivered into our hands and our care. That's all that matters." I look into my wife's eyes. They are completely sincere. Priceless. She is utterly priceless. I kiss her forehead as she rests her head on my chest. Holding her close, I stroke her hair. Finally I can feel her body stop shaking. Time seems suspended as we rock in front of the fireplace, not saying a word. Just being. Just listening to each other's heartbeat.

Then the knock on the door comes. "They're here," Ace calls out.

Laura gets up and gathers our cloaks. "They're nice and warm," she murmurs as she holds mine out. She sees me hesitate. "I'll be right there with you, Erik. Always."

I take the cloak and stand. As I swing it around my shoulders, I lean down and kiss her.

Outside, we find the head gypsy holding a child in his arms. "Bring the child over here." I order.

The man complies and comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps. The _chavi_ is bundled in several layers of blankets, with a shawl covering her face. "She is sleeping deeply," the man says. "The _drabarni _gave her some herbs to quiet her. She fusses from the teeth coming in."

I do not move. I cannot. Laura senses it and goes down the steps. I watch as she lifts the shawl away from the child's face, then looks down for the longest moment. Laura's hood obscures my sight. With a clear, loud voice that carries even to the men watching from the shed, she says, "Is it your people's decision that the child should remain with us?"

"Yes, Madame," he replies as he holds the child out to Laura.

"Do you know when she was born?"

"Yes! How could we forget?" he replies. "It was All Saint's Day, a year ago." _November first! Her birthdate falls only a couple weeks from my own._

"Thank you." Laura accepts the sleeping bundle. "She will be well cared for."

The gypsy takes several steps backwards, bows to Laura, then turns to Ace. "We have no further business here and wish to depart without trouble."

"We agree with you there," Ace responds. "My men will escort you to the edge of the estate. Make sure you don't come back, unless you want trouble." Ace orders Ty, Derek and Sam to accompany them. They mount and follow the gypsies to their horses.

When they are out of sight, Marek walks over and looks down in her face. "What bonnie curls! And as golden blonde as the sunshine!"

Ace and Joe join him, peering down at the child. "Do you want me to take her straight to Maison d'espoir?" Joe asks.

The question shocks me out my stupor. I fly down the steps. Joe takes a couple hasty steps backward. Marek steps between us. "He's just trying t' help, Erik. But it's up t' you and Laura. Where is the child t' go? To the ? Or the orphanage?"

_Orphanage? Take this child to the orphanage? She will have no other family there. No one who cares for her. And what of her face? _I take a deep breath and force myself to look down. What Marek said is true, gold ringlets of hair surround her face. Half of the face is that of a beautiful cherub. The other half, twisted flesh, so paper thin around the nose that the veins can be seen. My heart sinks. _Worse even than mine. _

I look into Laura's eyes. All I see is compassion. "To the château," I announce. "Will you take her, Marek?"

He breaks out in his annoying grin. "T'would be my pleasure." He mounts his horse and rides over, saying to me, "Will ya hand the bairn up, then?"

Decisively, I take the child from Laura's arms and hold her for the first time. She seems so very light. Barely more than our own. I whisper under my breath, "I promise no one will call you the Devil's child. Ever." I carefully lift her up to Marek. "Ask Antoinette to take care of her until we return."

"And Uncle Marek!" He grins as he urges the horse forward.

"Marek, tell Antoinette that Joe and I will stay here and guard the cottage until the men get back," Ace shouts after him.

Laura and I return to the cottage. As we take off our cloaks, the clock on the mantle begins to strike. I count twelve chimes as I go to the pitcher on the bedroom dresser and pour water in the basin. I wash my hands, checking the bruises and minor cuts on the hand that met up with Joe's and Marek's faces. No permanent damage, but a couple fingers will be too swollen for a couple days to play the violin. It occurs to me that Laura and I will be here in the cottage during that time. I guess I will not miss playing for a few days. There will be other things to occupy us.

Dipping my hands in the water again, I lower my face into the cool, soothing water. One hand touches smooth skin, the other, mangled flesh. A fact of my life. I pick up the towel and as I dry my face, turn and watch Laura. She has taken off her robe and the silk nightgown flows around the curves of her body.

She is at the sink, washing and carving apples and pears into slices. Then she cuts off pieces of cheese and bread, creating a plate of delectable food that makes me realize how hungry I am. I go to the wine rack and select a fine chardonnay. Grabbing two glasses, I join Laura in front of the fireplace. I am surprised to find her spreading a quilt on the floor. She sets the platter of food in the middle and reclines next to it. Delectable, indeed.

I set the wine and glasses on a side table and toss several pillows on the quilt. As I ease down next to Laura, I observe, "A picnic, is it?"

"Yes. And then we can get back to where we left off," she says beguilingly as she slides her hand beneath my robe.

I smile.


	115. Chapter 115

**A/N: Well, here it is! Our Valentine's Day gift for each of you! KFC has returned after an absence during which she was dealing with some challenges. But, typical of her spirit, she has come through those, stronger and doing very well. She spent a lot of time over these past weeks making this chapter very special for Terese, Jeremy, and YOU, our very valued and appreciated readers! A red rose to each of you who regularly take your time to give us your comments! **

**Per our monthly posting, our next chapter will be the third Sunday of next month. **

Jeremy and Terese have been looking forward to their Christmas together! What could possibly get in the way?

* * *

**Sleepless in Seattle, by KFC**

_Seattle, Washington_

_Definitely not 1872_

_Terese's POV:_

I stare at the bedraggled Christmas tree wondering just how dead it is. Still a shade of green, but very, very dry. "Please last a few more days," I plead sweetly. "Would you like more 7-UP to perk you up?" The instant I touch the tree there is a long trickle of needles falling to their deaths on my living room floor. _Oh dear._ Nothing but a fire hazard now. My fake tree from the attic will have to do. As I remove the tree carcass from the house, nearly every needle showers to the ground. When I've finally vacuumed up the last of them, I set up the artificial tree. It's beginning to look like Christmas again. _Now, time to bake cookies. _

"Off the counter, Claus!" I snap my fingers, and the fluffy white cat jumps to the floor, jingling the bell on his red collar. He starts rubbing against my legs purring like a locomotive. "Jeremy won't be impressed with your size, but I'm sure he'll be impressed with your purr." Soon Claus' purring is lost in the midst of Christmas music, and my home fills with the smell of gingerbread. The cookies turn out perfect. I clean the kitchen and hang up my apron. Then I refill the candle holders around the hot tub and draw the shades back from the skylights. I smile at the moon peeking through and beaming into the tub_. Please moon, last through the night._ I take the luxurious new bed sheets out of the dryer into "our" room and make the bed, folding the covers back invitingly. Claus jumps up with a jingle on the smooth sheets. I sigh and lift him off. "Sorry sweetie, you're not sleeping here tonight. You have been trumped."

I carry the struggling kitty out of the bedroom and shut the door, earning a scratch on my arm. After a long hot shower, I spend extra time pampering myself. I wear my most alluring red lingerie under a cozy sweater and skirt. Midnight can't come soon enough.

Finally, when the house is shimmering with Christmas and there's absolutely nothing left to do, I leave for STARLab. _11 o' clock. One hour to go._ I take a detour and stop at my favorite place, the lookout. The sky is still partly clear and a few stars are out. I stare upward and shiver, not from the cold, but from the anticipation of throwing my arms around my husband and being wrapped tight in his strong embrace. The sky is clouded over by the time I leave the lookout. I stop for coffee, so it's almost midnight when I arrive at the Lab. Everything's whirring along in preparation. Marek has just arrived from fourteenth century France and is perched on my desk yakking with Horatio. The topic seems to be babies. Horatio has that "I'm going to be a father soon" gleam in his eye, and Marek is giving his know-it-all advice.

"Hey lass!" Marek jumps off my desk and grabs me in a bear hug. "You're more beautiful than ever," he gleams, standing back and crossing his arms. "Expectin' someone special to arrive?" Before I can answer his rhetorical question, he points to the cup in my hand. "That yours?"

"I'd never drink anything this black!"

"Thought you might be plannin' t' stay up all night." he teases.

I shove the cup into his hand. "Staying awake isn't the problem. But I could use some advice on how to keep a lonely cat occupied."

Marek eyes me sagely. "So the cat's used to sleepin' in your bed, I'm guessin? Hmmm. Y' need a cat sitter for times like this, Terry."

A blare goes off. "Time to go, Marek, and you haven't even changed into your suit yet! Hurry up!"

"Had t' have my coffee, woman!" he chugs the grande straight down and chucks the cup in the trash on his way out the door. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merrrrraaa Christmas ever'body!"

Merlin raises a thin eyebrow. "Marek's in on this too?"

"He's just arrived. He doesn't know the difference," I plop a Santa's hat on Merlin's head. "Lighten up, wizard," I beam him a smile. "It's Christmas!" Merlin adjusts the hat and sighs in resignation. Outside the door where no one can see, I jump for joy, literally. I skip down the stairs, unable to contain my excitement and enter the transport area, breathless with anticipation. Moments later Marek arrives in full 1870's regalia. He enters the transporter pod, but keeps chatting with me while he waits. "Next time let me take your cat along to visit the Bairns de Mercier!"

"A lot of good that does me tonight!"

"Let me think abou' that. I'll come up wi' something."

"Well think fast. You've got less than a minute."

"It'll come t' me on the way," he waves as he disappears before my eyes.

_Jeremy's POV:_

"Ach! You're gonna be 'Sleepless in Seattle,' lad. She's droolin' at the mouth. Climbin' the walls. Prayin' for patience!"

"Shut up, liar." I slap Marek on the back to make sure he's all here.

"No kiddin'! She's desperate."

"Well if she's in such a hurry why doesn't she push the damn button and get me outta here?"

"Listen, man," Marek grips my arm. "Your main problem's gonna be keepin' that cat out o' your bed. Let me tell ya what t' do about tha'." Marek leans over to whisper his wisdom, then suddenly fades into nothingness. I brace for the feeling of being vibrated to atomic fragments. Every quantum bit of me smiles. Sooner than I expect, the white light overwhelms me. I feel like a cloud of particles being sucked into a vacuum. Weird. Now I seem to just be hanging. Half of me wonders what kind of white light this is, then all at once I've arrived. Feet on the floor and feeling like a ton of bricks. Hello gravity!

"Hello, Officer Nichols. Welcome back to the future," Horatio's voice cuts through static into the transport chamber.

"Thanks, Horatio."

"See you in my office in three minutes."

_Damn it._ "Yes, sir." Then the chamber door opens and in walks the beautiful starry-eyed, love of my life.

"Over and out," Horatio laughs on the intercom. "Take your time."

I catch Terese as she flies into my arms. Time vanishes. I can hardly breathe as I crush her to me, trying to absorb every bit of her by osmosis. When she tilts her head, her smile gleams under the golden lights. _Oh God, her lips…glistening ... tender… sweet…_

_Terese's POV:_

When Jeremy comes out of Horatio's office, his arms wrap around my waist as we walk away. I lean into his body, feeling like I might burst with the joy of having him here on my side of time. _Who cares if there's a month or two wrinkle in the plan! _He grabs me in the middle of the parking lot and kisses me like he can't go for more than sixty seconds without. Feeling his heart pound, I pull back and laugh. "Are we going to make it home?" He gives me a dazed grin and can't seem to speak. I feel weak and dizzy enough I don't dare stop leaning on him as we walk. _Where are you, Horatio? _

The black Jaguar pulls up beside us and the window rolls down. "Get in the back, lovebirds," Horatio smirks behind dark glasses. "You're a danger on the roads."

I smirk back, _Sunglasses in the dark? _Christmas music is playing in the car and Horatio stays busy on his cell phone during the drive. I keep Jeremy's attention on me so he doesn't look out the windows.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Let your heart be light._

_From now on our troubles will be out of sight…._

…_Once again as in olden days, happy golden days of yore_

_Faithful friends who are dear to us, will be near to us, once more…_

Outside my house, Jeremy picks me up and carries me past the lighted tree and over the threshold. "Welcome home, love," I murmur as he leans against the door to push it shut. He sets my feet on the floor and runs his hands up my body to wrap me in his embrace again. We kiss deeply until Claus distracts us by rubbing against our legs and purring like a chainsaw. After Jeremy says hello to Claus, I lead him into the living room.

"Smells wonderful in here." Seeing the tree, his smile beams. And widens when he spots the cookies. His hunger is temporarily redirected, and we laugh over hot cups of chocolate and the Christmas treats I've been stockpiling. Jeremy leaves nothing but crumbs on the platter and stars in my eyes. But I have more butterflies in my stomach than cookies or chocolate.

"I thought I'd never forget how beautiful you are," he wraps his arms around me. "But look at you. You're even more breathtaking than I remembered." As flames lick the logs in the fireplace, our kisses grow deep and full. Warmth spreads through me, not from the hearth, but the fire inside. In time I am on his lap, losing my sweater and feeling his hand through my silk camisole. We melt against each other, intoxicated by such closeness after the enormous distance of space and time. Moment by moment I absorb the present, tangible reality of him deeply into my being. He will be gone again and all I will have is his imprint on my soul.

When the sofa seems too small, we find our way to the bed, tumbling half dressed into the waiting sheets. I surge with joy to feel the weight of his body. The warmth of his breath, and the glide of his hands beneath my camisole. Slowing our pace, I remove the band that ties his hair back, letting it fall to his shoulders. Combing my fingers through it. Passion is smoldering in Jeremy's eyes when a frantic cry comes from outside the door. I try to ignore the cat's incessant scratching, but can't.

"Just let him, in," Jeremy says. "Don't you have a cat bed in here?"

"This is…the cat's bed."

"Oh, so Marek wasn't kidding," he groans and rolls me with him onto his back. His hands are in my hair, and he doesn't seem to hear the cat anymore as he caresses me. The scratching fades as Jeremy pulls me deeply against him, and I moan between kisses.

Suddenly there's a crash. In the bathroom. I moan in frustration this time and roll out of bed. When I crack open the door the cat flies through like a March wind and lands on the bed beside Jeremy. Getting up on his elbow, Jeremy takes the tactful approach. "Well hello, _cat," _he says in a husky voice. He reaches out to pet Claus. "Thank you for being such a good companion to my lady, but it's my turn now. When I'm here, this is my territory."

_He's not buying it._ Claus walks right over to Jeremy and lays down in the middle of the bed, turning on his loudest purr. Jeremy tosses him off the bed decidedly and turns his attention to the zipper on my skirt. Within seconds Claus is up on the bed again, rubbing and pushing against Jeremy's back. Finally Jeremy gets out of bed and rids me of my slip, tossing it behind him at the cat.

I whisper to him, "I know somewhere he won't go."

"Where?" he groans. "Please tell me."

"In the hot tub..."

I wake in Jeremy's warm embrace, to the sound of a steady rain and a loud purring in my ear. Small feet struggle to keep their footing on my body. Then Claus flies in a reluctant leap off the bed and scampers out of the room with a loud meow. "Morning, love," Jeremy greets me with a sleepy, smile. "Merry Christmas."

I turn in his arms to face him. "You look like a cat who just finished a big bowl of milk."

His laugh is muffled in the pillow as he kisses my neck. When he dares to tickle my belly, I shriek.

"Quiet! The neighbors," he teases, rolling me on my back and pinning me beneath his warmth. I'm melting into him again when Claus pounces like a jaguar and drives us out of bed into the shower. We take refuge in a long, hot torrent of water and billowing clouds of steam. When the water finally runs cold we emerge, red-faced and smiling.

"So what was Marek's solution to the cat problem?" I ask, wiping the dripping mirrors.

Jeremy switches on the fan. "Lock him in a room with some mice."

"What?" I almost shriek again. "I don't want mice in my house!"

"Don't climb on the chair 'til they get here," he laughs. I try to snap him with my towel, but he grabs it in midair and pulls me into his arms and back into the bedroom. After dressing in cozy loungewear, we head to the kitchen for Christmas morning coffee. Jeremy leans against the counter, soaking in the aromas. Claus weaves in and around his legs, and I watch nervously for his reaction. He just smiles at the cat. Good. All I have to do is keep him in a good mood, and he'll be fine with the cat.

I catch Jeremy turning on the radio. "Oh no…no…don't do that. That radio has too way much static."

"Why do you keep it then?" He starts unhooking it from the wall. Catching my breath I hit the Christmas playlist on my ipod. _That was close._

_I'll be home for Christmas, You can count, on me…_

_Please have snow, and mistletoe, And presents under the tree…_

"Sorry we don't have snow," I look up sheepishly. "But this _is Seattle_."

He grins over the coffee cup. "I don't need snow to celebrate Christmas."

I snuggle up to him. "Ready to open presents?"

"I thought we already did," he snaps the waistband on my silk pajamas as we walk to the tree. After lighting the fire in the fireplace he pulls me down next to him on the blankets still scattered on the floor where we spent most of last night. I place my gift gently in his hands, like a reverent offering. Eyeing me curiously, he unwraps it and opens the lid of the golden cigar box. He blinks at the picture, then gives me a sly grin. "No way, is this you?"

I smile, blushing a little.

He gazes admiringly at the daguerreotype image of me lounging on a bed in 1870's French lingerie. "I'm going to have to start a serious smoking habit," he teases.

I lean close to him. "There's more. Underneath. A hidden compartment." Jeremy takes out the cigars and inspects the bottom of the box. After a few moments of fiddling with the box, searching for the mechanism, the bottom panel flips out revealing a small touch screen. Jeremy's smile widens as the screen lights beneath his touch. "It's sensitive only to your fingerprint," I explain. "But you can program it to respond to others if you want. It networks with the StarLink at the château, and to us by proxy. It has a range of a hundred miles from the château, and you can send and receive text messages or access data on the main computer. Even send communications to STARLab in case of an emergency. And you'll be taking back one for Ace, and one for Erik."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Sweet! Wish we'd had it when we were attacked after the masque ball."

"That's what prompted its development. Merlin's been working on it all year. This little gadget's worth _many_ times its weight in gold."

"Well what I brought for you isn't quite that expensive." He hands me a small package, wrapped in silk. "But to me it's priceless."

_Priceless? What can this be?_ I'm dying of curiosity, but carefully untie the bow and remove the wrapping. I gasp as I lift out a long white night gown, sheer and delicate. _Could it be? _"Jeremy, is this… my 'wedding gown'?"

He smiles, with a special glint in his eye.

I stare through welling tears at the beautiful nightdress I wore the night Jeremy and I gave ourselves to each other. "I borrowed this from Grace…how did you…?"

"I searched through the clothes she left at the Château, and there it was. Grace tells me she never wore it. Wasn't her style."

I hold the long lost gown to my heart. "Thank you, Jeremy. You don't know how much it means to me…to have this."

"It's just an appetizer." His eyes spark, then narrow deliciously. "What I really want to see you wear again...is the moon."

I smile enticingly. "The weather is supposed to clear by tonight."

"Good," he eyes my lips. "That gives me time to round up some mice." My squeal of objection is squelched with a kiss.

We lounge the rainy day away. Jeremy eats non-stop, emptying half the food in the refrigerator. I survey the pantry. _What am I going to do?_ _I thought I was prepared, but this isn't going to last 10 days. _By late afternoon the rain has stopped, and the sky is starting to clear. Jeremy gets up from sprawling on the couch, goes into the bedroom and comes out in jeans and his leather jacket. "Going somewhere?" I ask, in a sudden panic.

"Yep. Going to see a pharmacist about a cat. Wanna come?"

_Pharmacist? _"Uh…It's Christmas," I stammer. "Most everything's closed."

"I called," he says, tying his shoes. "There's a drugstore open and they've got cat sedative." I gulp my reaction into my throat. "Don't worry. It's extremely mild. Claus will just be too lazy to fight for the bed," he says, looking satisfied.

"Well it beats mice doesn't it?" he smiles.

I stall, racking my brain for what to say.

"Or I could use my tazer," he jokes.

I fake a smile. "Well, are you planning to walk? We left my car at the lab."

He points out the window. "Someone dropped it off. It's sitting in the drive way."

I look outside! Damn, efficient Merlin! Gathering my feminine wits, I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. "Honey, don't—please don't—go to the store today…."

"What do you mean don't go to the store?"

"You don't need to go. I like the fire…and the tub…and…"

"Yes, the tub was wonderful," he kisses me back, "and the shower was great,"

"The floor was nice too..."

"And there's always the kitchen table," he rolls his eyes. "_Please, Terese_. I want to make love to you in a _bed_."

I need to use stronger persuasion. I let my robe fall open and lay my hand on his chest.

"Sweetheart," he lifts my chin. "I'll spend the whole week in bed with you. But I want this darn cat taken care of first."

"I just don't want to go out yet," I murmur.

"That's fine. I'll go by myself."

"Without me?"

"Well, okay, then get dressed and come along."

I sigh.

"What in heaven's name, Terese?"

"It's our honeymoon…and…"

"Yes, and I'll be _right back_," he ends with a whisper.

"You can't just go to the store…"

Jeremy looks at me in shock. "Are you telling me I _can't_ go to the store?"

_Uh oh. I just crossed the line._ "No…I just don't want you to."

"Okay then, let's go…come with me…"

Sighing in frustration, I look around the apartment. At the Christmas lights, the cookies on the counter. The tree. I pull away and go to my room. Tears sting my eyes as I dress.

The air is icy between us on the drive. We do not hold hands, and Jeremy keeps looking at me sideways wondering what the heck is wrong with me. I hate this. And my 'hating this' is interpreted as pouting for no good reason. Jeremy's obviously not impressed with me right now. By the time we get in the store we're both so miffed, he doesn't even notice the Valentines Day merchandise everywhere. He makes a bee-line for the counter where the clerk has his order waiting. "Happy Valentine's Day," says the rotund man with a wink as he places the receipt in the bag.

"Merry Christmas," Jeremy replies, blindly overlooking a stack of heart-shaped candy boxes on the counter. Mission accomplished, we head for the door. Jeremy casts a glance at me to see if the ice is thawing yet. I smile, hoping we can actually get out of here before it hits him. Then a wave of warm air near the entry pushes a red heart-shaped balloon in our path. Jeremy bats it out of his face, then halts. Still as stone, he takes in the storewide display of roses and boxes of Valentine's candy. I do not need to say anything as he begins to connect the dots and process what this means. He gives me a sheepish look that turns to endearment. Then he takes me in his arms, drawing my head to his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispers, caressing my hair. I reach around his waist and hug him. He kisses the top of my head. "I want you to know, it was a very, very…merry Christmas."

As we reach the car, Jeremy turns to me. "Terese. I have something very important to ask you." He clears his throat and looks steadily at me while I brace myself for his question. "Will you still be my valentine?" His hazel eyes spark with amusement. I break into a laugh and plant a kiss on his grinning mouth.

We hold hands in the car. I explain the original plan was to bring him home for Christmas, but having to factor Marek's comings and goings into the equation limited the configurations.

"Damn it!" he suddenly blurts, then laughs. "We're missing our anniversary."

"Yes," I sigh. "That's another thing I was hoping to preserve."

"Did we ever decide if it was late the night of January 3rd, or early morning on the 4thh?"

I squeeze his hand. "I say somewhere in between the two. In a timeless place."

He gives me a helpless grin. "Heck! What does time mean anyway? To us? Not much." As we near our driveway, Jeremy slams on the brakes. "Hon? What's a U-haul truck doing in your driveway?"

I look at the vehicle, dumbfounded. "I don't have a clue!"

Jeremy stares at the truck for a few moments, then jolts like something's hit him. "Hang on a second, babe…" He gets out of the car and talks to the driver, then motions for me to come. When the back doors of the truck open I see one enormous…something, wrapped in protective padding.

"It's for you," Jeremy kisses me. "Happy 138th anniversary."

I watch in a daze as the gigantic item is carefully removed from the truck. "Wait." Jeremy stops them, pulling back the wrapping and inspecting something underneath. Then he gives the go ahead for them to continue moving it. "Just making sure it's the real thing," he winks.

One of the movers takes an envelope from his pocket and hands it to me. "This was to be delivered to you ma'am." I glance at Jeremy's smiling eyes and open the card…

_Dear lady of my dreams, here is a riddle for you, _

_What is mine, and was mine, _

_Became ours, then mine again_

_Is empty without you, _

_Has passed the time by standing still_

_And lying in wait for lovers?_

_You don't know how much wish I could be there to see your face, and share this with you later. Keep it warm for me, love. _

The movers carry it into my living room and set it down. Christmas music is still playing, and the men glance curiously around the apartment, at the tree and the gingerbread cookies on the table. Jeremy has them move my bed out of our room into the spare room, then they move what must be my new bed, into its place. When it is finally unveiled, I gasp. "Jeremy! This is your bed!"

He smirks. "Is. Was. Same difference."

The movers give us a strange look and leave as quickly as possible. "How did you get it here?" I ask, amazed.

"I had Grace and Horatio track it down through an antique dealer and twist the owner's arm to let it go. Then had it flown in from France. I didn't need this year's salary anyway."

I throw my arms around him, laughing. "Your riddle was wonderful. But I never would have solved it."

"Of course not. Your mind's not simple enough."

The bed is already made up with luxurious antique linens and large down pillows. Grace had something to do with this, I'm sure. In a daze, I sit down on the edge. Jeremy tugs off his jacket and lies down beside me. "Nothing like your own bed," he stretches out contentedly. As he pulls me down beside him, he glares toward the doorway. Claus is standing there, looking around the room. After a few moments he turns away and darts across the hall into the spare room. "Problem solved," Jeremy laughs quietly, wrapping me in an embrace.

The next thing I know, I'm waking from a nap. Jeremy is still asleep beside me. Trying not to disturb him, I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen for a tray of food and bottle of _Moscato,_ my favorite wine_._ On my way back to the bedroom I peek into the room that contains my old sleigh-bed. There is Claus, curled up in the center, sleeping. I turn out the light, leaving the door slightly ajar, and tiptoe away.

In our room I light the candles and pour two glasses of wine. Then I slip out of my dress and into my "wedding gown." Jeremy is awakening when I turn back to the bed. Uncomfortably hot, he unbuttons his shirt, and it falls open across his chest. I hand him a glass of chilled wine, the color of stars. I feel like I'm floating on the linens in the sheerness of my gown. Bringing the sparkling glass to his lips, he gazes across the space between us into my eyes. I take a sip of the starry wine and smile. "Now we just wait for the moon."

_Jeremy's POV: _

The water ripples silently. I hold the love of my life in my arms, caressing her skin as the first rays of the moon touch her shoulders. Languidly, the glow washes down her back, finally spilling over her breasts until we see our reflection in the liquid moon below. She seems the goddess of the ocean, the spirit of water itself. I long to lay her down and move on the water, pushing her waves like the wind.

Her body is awash in the beams when we toss on the sheets of our bed. She rushes like a current beneath me, pulling me through an ocean of stars then plunging me beneath the surface of the waves as she flies above me. My soul is a whirlwind chasing her spirit until I catch her, and we spin through a vortex of time. Somewhere in the middle we find eternity. Bliss. Rest. Peace.

Drifting between sleep and wakefulness, I see her face against the pillow. Her eyes glisten even in the night. _"You were a god,"_ her voice caresses me like water. I roll over and feel the sheets against my back, and watch the silver light flooding through the room. Gathering the goddess in my arms, I close my eyes and let the river take us.

Somewhere in the night, I wake and find her missing. _Am I back in France already? I feel disconnected…don't remember the rest of the trip. _I get up on one elbow and rub my eyes. No, I'm in Terese's room. Where is she? I roll over and see her standing at the window peering up at the sky. Golden hair cascading down her back. "What time is it?" I push myself out of bed.

"No time," her eyes gleam. "Look at the stars. Let's go out."

"You dreaming? It's the middle of the night."

"It doesn't matter. Let's go out. I want to show you something."

"This is my favorite place." She smiles when we get out of the car at the lookout. We climb onto the hood of the car and lean back on the windshield under a blanket Terese pulled from the trunk. "This is where I came the night before my first time trip. The night before I met you. And this is where I still come when I need to feel close to you."

I take her hand, weaving my fingers lovingly between hers. "You're being strong. But I know it's hard. Believe me I know. I'm hoping and praying for the day when the distance is gone, and living without you is a thing of the past. When you and I can be together for real. _Someday soon_."

She looks up at me, and I get a lump in my throat. "You think _soon_ is possible?"

"It might be." I touch her face. "Things have been going well with Ace as second in command. He's married now to Antoinette, as I'm sure you've heard. And has formed a solid trust with Erik. I think eventually he could take command for the long term. I don't know when. Or even all the things that would have to fall into place to make it reality. But it's possible, love. _It's possible_. And I don't want you going through life without at least one member of your family within arm's reach."

"You, and my father, are the reason I get up everyday."

"Have you found any more clues in your search for him?"

"No," she sinks closer to me. "The possibilities of where he could be are almost infinite."

"You think he went back to before you were born, to prevent your mother from dying during your birth, right? Doesn't that narrow it down some?"

She gives me a faraway look. "I wasn't born in this time period, Jeremy. My mother wasn't from this time."

Stunned, I take a long, deep breath.

"My father met her on one of his time trips. After she died, he brought me back to his own time. I was only an infant. As a little girl I remember him writing for hours in his books, calculating, designing, planning, but the books disappeared with him, and without his notes, I have very few clues to help me decide where to look."

At a loss for words, I hold Terese closer to me. I stroke her hair while the moon looks down, gilding her long tresses. "So you were born in another time, but you don't know when, or where?"

She nods, turning her starry eyes to mine. I just gaze at her, seeing the love of my life with new eyes. Taking her face in my hand, I kiss the curve of her lips, letting a golden strand of her hair wrap around my finger. "I always you knew you were timeless. Now I know why."

* * *

**Edited by Phanfan**

**To our many other readers, a special Valentine's day gift for us writers would be to hear from you! **


	116. Chapter 116

**A/N: Well…not much to report here except my nose is firmly to computer screen and the book is being honed and polished. I have had a very promising development and will let you all know as soon as I can. Phanna and I managed to get this chapter of Erik and Laura's ongoing story written in time to post as promised! Thank you so much for your reviews! And, please, if you don't usually review, isn't it about time?**

Well…Erik fell in love with Laura. That's where it all began, but now he realizes life isn't so simple. Because with love comes family.

* * *

**Chapter 116 Family, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Sunday, December 29, 1872_

_Château Mercier_

_Erik's POV:_

Laura and I stand at the door of the gamekeeper's cottage, gazing around at all the memories. The hand-hewn oak dining table where we ate and laughed and talked about our children. The fireplace where we snuggled beneath warm quilts while I read for hours on end to Laura. Or watched the dancing flames of the fire while we spun our dreams for the future. And the bed. Its quilts are rumpled now. The welcome rest and sleep were luxurious. And the passion as intense as the first time. My arms tighten around Laura. She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. "We'll come back, my love."

I kiss her forehead. "Soon. This will always be _our _special place."

We step out into the late afternoon chill. I shut the door behind us with a final, longing glance at the bed. Sadly, I help Laura into the waiting carriage. The snow has cleared enough so that the sleigh is not needed. A small coal heater on the floor has warmed the interior of the coach. Surely Antoinette's doing. Laura snuggles into my arms as we are driven the short distance back to the château.

Antoinette, Ace and Jeremy await us on the front portico. Jeremy opens the carriage door and helps Laura down. When I step out, he says under his breath, "I hope your time off was as enjoyable as mine," he grins wickedly.

"Indeed," I reply, suppressing my own grin.

"How are the children, Antoinette?" Laura is already up the stairs and hurrying inside.

"Fine!" Antoinette replies, following on her heels, "They don't lack for attention and spoiling by everyone in the château."

I glance from Jeremy to Ace, shaking my head. "Welcome back, Erik," Ace shrugs. I realize my time alone with Laura is truly at an end. However, I have come to a decision. Laura and I will make it a tradition to have these stays at the gamekeeper's cottage. At least once each season of the year. To mark the passage of time. Of each year together.

I hurry after Laura and Antoinette. We go straight to our suite and check little Erik and Elizabeth. They are still napping, curled up next to each other in one crib.

"Elizabeth fussed until we put her in the crib with her brother," Antoinette explains.

I look at their sleeping faces. Like little cherubs. They are turned toward each other, with one arm outstretched, touching the other. They never seem to want to be separated.

"Dinner will be served in a few minutes," Antoinette says as she tiptoes out of the room.

Laura and I go to our bedroom to prepare for dinner. I glance around the luxurious room. At the curtains and bedclothes of elegant velour, velvets and brocades. The carved mahogany furniture is of the finest craftsmanship. But I already long for the simple oak and quilts of the cottage. As I tie my cravat and pin it, I begin planning our next visit.

_Laura's POV:_

When Erik's deep kiss ends, I gasp for air. "I miss the cottage, too. But I'm afraid we have to go down to dinner now." I give him my most understanding smile and a final kiss. He doesn't move or release me. "We are holding up dinner for everyone, you know."

He grunts in agreement and releases his arms around my waist. Wordlessly, he opens the door and escorts me downstairs. I was correct. Everyone is seated in the dining room, waiting for us. Thankfully the conversation is lively and the wine already flowing, so our tardiness isn't commented on.

As Erik pulls out my chair, he smiles across the table at the Contessa. "How was your trip to Paris?" he asks as he settles into his chair at the head of the table.

"Most enjoyable, _mi hijo._ Thursday evening we were invited to dinner with Vicomte Trevour and his charming wife. His estate borders Raoul's. Friday, Christine and I enjoyed shopping together while Raoul attended to some business. Then he escorted us to the theater Friday evening. During intermission we met old friends of mine, and they invited us to a dinner party last night."

"So you returned only this morning?" I ask.

"Yes. Christine was having some indispositions because of her condition, so Raoul took her to their estate rather than accompany me back to Château Mercier. So, we said our good-byes in Paris," the Contessa pauses, seemingly absorbed in some thought. "But they invited me to be present at the birth," she adds tentatively.

I wonder if there's a problem. "You will be coming for the birth, of course? Raoul's first child is a very important occasion."

The Contessa nods, but her eyebrows dip low. Just like Erik's. With Erik that means something is wrong or bothering him. And now I sense something is disturbing her. But what?

Dinner is especially sumptuous. Jeanette has outdone herself with salmon en croute, vegetables with exquisite sauces and breads hot from the oven. Everyone seems in good spirits, planning a special New Year's party. This year Erik and Jeremy agreed we won't leave the safety of the château. But the party will nonetheless be extravagant. Everyone who resides at the château and Maison d'espoir will be invited, as well as many of the neighboring families. Sue and Julia volunteer to do the decorating. They decide they'll go to the Maison and have the children help make colorful and, hopefully, outrageous decorations.

"But what New Year's party is complete without a dance!" Joe declares.

"Yeah! A dance! How about opening up the ballroom on the top floor and having the dance there?" Ty chimes in.

"But a dance requires music…and that requires a band! Where do you get a band around here?" Linc asks, looking at Jeremy and Ace.

"This is not America," Erik interjects sardonically. "One does not hire a 'band.' Here we would retain a string quartet to play the appropriate music. And that, requires dance lessons, does it not, Antoinette?"

Antoinette perks up. "Oh, yes! I gave dance lessons last year in preparation for the ball. The waltz and the polka. They are all the new fashion. I'll be happy to give dance instructions for everyone who has wasn't here last year." She smiles at Ace and says, "You'll love learning the waltz." Ace nearly chokes on his food. Ty, Linc and Sam exchange looks. They hadn't thought this through. Now they're stuck.

Erik notices and a smile curls the edges of his mouth. "Well, I will be most happy to pay for a fine string quartet. The ballroom will be brought back to life." Then Erik's eyes darken as he turns to me and whispers, "And I shall enjoy waltzes with my beautiful wife." I smile back, but suspect Erik will also take some perverse pleasure in watching the Americans learn under Antoinette's firm instruction. I remember all the etiquette rules that go hand in hand with the lessons.

The conversation gets even livelier as more plans for the New Year's celebration are debated. I suspect this is going to be a party to remember. But I notice that the Contessa remains quiet, aloof from the conversation.

While dessert is served, the Contessa studies Erik. Almost appraisingly. She clears her throat and begins, "When I returned from Paris this morning, I was told about the little girl that the gypsies brought."

"It is nothing you need concern yourself with, Mother," Erik says politely, but firmly.

"Forgive me, _mi hijo,_ but it is indeed something that I must concern myself with."

"What do you mean, Mother?"

"After dinner, I request that you accompany me to the servants' wing. There is a matter we need to discuss," she replies with equal firmness, then looks at me across the table, "and, you, too, _mi hija." _

The words hit Erik like a lightning bolt. His eyes search mine, confused. What does this mean? Could she possibly give credence to what the gypsies said? Just because the child has a deformity, does the Contessa think the child is Erik's?

Erik throws down his napkin. "I am no longer hungry. We can go. Now." The Contessa puts down her wine glass as Erik walks around to pull out her chair. Jeremy jumps up and pulls out my chair for me, giving me a puzzled look. I shake my head, but don't say anything. Not knowing what to say.

Erik escorts us down the corridor to the servant's wing. Most of the servants are seated in their dining hall, having Sunday dinner. When we enter, they all stand in respect. Erik tells them to be seated and continue with their meal. He asks where the little girl who was brought by the gypsies is being cared for. One of the maids stands and says, "All the children under the age of five take their meals in the nursery." She curtsies and adds, "I am glad to take you there."

Nervously, she leads us down a long corridor, past the private rooms for the servants. Some are single rooms, some are suites for families. I've been here often in the last year, supervising the refurbishing of the entire wing and installation of new furnishings. The young woman opens a door and steps aside for us to enter. Inside two women are overseeing dinner for a dozen children. Most of the children are sitting in little chairs, feeding themselves, but a couple, who are too young, are being fed by the women. One of those children is the little girl brought by the gypsies. Her sweet little face, so striking. When she sees us, she smiles in recognition and holds her arms up to the Contessa.

Erik stares at his mother.

"May I pick her up?" The Contessa asks the woman who is taking care of the little girl.

"Of course, Contessa, she has just finished eating."

The Contessa picks up the child and carries her over to Erik and me, explaining, "We became acquainted this afternoon, you see." She smiles warmly at the little girl who's already busily playing with the Contessa's onyx necklace. "Could we go somewhere private and talk?" The Contessa asks softly. "There is a matter we need to discuss."

Erik looks uneasily at me. What could all this mean? "There is a sitting room across the corridor," I suggest. I know it well. I stocked it with comfortable chairs, game tables and a library of books for the servants.

Erik escorts us there in solemn silence, then goes to the fireplace and puts on several logs. He stokes the fire with angry jabs and stares down into the flames. The Contessa and I sit on the settee close to the fireplace. Finally Erik turns and faces the Contessa.

"All right, Mother. What is this all about?"

The Contessa gently cuddles the little girl who is still happily preoccupied with the necklace. "Antoinette told me about this child when we were having lunch today. She was coming to check on her afterwards, so I asked to accompany her. We brought her into this room to let her play. When she crawled on the floor, playing with a ball, I noticed something. You see, her clothes don't quite fit her. They are too large. When she crawled, her dress pulled down, exposing her shoulder."

The blood drains from Erik's face. My stomach begins twisting in knots. Suddenly I know what the Contessa is going to say next.

"I saw on her little shoulder…a birth mark. The crescent shaped birthmark of the de Chagny's."

Erik stares at the little girl, cooing as she chews on the necklace. He shakes his head. Then his eyes turn to me, asking silently what I believe. But I don't know what to believe.

"I am not the father of this child," Erik hisses out darkly.

"I believe you," I murmur in response, by throat going dry.

"And I believe you, too, _mi hijo,"_ the Contessa says emphatically.

Startled, we both turn and stare at her. "What are you saying, then, Mother?" Erik breathes out.

"I am saying that the de Chagny birthmark always skips a generation. Edmond, your father, did not have the birthmark. You, Erik, did inherit it. But your two children were born without the mark. That is further proof that it is never passed down from father to child."

"So, who, then, Mother?"

"Your brother, Raoul, does not have the birthmark."

"Are you saying you believe this child to be Raoul's?" I ask, trying to get my mind around this.

"Yes, _mi hija. _That is exactly what I believe. Antoinette told me that the mother was a dancer in the Paris ballet. Like the other wealthy young men of Paris, Raoul attended the theater for more than music. And this child was conceived when Raoul and Christine's relationship was uncertain, even stormy. Before Christine accepted his proposal. It appears Raoul found other comfort during that time." The Contessa leans down and kisses the child on the forehead. When she looks up at us, tears are flowing down her cheeks. "But Raoul! I am not sure about how he would greet this news. And Christine is expecting their first child. She is still so very young and emotionally fragile. This child was born out of wedlock and Raoul does not have to accept her. But she is my flesh and blood. I will take her back to Spain and raise her myself, if I have to. I swear, I will not allow her to be cast out."

"Nor will I, Mother." Erik walks over and takes the child from the Contessa's lap, then stands in front of me, his eyes imploring me. "We took this child under our protection. Now, do you feel as I do, that we should take her into our family? We could adopt her. And make sure she never suffers what I did."

I take the child that Erik offers me and hold her gently. Brushing aside her curly, golden hair, I kiss her little cheek, imperfect, but angelic. "I accept her with all my heart." Then I take Erik's hand in mine. "Let's name her Angelica."

Erik nods. Then he turns back to his mother. "Are your thoughts in accord with mine?" he asks solemnly. "That we keep this secret between the three of us? Raoul should never know?"

"Yes," the Contessa murmurs, relieved, "I am in accord."

_Spring, March 19, 1873_

_Spain_

_Joe's POV:_

"Yep." I run my hand gently along Esmeralda's swollen side. Her soft eyes watch my movements as she sidesteps away from me. "She's going to foal anytime now." The mare's been skittish around the stable hands the last few weeks, so Señor Guarna and I have been caring for her. The smell of fresh straw is strong as she crushes the bedding with her hooves, restlessly moving about in the large stall set aside for her.

Esmeralda finally stops next to the old Spaniard. Usually she roots through his pockets searching for the carrots he tucks there for her. Not today though. Señor Guarna pulls a carrot out, but she ignores it. "She's not interested in eating." Yeah, I've noticed that too. That's another clue she's close to foaling. Esmeralda nudges the old man's shoulder, and he reaches up to stroke her velvet nose, comforting her. _"Sí, _you are close to your time. Do not fret. I will be here with you." He turns to me, "I have a feeling she'll foal tonight."

I take Señor Guarna's word for it. He's been the horse master here since time began. Suddenly Esmeralda lifts her head at a sound. As one of the stablemen walks toward us, the anxious mare backs up and whinnies. Señor Guarna motions for the man to stay back. "The Contessa has sent for Señor Carson," the man says.

"_Gracias,_ Pablo." I brush straw off my shirt as I step out of the stall. "Send word if you need me," I tell Señor Guarna as I head for the house.

Outside, I walk down the wide courtyard separating the two long stables until I reach the path at the southern end. There I take the shorter route and cut across one of the pastures. Spring has burst out everywhere, including the livestock. The Contessa's estate is far larger than Château Mercier. Has a lot more livestock and out buildings. An entire section of the stable has been set aside for Esmeralda and the four other Andalusian mares ready to foal.

As I pass behind the barn, I see several of the new calves that have arrived the last few weeks. The barn's been updated and one of the workers is using the running water we've recently installed to wash the stalls down. With the Contessa's support, I've also taught the men how critical it is to sanitize everything before they milk the cows. As I round the corner toward the hacienda, I hear tiny squeals from the dozen piglets born yesterday to one of the sows. Near a small paddock, Pablo's leaning over a fence, watching the nanny goat who delivered twins the day before. We're monitoring them to make sure the nanny has enough milk. A specialty of the Contessa's estate is a tasty cheese made from goat's milk.

The cat and dog population has exploded, too. The puppies remind me of the small pack of dogs they've taken on at Maison d'espoir to help the new kids arriving at the orphanage. I stop briefly at the wooden box I set on its side for the family of cats I had to move the other day. The mother cat had tucked her litter into some loose straw too close to the cow path. I was afraid one of the kittens would stray into the path when they start getting adventurous. Don't want a cow stepping on them. The cats keep the barns and stable clear of mice. Besides, there's a little black and white kitten that's captured my heart. I scratch behind her ears. When she tries to climb up my sleeve, I gently set her back down. "Don't have time right now for this, Samantha Jane." I'm considering taking her back to France with me.

I stop by my room to wash up and change into a clean shirt. When I join the Contessa on the terraza, she invites me to sit with her for lunch. I smile and hand her the bouquet of daisies I picked on my way over. Most evenings we eat together, but during the day I'm busy and just grab something on the run. The Contessa often drops by to watch me instruct her workers on how to 'modernize' her estate. We'd discussed what she wanted to accomplish before we left France, so I could hit the ground running. She was also clear that she wanted me to _teach_ everyone, not just do it myself. Smart woman! Makes me think of my mom when we were growing up in Texas. She was always throwing out that old adage---_Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach him how to fish and he'll have food forever._But it's true and definitely part of the Program's agenda. To spread smart environmental knowledge so the pitfalls of the future are averted. That's something I'm totally dedicated to help accomplish.

I sit across from the Contessa at a table placed strategically under an almond tree. The day's already getting hot and the shade's welcome. _La comida, _what they call lunch here, is the biggest meal of the day. At least three courses. But the best part is that you get to take a siesta afterwards. A large platter of cheese and Spanish ham already sits in the center of the table. The next course is grilled asparagus, followed by _Estofado de Pollo._ I call it chicken stew. And it's delicious. The cook here is almost as good as Jeanette.

During _la comida_ we talk about the progress on the new hot water systems for the hacienda, the upgrades to the stables and barns and damming of the river to more effectively use the water power. She pours more of the estate's wine into our glasses and says, "I am most pleased, Joe. You're ahead of the schedule we laid out at the beginning. But I hope you do not finish too quickly." She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling as she adds, "I would hate to loose your company. Erik was gracious in letting you stay until April."

I laugh. "I'm pretty sure I have enough to keep me busy 'til then. But you'll be leaving for France then, won't you? You still plan on being with Raoul and Christine when their baby's born, right?"

"_Sí,_ I am looking forward to welcoming another grandchild into the world." She gazes off to the horizon, suddenly deep in thought.

I take a sip of my wine and study her. Even though the Contessa comes from a long line of nobility, she's not snooty like so many of the others I've met. I enjoy her quick mind and wit. And her passion for playing cards. That was really a shocker! One night she casually asked me if I played cards. I figured she was talking about one of the games they play here like _Botifarra_ where you take 'tricks.' Too much like Pinochle, so I said 'nah.'

Then she asked, "What about 'stud' poker?" She totally blew me away with that question. I'm pretty sure poker hasn't spread to Spain yet. When I asked how she knew about it, she laughed, telling me she loved to read about America and learned all about it in a book. So we play cards. A lot. But damn, she's gotta have beginner's luck. I'm already down a whole lot of _pesetas!_

Rosita arrives to clear off the table. The Contessa asks her to bring the mail packet that arrived this morning from France. It's not long before she's back. The Contessa opens the packet and takes out a stack of letters. She flips through them and hands two across the table to me. Her smile widens as she lifts one of the others up. "What's so funny?" I ask.

"Without fail, Alejandro receives a letter in each packet Erik sends. The handwriting is distinctly female."

I chuckle. "Bet it's from Jeanette.

"I see. I am happy for Alejandro. He's been very lonely since his wife died nine years ago."

We fall silent as we open our letters. One of mine's from Susie. But I'm surprised to see that Russ wrote the other one. I break the seal and take his letter out.

_Hey Joe,_

_Wanted to write to keep you up-to-date about what's going on around Maison d'espoir as well as Château Mercier. First you need to congratulate Danielle and me. We have a daughter! She was born four days ago. _

As the Contessa and I were getting ready to leave for the journey to Spain, Russ had pulled me aside to let me know Danielle was expecting. But he said the baby was due at the end of April. This is only mid March. That worries me.

_We've named her Alexandra Jeanette Carpenter. I don't mind telling you that her birth was a harrowing experience. I don't understand why women ever want to have children! But, enough on that subject. _

_Luckily, we were at the château, visiting Jeanette. Sue, Julia and Danielle had been walking along the river, making plans for the garden. Ethan and Jean-Luc had tagged along. The boys were skipping stones from the shallow edge of the water and Danielle was keeping a close eye on them. She said she screamed when Jean-Luc slipped and fell into a deeper part. When he surfaced, the current was carrying him downriver. So Ethan jumped in to save him. _

_To make a long story short, everyone's okay. Both boys were scared, but had the good sense to float along until they could grab onto a log near the bank of the river farther downstream. The three women caught up to them and pulled the boys out. Danielle wants me to thank you __profusely __for giving Ethan and Jean-Luc those swimming lessons. It saved their lives. _

_When Danielle got back to the château, she was soaked to the bone. I took her into Jeanette's room and helped her change. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain. I had her rest on the bed and sent for Matt. He examined her and confirmed what we already knew. She was in labor. Five weeks too early. _

_I stayed with her the entire time. There wasn't much to do except support her while she walked around the room, insisting she couldn't stay in bed another minute. During her hard labor, all I could do was talk to her soothingly and encourage her through the actual birth. Did I mention how harrowing it was? The baby is so tiny, but Matt says she's a fighter. Remember the incubators you set up for the baby chicks? _

I laugh. I know where this is heading.

_Well, Matt and Dara scrubbed and sterilized it. Converted it into an incubator for Alexandra! Once again, Joe, you saved the day. Ethan and Jean-Luc are fascinated by the baby and stop in as often as Matt will let them to see her. I must admit, Danielle and I haven't left her side and take turns holding her when she's not in her incubator._

_Edward wants me to tell you that three mares, including the two Andalusians, have foaled and one of the other mares is due any day now. He's doing a fine job of taking over for you. He seems much happier since Ace and Antoinette adopted Charlotte and him. There's a new sense of pride in his step. _

_Erik and Laura have written to the Contessa, but I wanted to tell you how full the château seems now with babies crawling around! Little Erik and Elizabeth are unstoppable. Angelica's adoption has been completed. The three children seem inseparable. Angelica's always out ahead, though, encouraging the twins. The three will make an intrepid team as they grow up._

_I close for now._

_Russ, Danielle, Ethan and Alexandra_

The letter from Susie tells me her version of the story and then goes into all the things she's doing with her beehives, chickens and garden. I'm not surprised to hear that Sir Percy stops by _often_ to visit Meg. Seems like Antoinette's okay with their relationship now.

Susie says Matt and Dara spend a lot of time in the infirmary. Matt's looking a lot happier than he has in a long time. Jeremy's hoping to get permission for a "trip" to see Terese this summer.

She ends with a Jenna story. Since I've been gone, she's taken to chasing the turkeys around the yard for fun. And Charlotte is having a fit! So, Charlotte is 'training' Jenna. I wish I could see that one. I can't help but laugh as I imagine Charlotte making Jenna 'sit' while she instructs the dog not to chase the birds, especially Thomas. Susie sends me her love and tells me to get my butt back there ASAP.

The Contessa puts her letter down and asks what's so humorous. I read her all the funny parts of Susie's letter. She laughs at Charlotte's attempts to teach a dog not to chase birds. Then I read her Russ' letter. She's surprised to hear that Russ stayed with Danielle during the birth. I explain it's an 'American' custom.

Then she eyes me acutely. "It was very good that you taught the boys to swim. Even created an incubator they could use for the baby. You are a most handy man to have around."

I clear my throat and read the part about her grandchildren. "Yes, Erik sent me a letter telling me how busy they are." She smiles wistfully. "I can just picture the three of them getting into mischief."

"Yeah, babies crawling all over the place! Sorta glad I'm not there."

"You surprise me, Joe. It sounds like you don't like children."

"Oh, I like them. Just as long as they're not mine."

She blinks. "You mean you don't want any children of your own?" She asks, astonished.

"Nope. I've thought about it and decided it's not for me. Besides, everyone else seems to be providing a bumper crop." I lean back in the chair and smile at her. "Susie'll probably find someone and settle down. Then I'll have nieces and nephews."

She pours more wine for us. "So, if you're not interested in children," she pauses and studies me, "do you not want to marry?" I like this woman. She can surprise me at the most unexpected times. She's not the conventional woman who's afraid to speak her mind. If the Contessa wants to know something, she asks.

"Well, if the right woman comes along that could be a possibility." We haven't talked like this before. Not that I haven't had some pretty creative thoughts about her. She's a _very _attractive woman. We go riding every morning and I've seen how fit she keeps herself. We have a lot in common and she's always interested in all my ideas. Sometimes it's hard not to tell her _everything._ So now she's curious about me. I can't resist. I throw it right back at her, asking, "What about you? Are you planning on having more children?"

She chokes on her wine. _"Mon Dieu!"_ She coughs, then clears her throat. "No! I had three children. Motherhood is in my past now."

When she recovers, I throw my next question at her. "So," I narrow my eyes at her, "would you marry again…to the right person?

Again she studies me. Weighing her answer, I guess. A slow smile curves her lips. "Perhaps."

I throw my head back and laugh. "We would make a fine pair!" Her lips quiver, then she starts laughing, too. "Come on," I stand and hold my hand out to her, "I bet you'd like to see the mares. Señor Guarna says Esmeralda is going to foal tonight."

We have a long, casual walk to the stables. Frequently we stop to admire the new crop of animals or talk about the changes I'm putting in place. The Contessa's given me a free hand to experiment here. And I don't have to do someone else's bidding. I like that. It suits my style.

As we talk, I begin to wonder if she's hinting that I should stay. Actually, I like the idea. Then I flinch and touch my jaw. But what would Erik think about that? More to the point, _what the hell would he do?_


	117. Chapter 117

**A/N: Well…this posted a little late. Unusual for us. Sorry! We really try to keep to the posting schedule. But…life has been WAAAY busy. Writing has been all-consuming. And many other family and home responsibilities have also taken our time. In the future we will try to adhere to the chapter a month, so the next one will post the first weekend of June. We hope to hear from you. Need to know if you're still following the exploits of Erik, Laura, the Contessa and their extended family.**

The Contessa is visiting Christine and Raoul, awaiting her next grandchild. Peaceful? Maybe not….

* * *

**Chapter 117 Expectations by Phanna and Phanfan **

_April 25, 1873_

_De Chagny Estate, Near Paris_

_The Contessa's POV:_

The warm afternoon sun streams through the windows in the formal parlor, reminding me of Spain. Now would be time for _siesta_, for rest after midday meal. And to avoid the heat of the day.

But I feel oddly restless. Raoul has been in his study with his attorney all day, attending to his business affairs. Just now I knocked at Christine's door wondering if she wanted company, but she was sleeping. Her doctor has confined her to bed for the remainder of her pregnancy.

I glance outside, considering whether to take a walk or change into my riding habit and enjoy another ride this afternoon. I decide to take a walk. I step onto the _terraza, _wondering which way to go. Gazing up at the sky, I note there are no clouds. I've been caught a few times in a sudden rain shower while out walking.

The air is filled with sound. Birds trill their warbling songs from the treetops. The hum of wings buzz nearby. I watch as a bee carefully lands on a flowering bush, then moments later takes flight to look for another blossom. Pulling my shawl around my shoulders, I start down the steps. Meticulously trimmed hedges on both sides of the center pathway remind me of soldiers standing at attention. At the end of the rows, two stone lions guard the entrance to the maze. Even though it's lovely, it doesn't entice me today. Instead I skirt the formal garden and walk past the sprawling chestnut tree.

I follow the large flat stones of an ancient path, many covered over with grass. Occasionally, I stop to admire wildflowers mixed with what must have been an informal garden long ago, even before I'd resided on this estate with Edmond. But I never let the gardeners change this area. It seemed a shame not to let nature have her way here. Plucking a hyacinth, I hold it to my nose. The strong fragrance summons a long forgotten memory of a young Edmond when he'd courted me.

Finally I reach the grotto and push aside a thick vine, then go down several stone steps to my favorite spot near the pond. I sit on the old wood bench, startling both a frog and myself. He leaps into the water, creating a small splash. I smile. The day is getting warmer, and I lean back to let the sun bathe my face. Edmond hated that I let the sun color my skin. He said it made me look like a 'peasant.' I always laughed, knowing that it would infuriate him. It was one of many small revenges for what he'd done to our firstborn son. To Erik.

A black cat cautiously slinks from under a shrub and plops on the soft grass in a patch of sunshine, paying me no mind. My little _gata_ at home must be wondering where I've gone. Rosita will feed and care for her, but I miss Adoria and her not-so-subtle kitten ways of demanding my attention. She was a gift from Joe when she was weaned from the mother cat. I breathe deeply. I wish he were here with me, sitting on the bench and enjoying this beautiful day. I miss our impassioned conversations. Often we disagreed, but we always respected each other's opinions. Then I laugh at myself for foolishly dwelling on him.

It feels good to laugh. Everyone has been so solemn lately. The birth of a child should be a joyous event, but I see more scowls than smiles. Even Christine seems morose most of the time. I was astonished at how demanding she's become. Perhaps it's just her confinement, but she has the little maids hopping about to carry out her every whim. I find myself sometimes making excuses to get away.

Raoul is even worse. He'd heard about Erik and Laura adopting Angelica before I arrived. And, of course, about the little girl's facial deformity. Several times, Raoul ranted about how he's convinced she's Erik's offspring, but I assure him that isn't true. When I see his scorn, I'm even more certain the choice never to reveal her true parentage was wise.

Even though Raoul refrains from saying anything in front of Christine, he's become obsessed with the thought of _their _child being born with a deformity. He's questioned me at length about what I know of Erik's condition. I've been guarded in what I say, but my blood runs cold to know that there _is_ a chance that the very thing Raoul fears, may come to pass.

I'm brought out of my reflections when I hear footsteps behind me. Alejandro. He always knows where to find me. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Contessa, but Raoul wanted me to inform you that their child is on the way."

I hurry back to the house and find Raoul in the library. Pouring a glass of cognac. "So, it is time, _mi hijo?_" I ask.

When Raoul turns, I see the tension in his jaw. He takes a quick sip of the cognac, then answers, "Yes. I've sent for Dr. Hubert. He should be here shortly."

I've met the doctor and do not like him, or his advice to Christine. I can only hope he's adept at delivering a child. "I will go and sit with Christine."

"Thank you, Mother." Relief spreads across his face. "If something should happen to her, I don't know what…" He stops and straightens himself to his full height.

I place my hand on his shoulder. "Christine will be fine, Raoul. She is young and healthy. Do not worry."

He frowns and lets out a soft grunt, but doesn't reply. I go upstairs to their suite. The room is hot and stuffy. On Dr. Hubert's advice. _What a fool!_ He told Christine to be careful of chills, so they never open the room for fresh air.

Christine is standing in the middle of the room, sobbing. Her maids are trying to console her, but nothing seems to be working. When she spots me, she rushes over. "Oh, Contessa. Thank goodness you're here. I know you'll understand what I'm going though."

"Of course, my dear." Assessing the situation, I put my arm around her shoulders and steer her toward the bed. Then I add, "Let's get you changed into a fresh nightgown and then you can crawl into bed. Your doctor will be here shortly."

I instruct the maids to fetch fresh clothing. But when Bridgette approaches, Christine stops the maid with a screech. "I cannot give birth in that old rag!"

Bridgette looks down at the beautiful ivory nightgown trimmed with Brussels lace. "What is wrong with it, Comtesse?"

"Why, it's not the right color," Christine sniffs and adds, "Raoul must have an heir. And I plan to give him a son today! I want to wear the blue one." Abruptly, Christine cries out and clutches her stomach. _"Mon Dieu!"_ she groans out, "I hope this is over quickly."

After the contraction passes, the maids hastily dress her in a blue nightgown. I try to make her understand that it's possible she won't have the baby today. "Christine, this is your first child. The baby may not be born for hours."

Her eyes widen in shock. "But it hurts!" she wails.

I can see this is going to be a _very trying _labor. "We are all here to help you," I reassure her. "Élise will bathe your brow to keep you cool, and Bridgette has offered to massage your back after you get into…" At that moment the bedroom door opens and Dr. Hubert enters. He barks for Bridgette to bring him a comfortable chair which he falls into, clutching his chest as he tries to regain his breath from walking up the stairs.

"Dr. Hubert! Thank goodness you're here." Christine smiles gratefully at him. "My pain is unbearable."

"There, there, my dear Comtesse. Everything will be fine now that I've arrived." Dr. Hubert's black mustache bounces around as he speaks. It's quite annoying, to say nothing of distracting. And his chin! It doesn't end, but continues into his barrel chest. He's so rotund, I can't help but think of Humpty Dumpty every time I look at him.

The doctor motions Élise over, then gives her a list of things he will need. When she turns to leave, he also adds several suggestions for foods he would like her to serve him.

I study the pompous man. Raoul assures me he's one of the finest physicians in Paris, but to me, he seems more interested in eating and talking about all of his 'important' patients than being a physician. He finally sidles up to the bed and places his hands on Christine's stomach during a contraction, announcing that she is well on her way to giving birth. I scowl at the superficial examination. Christine seems delighted.

The hours progress slowly. From my own experience, I know that the contractions get more frequent closer to the birth. But she's been in hard labor for close to six hours. Each time she screams with pain and the contractions are not getting closer. I begin to worry that something may be wrong. I remember that Laura's delivery was always in capable hands.

When I express my concerns, Dr. Hubert dismisses them and continues eating. But I insist he check Christine. He sighs and looks wistfully at his large platter of delicacies. Huffing, the doctor pushes his large bulk out of the chair and walks across the room and checks Christine's condition. This time he thoroughly examines her. "The child is large and her hips are small," he announces solemnly. "If she cannot give birth by morning, I must perform a cesarean."

My blood runs cold. In all my years in Paris, I never heard of a woman surviving a cesarean. It is a dangerous procedure. I absolutely will not allow it to be performed by this…this _quack!_ I excuse myself and rush from the room. Stopping only long enough to write a note, I find Alejandro. "Take the fastest horse and ride like the devil was on your heels. Give this note to Erik and accompany Dr. McBrighton back as quickly as possible. It is a matter of life and death."

When I return to Christine's room, Dr. Hubert is removing a glass bottle from his medical bag. He steps over to her bed. "What is that?" I ask, trying to peer around his Humpty-Dumpty body.

"Nothing to worry about. They will help ease the pain."

Then I get a look at what's inside the bottle. _Leeches!*_ "No!"

Dr. Hubert looks up at me, astonished. "But, Your Grace!" His moustache quivers. I quickly look away.

"You will not bleed her!" I order.

"But these will alleviate her pain," he declares emphatically.

"That is not my experience with them. They will make her lightheaded and swoon. That's the last thing she needs at this time." I glare at him. Humpty Dumpty's face turns red, but he dares not address me with impertinence. I will have his reputation if he does. He turns and stomps out of the room.

It doesn't take long before I'm summoned to the library. Raoul is refilling his glass of cognac. How many has he already had? He gets right to the point. "Mother, Dr. Hubert was furious. He told me you cast aspersions on his medical training and refused to let him treat Christine. He threatens to leave! What are you thinking? Christine needs him!"

"The man is incompetent! He would do more harm than good." I look Raoul in the eye. "I have sent for Dr. McBrighton."

He frowns at me. "Who is Dr. McBrighton?" Then suddenly his expression changes as he remembers where he heard the name. And comprehends what I have done. _"_You contacted Erik and asked for his help_ without my consent?"_

"Yes, _mi hijo_, I did. We must think of Christine's welfare first."

"You had no right!" his jaw clenches in anger. "I can't stop what you've done, but…" He takes a large gulp of cognac, glowering at me. Suddenly, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, they slump. "Nothing can happen to her, mother."

Praying that I've made the right decision, I pour a glass of cognac for myself. We drink together in silence, then I return to Christine's room. All I can do now is be there with her and hope that Erik gets my message in time.

_Matt's POV:_

Thank God! We're finally turning into the de Chagny estate. Alejandro rides alongside the coach with our accompanying bodyguards. He's spurred the driver to go as fast as possible. From the way my backside aches, he's hit every rut at breakneck speed! Even Dara and Antoinette haven't been chatting the last half hour. More or less just holding on for dear life. I asked Dara to come since I'll need her to assist if a cesarean is performed. Dr. Stephenson, the gynecologist sent back to assist with Laura's delivery, brought me a comprehensive book on cesareans. We even discussed how to modify procedures based on what I have available here in the nineteenth century. From what I hear about Christine's situation, it looks like I may be using that knowledge. Antoinette also insisted on coming along. Can't blame her. Christine's like a daughter to her, and she can also assist. I'm surprised Joe came along, though. But then again, maybe not. He's been acting kinda funny since he got back from Spain.

It's almost midnight when our carriage pulls to a stop in front of the mansion. Very impressive. Everyone grabs a box of supplies I brought, and we rush inside. Raoul greets us in the foyer. He's a bit unsteady on his feet and reeks of cognac. He greets us somberly, "I trust you know it was the Contessa who sent for you."

Not the most welcome greeting I've ever had. "Do you prefer I not attend Christine? I will honor your wishes," I reply, a tad testy from the bone-jarring trip.

A look of panic crosses his face. "No, I did not necessarily mean that. Just that I wanted you to realize I did not send for you. But, the Contessa is quite confidant in your abilities as a physician. And Christine has been in labor over twelve hours. And in great pain." His face goes ashen. A look I recognize from his brother's reaction to the same situation. "I would appreciate any help you can give Christine." Then he adds hastily, "And the baby, of course."

I study Raoul. His concern for the child seemed like an afterthought. Why? "May I see Christine now? I'll need Dara and Antoinette to assist. With your permission, of course."

"Of course." He manages a small, perfunctory bow to the women. "Thank you for coming, Madame Giry. I am sure your presence will give comfort to Christine."

A butler leads us to Christine's room. Halfway up the stairs we hear a shriek. That propels Antoinette up the stairs even faster and the butler has to hurry to keep up. When we enter the bedroom we find the Contessa mopping Christine's forehead with a damp cloth. A portly man sits near the bed fanning himself in the stifling room. I assume it's the doctor. Relief floods the Contessa's face when she sees us. Antoinette immediately takes the cloth from the Contessa's hands and gently pats Christine's sweat-drenched face. With her other hand, Antoinette unbuttons the top of the nightgown and continues cooling Christine with the cloth.

The Contessa comes around the bed and introduces me to Dr. Hubert. While Antoinette and Dara remain with Christine, the Contessa asks the two of us to step into the adjacent sitting room. When the door is closed behind us, the doctor examines me suspiciously. "I've never had the pleasure of meeting you, Monsieur. Have you attended any notable families in Paris?"

"No, I practice in the countryside."

He looks down his nose and huffs, "Well, then, it would be best if you stayed out of the way. The Vicomte has placed his wife's care in my hands. After all, I serve the finest noble families in Paris."

"But, the Contessa has asked for my services. I've been informed that a cesarean may be necessary. How many of your patients have survived that operation?" I've got no time to beat around the bush, nineteenth-century style.

"I've had the same results as all the other Parisian physicians," he sniffs defensively.

"In other words, none have survived."

"If you wish to be blunt," he snaps.

"Well, I have training that would insure a better outcome."

"Better outcome, monsieur?"

"Yes, using my techniques the mother has a fine chance of living."

"Dr. Hubert, I've witnessed Dr. McBrighton's skills," the Contessa interrupts our heated discussion. "He successfully delivered my first grandchildren under similar circumstances. So, with your kind indulgence, I thank you for your service, but it will not be needed _any further."_

"Well!" Hubert huffs. "I leave you in the hands of this _country _doctor. I hope you will not regret your decision." Indignantly he waddles out.

"Good riddance," the Contessa murmurs as the door closes. "I was in terror he would have to do something before you arrived. God only knows what! Please, Matt, examine Christine and tell us what you feel is needed."

I give Christine an herb sent by Danielle and instruct the windows to be opened so that fresh air can come into the room. The herb concoction calms Christine, and I send everyone except Dara out of the room. When I examine Christine, I discover the worst. I confirm the baby is breech and very large. Too large for Christine's small hips. Sitting next to the bed, I gently explain to Christine what I propose. Her eyes go wide with fear, "But what will it mean for my baby? Is that the best way for him? Will he survive?"

I take her hand and with calm reassurance, tell her, "Yes, it'll be best for the baby. And I will do everything to make sure you will be fine, as well."

A tear rolls down her cheek. "You have my consent."

"Brave lady," I smile back. Then I return to the sitting room and let the Contessa know.

"_Madre de Dios!"_ Her mouth goes taut with concern. "I heard you say that you have a technique which will preserve the mother's life! Is that so, Matt?"

"Yes, I do. We'll take good care of Christine and the baby. But, first, I also want Raoul's knowledge and consent."

"Of course. I will go with you."

We find Raoul downstairs in his library. In pretty much the same condition Erik was at this stage. Three sheets to the wind. In this day and age, many women die in childbirth. Apparently men get drunk just to get through their wife's delivery. For a moment I consider how it would be to fear losing a wife and most likely the child, too. Yeah, I guess I'd get plastered.

Thankfully the Contessa does all the talking for me and explains everything I told her about Christine's condition and the need for cesarean. She also assures him that while she stayed at Château Mercier, she witnessed me use new techniques which had very favorable outcomes. All the while she's assuring him of my competence, his appraising eyes study me intently. When she finishes, he asks, "So, you can assure us that Christine will survive the procedure?"

"No. I cannot give absolute assurance. That isn't possible with any operation. But my technique is proven to be the correct one to save the mother and child, and most often successful," I return his gaze steadily. I'm glad I never needed to have this conversation with Erik. He knew I'd do everything in my power to insure Laura's welfare. But Raoul doesn't know me, or my training, and worst of all, I am Erik's friend. That has to stick in his craw, even make me suspect.

"You say the baby is breech. That means it is not in a proper position for a natural delivery. Is that because there is something wrong with the baby? Would an abnormality cause this situation?"

I'm surprised by the question. "Yes, such problems do on occasion cause a breech birth. But not necessarily. Why do you ask?"

He glances nervously toward the Contessa, "We have such issues in our family." Then looking back at me, he adds, "It is a matter of great concern to me. After all, this _issue_ may have surfaced again with the little girl that Erik adopted. Supposedly _adopted_, that is."

Did I hear that right? He thinks Angelica is Erik's _real _daughter? "Well, that is a matter to deal with if it should arise. Right now, the sooner I get back to Christine and deliver the baby, the better for her and the child." I glare at him. "What's your decision?"

"Yes, of course! Do your work!" As I am going out the door, he adds with a pleading voice, "And please do not let Christine die." I nod and hurry up the stairs. I notice he didn't mention the baby. He really is scared it'll be deformed. Like Angelica. Like Erik.

Dara's been busy in my absence. She's had the servants bring linens and boiled water. She's also set up an IV with a modern anesthetic, so Christine's already unconscious. Erik was with us when we packed the supplies at the infirmary. He insisted we use the best we had available, so we brought modern medicines, IVs and instruments. We can keep it all secret since only Antoinette and Dara will be present.

A table is set in place with all the instruments laid out and ready. With Dara and Antoinette assisting, the surgery proceeds quickly. Everything goes smoothly, and the baby is born without complications. It's a healthy baby boy. With a perfect face and body. When he takes his first breath, I place him in Antoinette's arms. As she cuddles and cleans the newborn, Dara expertly assists me in closing the incision. I've learned this is the main reason women had been dying from cesareans. The doctors didn't think it was proper to suture the incisions closed. But everything goes smoothly with Christine's delivery and not even a transfusion is needed.

When the baby is ready, Antoinette carries him into the sitting room. We hear the Contessa's ecstatic voice as she takes her grandson in her arms. After I have done all I can for Christine, I leave her in Dara's care and join the Contessa.

"The surgery went well," I tell her. "No complications for Christine or the baby, and she's sleeping peacefully. She's going to be fine."

"Thank you, Matt." The Contessa's eyes tear up. "We've had many blessings today." She tells one of the servants to go downstairs and inform Raoul that the baby has come. "And, please do not tell him he has a son. I wish to convey the good news to him." When the servant leaves, the Contessa looks down at the baby. "The little one is perfect. That will please Raoul." Then she looks up at me. "He was very worried…"

She doesn't have to finish her sentence. I get the drift. Raoul storms into the room. "Why would you not allow the servant to give me any news of the child?" He demands.

"Because that is my honor, _mi hijo." _The Contessa stands regally and walks over to Raoul, placing the baby in his arms. "Your son, Raoul."

Stunned, he looks down at the child and sways. His head is bowed over the baby for a long time. When he looks up, I notice he has tears in his eyes. "And how is Christine?" he asks me.

"She's fine. Everything went well, and she's sleeping. You can go in and see her if you wish."

Raoul places the baby back in his mother's arms and goes into the bedroom. When the door closes, the Contessa turns to me. "Matt, you have brought my grandchildren into the world safely under great difficulties. And preserved the lives of my sons' wives, both of whom are dear to me. I thank you. And I tell you now that I am indebted to you. If ever there is a service I can provide for you, you need only ask."

I'm startled by her words. Nothing I ever expected. "Thank you, Contessa." I can't imagine needing to take her up on her offer. But one thing I've learned since living in the nineteenth century, you never know what's going to happen. And having a Contessa as an ally could come in handy some day.

Dara comes out of Christine's room, giving Raoul his privacy. She sweeps the hair out of her face, looking exhausted. "Would you like something to eat?" the Contessa asks.

"Yes, that would be nice," Dara sighs. "I'm starved."

The Contessa instructs a butler to take us to the "blue parlor" and serve us whatever we want. She invites Antoinette to continue sitting with her. No doubt to pump her for information. The blue parlor turns out to be a small dining room with blue and gold tapestries and settees. After the butler pours our drinks, he leaves. Dara sips her wine and gazes around the room. "My God, there's a fainting couch! I've never sat on one." She chuckles.

"Well, now's your opportunity," I kid her.

She goes over and eases onto the long, silk couch and puts her feet up. Leaning back, she moans with pleasure, "You may never get me up again!"

I pull a side chair up next to her and grin. "It has been a very long day…and night."

"You did a fine job with the cesarean." She smiles back. "Christine was lucky you were here."

I stare down at my whiskey. "I'm just glad the baby's fine."

"Indeed so am I," Raoul's voice startles us. He's just entered the parlor and is heading, somewhat unsteadily, for the sideboard. He pours himself a cognac and walks over. "The Contessa told me you were here. Christine seems to be sleeping very peacefully. Antoinette said she would stay by her side the rest of the night and told me to get some sleep. Very considerate of her." He remains standing, swaying slightly on his feet. "And I must say very considerate of you to come in the middle of the night to care for my wife. It appears you have saved her life." He raises his glass in toast. "I am grateful."

"We were happy to help." I nod and raise my glass in response. "To your wife _and son."_

"Ah, yes. My son. A beautiful boy. Not a monster."

Dara shifts uncomfortably on the fainting couch and looks at me, her eyebrows raised in question. Before I can say anything, she says, "What do you mean, Vicomte, by monster?"

"Well, like my brother. Or that adopted child of his! _Adopted! _No doubt a child of his from his days at the opera house! When he could not have Christine, no doubt he turned his attentions elsewhere."

Dara gasps. I feel like decking him, but Raoul's so drunk it would be a one-sided match. And I'm here to help the situation, not make it worse. I bite my tongue and glare back. Raoul gets the point and mumbles that it's getting late. He says good night and leaves. Quickly.

When the door closes behind him, Dara says, "What was that all about?"

"There's been bad blood between Erik and Raoul in the past. Over Christine. I don't think Raoul's over that yet. Or that Erik claimed his rightful title."

"But he was insinuating that Erik is Angelica's father. Erik has always denied that."

"True. There is something, though, that makes me wonder just who Angelica's father is." I rub the back of my aching neck.

"What do you mean?"

"According to the Contessa, Erik's scarring is inherited. Apparently it skips generations."

"Well that's strange. Why would it skip generations? If it's a recessive gene, it could happen anytime two correlating recessive genes are present."

"That's what I've been thinking. Maybe it just appeared to skip because that's what they've observed for the last several generations. When I spoke with Raoul earlier tonight to get his consent, he seemed afraid that the baby may be born with a deformity. Remember the crescent-shaped birth mark on Angelica?"

"Yes. She has one on her shoulder, as I recall."

"Well, Erik has one just like it. On his shoulder."

Dara studies me. "Then you think Angelica is Erik's child?"

"Erik said she isn't, and I believe him."

Dara's eyes widen. "So you're implying maybe she's Raoul's child?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm thinking. And I wonder if that was what Raoul was thinking, and _why_ he was so afraid."

"Well, you know, there's a way to find out just who is the father."

I shake my head. "You mean DNA tests?"

"Yes! Why not? We could get some samples of Raoul's hair from a hair brush and compare that with DNA from Erik and Angelica."

"That's very tempting, but I don't think it would be right to do that without Raoul's consent. Or Erik's."

"Well, we don't need Raoul's DNA. If we got Erik's and Angelica's that would tell us a lot. When we get back to the chateau, we could ask Erik if he'd like us to do the testing. It would allow us to find out a lot more about the condition, as well as how it is passed on. And it would resolve the issue of Angelica's parenthood for once and for all. If I am correct about it being a recessive gene, it may not skip generations, but be dependent on the mother contributing a similar, recessive gene."

For several minutes I consider Dara's proposal. This could provide Erik and Laura with valuable information. And, we'd place the decision whether to proceed in Erik's hands. Finally I look over at Dara. "It's a deal!"

_Joe's POV:_

The night sky's just beginning to lighten to shades of grey. I pour a little more wine in my glass and lean back on the cushioned bench. It's been hours since we arrived, and I've spent most of that out here on the terraza. I feel a bit uncomfortable being in Raoul's home, but that didn't stop me from coming. I figured the best thing I could do was to stay out of everyone's way. I stretched out on the bench and caught a few winks. Ever since I woke up, I've been wondering what's happened. And hoping the Contessa got my note and will join me here when she can.

It's been several weeks since the Contessa and I traveled together to Paris, then went our separate ways. It was good to see everyone at the Château and catch up on what's happened. But part of me wants to remain in Spain. With the Contessa. It was satisfying to work with her on designing the projects for her estate. She supported me a hundred percent and gave me full reign to carry out the plans.

But, I'd be kidding myself if I didn't also admit that I like being around her. She's easy to talk to. Damn, a few times, I've even wanted to tell her about the future. She's sharp and open-minded. A woman ahead of her time.

I also found myself talking to her about some of my dreams. Some I've never talked about to anyone else. And I think she's just as aware of the undercurrent between us as I am.

The swish of a woman's skirt makes me look toward the door. The Contessa's expression is filled with relief when she spots me. Is she glad that I came? I pour wine into the other glass I'd brought with me and hand it to her. She takes a sip, then announces that Christine and the baby are fine. We sit on the bench together and, as she unwinds, she tells me a little about the last few grueling hours.

I study her in the faint light. She looks tired, but manages to smile when she says, "I was surprised to get your note that you were here."

"Couldn't turn down an opportunity to talk with you." Then I add, "I miss that."

"_Si,_ I miss our conversations also. How is everything at Château Mercier?"

I fill her in about her grandchildren and their newest antics. She laughs and says she looks forward to seeing them again, sometime toward the end of next month. We finish our wine, but I can see she's exhausted. "Let me walk you to your room. Looks like you could use some sleep."

"_Si._ This has been a _very _long day." I stand and hold out my hand to her. She takes it and for a moment we stand facing each other.

I grin at her. "I'd like to ask permission this time."

"Permission?" She blinks. "Permission for what?"

"To kiss a Contessa."

Her eyebrow goes up. "Indeed?" Suddenly she laughs, warm and genuine. Then she turns serious and meets my eyes. _"Si._ You may."

It seems natural to gather her in my arms and pull her close. I stare into her eyes and feel the warmth of her hand when she puts it on my shoulder. Then I lean forward to claim my kiss.

* * *

*****_** Bloodletting**__ (or __**blood-letting**__) is the withdrawal of often considerable quantities of blood from a patient to cure or prevent illness and disease. It was the most common medical practice performed by doctors from antiquity up to the late 19th century, a time span of almost 2,000 years._

_Bloodletting was used to treat almost every disease… Bloodletting was even used… Before surgery or at the onset of childbirth, blood was removed to prevent inflammation._

_Leeches became especially popular in the early nineteenth century. In the 1830s, the French imported about forty million leeches a year for medical purposes, and in the next decade, England imported six million leeches a year from France alone. (_**From Wikipedia)**


	118. Chapter 118

**A/N: Thank you and a pink cupcake to each of you who posted a review! We love hearing from our loyal reviewers, but it is also great to hear from our long-time readers who let us know you are still enjoying the story, AND to hear from our new readers! Apologies to the new reader who lost several nights' sleep reading The Epic Case! Goodness! LOL! But we are very glad you enjoyed it so much and then let us know! Thanks!**

Well, it's sunny days at _Château Mercier_, or is that just the quiet before the storms coming in?

* * *

**Chapter 118 Tomorrow is Another Day,** by Phanna, Phanfan and KFC

_Château Mercier_

_Friday, May 16, 1873_

_Sue's POV:_

I step closer to Ty and whisper, "You're an idiot if you don't say anything to Julia!"

He doesn't respond, just continues to watch the scene in front of us. Antoinette wishes everyone a safe journey as Percy offers his hand to help Meg into the carriage. Meg smiles and nods at him, causing her new straw hat to tilt at just the right angle. Soft ringlets of blonde hair fall enticingly around her face. I laugh to myself. She must have practiced _that_ move for hours in front of her mirror.

Julia's already inside the carriage, talking to Rajan out the window on the other side. I have to admit the man is pleasing to look at with his smoldering dark eyes and muscular build. But there's an aloofness and bit of danger there too. As Meg takes her seat opposite Julia, Rajan mounts his horse.

I lean over to Ty again. "Do you see how he's looking at her?" Ty gives me a dirty glare. I ignore it and study the woman sitting next to Julia. Madame Waldron doesn't talk very much. Sir Percy introduced her as his aunt. Aunt? I really doubt that she's related to the Vicomte. Her upper-class French accent 'slipped' a few times. But Antoinette didn't seem to notice, and I'm not going to be the one to enlighten her.

This outing was planned several weeks ago when Percy persuaded Antoinette to allow him to take Meg into Paris for shopping and an opera. He assured Antoinette his 'aunt' would chaperone Meg, and she would return home safely the next day. Antoinette agreed as long as Julia accompanied. Percy accepted her terms. Reluctantly, as I recall.

Antoinette watches sadly as Sir Percy's fancy carriage rolls down the long driveway. A large dust cloud swirls up behind it. Before it reaches us, Ty and I head for the side yard.

"I'm warning you, Ty, if you don't tell Julia how you feel, you're going to loose her. To Rajan."

He stops and looks back at the carriage as it disappears. "Don't you think I already know that?" He runs his hand through his hair, making some of it stand straight up. I want to pat it back down, but stop myself and just listen as he adds, "I should have said something before now. It's probably too late."

I roll my eyes. Don't men ever pay attention? "Oh, for goodness sakes. Don't you know anything about women? Just talk to her, Ty. Give her a chance. You may be surprised." Ty seemed on the verge of telling her how he feels last year when we were in Spain, but never did. When Rajan came along and started paying attention to Julia, well, who can blame her? But I think Julia needs someone to talk to and confide in. Ty and Julia are already good friends. And more importantly, they're from the same century. If we get attached to someone here, we won't be able to tell them about the future. I know. I've been thinking about that a lot lately.

I give it another shot. "But you better make it soon. Hey, what do you have to loose?" I lean forward to emphasize my point. "Except Julia?" I turn on my heel and leave him standing there, hopefully thinking about what I said.

As I round the corner of the side yard, Jenna comes bounding up. Charlotte's close behind. When she sees me, she stops and gives a small curtsy. _"Bonjour Mademoiselle."_ She looks down at Jenna and shakes a finger at the dog. "You are naughty!" Jenna hangs her head. "You shouldn't take food from Elizabeth." I quickly cover my grin. Poor Jenna. Charlotte has taken the role of mother and protector to all the animals and children around here.

I pet the top of Jenna's head, feeling a bit sorry for her. "Was she really that bad?" I ask Charlotte.

"_Oui."_ She shakes her head, setting her dark curls bouncing. "Maman says Jenna takes advantage of the babies whenever she can. Maman says that I should be tolerant with Jenna since she's only a dog." I was there the first time Charlotte called Antoinette 'maman' and could see tears spring to Antoinette's eyes. Charlotte has blossomed since Ace and Antoinette formally adopted her and Edward. She looks up at me with large innocent eyes. "Would you throw the stick for Jenna so she won't bother us?"

"Sure." I watch as Charlotte runs back to where the smaller children are playing on a blanket. Jenna and I play fetch until she gets tired of it and disappears with the stick into the grove of trees on the other side of the lawn. Then I head for the picnic under the oak tree. Several blankets are spread out on the ground, barely able to contain the jumble of food and plates, to say nothing of the chaos of children and babies.

Danielle waves me over to their group. When I ask where Russ is, she says he's in the library talking to Ace and Jeremy about additional security for Maison d'espoir. There have been more threats against some of the women taking refuge there. Danielle's holding little Alexandra who's about ten weeks old now and cute as a button with her soft red curls and sweet smile for anyone she sees. When Jeanette places a silver rattle in Alexandra's chubby little hand, the baby waves it wildly until Ethan chides her to be careful. He takes his role of older brother very seriously. Alexandra stops and stares at him, perplexed. Jean-Luc reaches out to tickle the little girl, but Ethan cautions him. "Be careful. Alexandra's still brand new." We all chuckle.

Erik and Laura are visiting with Matt and Dara on the adjacent blanket, but I can tell they don't take their eyes off their children while they chat. Occasionally they'll all laugh at one of the children's antics. Charlotte's sitting with the three children, trying to convince little Erik to sit on one side of her, Elizabeth on the other and Angelica across from her. But the twins won't stay put. At nine months old, they are never still unless they're asleep. Both are crawling around on the blanket despite Charlotte's attempts to get them to sit still. Erik touches Laura's arm and points at Elizabeth. "Watch," he says with a smile, "The grass must tickle."

Elizabeth is crawling along the edge of the blanket. Each time she puts her hand on the grass, she quickly draws it back. Finally she sits up and studies the grass, tilting her small head as if she's trying to solve a problem. She stretches her hand out again and touches the soft grass, but pulls it back. Little Erik crawls over, but doesn't stop at the edge of the blanket. He plunges right out, onto the grass. Elizabeth watches for a few seconds, then crawls after him, apparently feeling safe if her brother leads the way.

Charlotte sighs in frustration. Turning back to Angelica, she succeeds in getting the toddler to sit where she directs her. That is, until Angelica spots Jenna and jumps up, dashing for the dog. For an eighteen-month old toddler, she can move fast. Before anyone can stop her, she's got Jenna's fur clutched in her hands and gives the dog a big kiss. Jenna returns the kiss with a long tongue and surprises Angelica, who tumbles backward. Charlotte squeals and jumps up, rushing to her. The twins follow as fast as their hands and knees will let them.

Erik also jumps up and reaches Angelica before any of them, sweeping Angelica into his arms. Suddenly the little girl breaks into contagious giggles. Erik seems startled by her reaction. Not at all what he expected. He breaks into a smile and kisses her forehead. By now Elizabeth and Little Erik are at his feet, grabbing onto his pants' leg, trying to stand up and reach Angelica. I notice Laura watching Erik and the children, a knowing smile on her face. Yep, she's got a handful, there. They've adopted Angelica and are just as protective of her as the twins. And they've never let her face be covered. No one minds. No one even seems to notice the scarring on her face anymore. Just the joy of her smile. Like an angel's.

Then I spot Antoinette coming from the château. She calls out to Joe who's just leaving the stables. He goes over to her and she hands him an envelope. After they exchange a few words, he heads for the lower pasture. Antoinette walks over to Erik and hands him a letter, too. Then Antoinette joins us and gives a third envelope to Jeanette whose cheeks turn pink. Doesn't take much to figure out it must be from Alejandro.

Erik opens his letter and announces that the Contessa will be arriving in a couple weeks for a visit. That's good news. Everyone enjoys her vivacious presence, and she'll be surprised how much the children have grown since she last saw them at New Year's.

After lunch is over and the table is cleared, Erik and Laura take the children inside for their afternoon naps. Danielle and Jeanette stay under the tree, watching Ethan and Jean-Luc play. Jeanette cradles Alexandra in her arms, occasionally glancing down at the sleeping babe. I excuse myself and go to find Joe. I haven't seen much of him since he's been back. He's made himself pretty scare.

Joe's leaning against the fence of the lower paddock, watching the Andalusians colts frolic. "Joe?" He looks around, surprised by my sudden appearance and quickly slides the envelope in his pocket. "Didn't mean to startle you. I made plenty of noise. You just didn't hear me."

"Guess not.'

"Did you have lunch?"

"Na. Not hungry right now."

I study him closely. "What's up? You haven't been yourself since you came back from Spain. Did something happen there?" One of the reasons that I took this assignment was because Joe was already here and we've always been close. Even growing up, we would talk about everything, including what's going on in our personal lives.

Typical of Joe, he ignores my question with one of his own. "I hear you're seeing Tom Durand. Isn't he the liaison between the American home and Maison d'espoir?"

Boy, I didn't see that question coming. How in the hell did he know? "Well, if you're asking if he's a friend, then yes."

"A friend, huh?" He snorts, then shakes his head. "Oh, Susie," he gazes off into the field and asks, "would you have ever thought we'd both be in this situation?"

"What situation?"

"You and I living in the nineteenth century and wondering what happens if someone comes along that we connect to. Here."

Okay, now I'm confused. Obviously he's found out that Thomas and I have been seeing each other. And Joe's hit the nail on the head. I really like Tom and that's created a predicament for me. If I let our relationship get serious, am I willing to stay in this century after my assignment's over? And never reveal my past. Uhh, make that my past in the future.

But Antoinette's married to Ace now, so who's he talking about? Then I see the envelope sticking out of his pocket. Antoinette handed him a letter before she delivered Erik's and I know that was from the Contessa. I remember how well Joe got along with the Contessa before they left for Spain. He'd even told me how much he admired her. Surely he isn't… "Joe, are you _involved_ with the Contessa?"

"Not the way you made it sound. But we've spent a lot of time together. She's a remarkable woman, Susie. Has an innate ability to read people. I've never met anyone like her. We connected on a lot of levels."

Oh boy, this isn't good. All I can think of is Erik's reaction to this bit of news. Prickles run up my spine. "So what are you going to do? Talk about rocking the boat…"

He stops me. "Yea, I know." He sighs then asks me about Tom. "Is it serious between you guys?"

I laugh. "Funny you should ask. I think it could be, at least on my part. Damn, that's not fair to him. Tom's been nothing but a gentleman. I suspect that if I encourage him things will go further. So yeah, maybe it could get serious." We both let the silence hang between us for a few minutes, then I add, "I just keep thinking about not being able to share so much of my past life with him. Would I be okay giving up that part of my life?"

"I know. I think about that too." He leans over and hugs me then offers his arm in gentlemanly fashion. "Well, Scarlett, m'dear, shall we think about that tomorrow?"

"Why, Rhett, you scoundrel," I smack him on the arm playfully, "that sounds like a wonderful idea." With a flourish, I put the back of my hand against my forehead and quote the last line of one of my favorite movies, _'After all, tomorrow is another day!'" _

_Erik's POV:_

"You seem preoccupied tonight, my love," I squeeze Laura's hand as we walk up the stairs.

"So much to do, and there never seems to be enough time. Two more women arrived from Paris today with their children. One of them has already asked to be sent to our American house to escape her husband." Laura sighs. "But I am glad we had the picnic today. I loved watching Elizabeth, so cautious about touching the grass, and little Erik grabbing it by the fistful. He's not afraid of anything!" She chuckles. "Reminds me of someone I know."

"But perhaps Elizabeth's caution is wiser." I smile at her. "Like someone I know."

"Maybe that's why they came into life together? They need each other for balance," Laura says in her sage way.

"Indeed." Gazing into her eyes, I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it as we stop in front of the door to the children's room. I look forward to this time of day. Checking on our children, then retiring to our rooms. Where no one will disturb us. That is our time.

As we enter the room, the nanny gets up from the rocker, Little Erik in her arms. I go over and take him, "I will put him to bed. Good night." She curtsies and leaves. She has moved into a bedroom down the hall and now the children occupy this bedroom which was originally Laura's. Cradling my son, I walk over to his crib and gently lay him down, then arrange a blanket over him. I brush back his black locks and gaze into his sleeping face. So sweet and innocent. So unlike the deviltry that I see in his eyes as he crawls eagerly toward the target of his attention. Determined not only to hold it, but to dismantle it in his attempt to learn its nature.

As Laura kisses him, I go to the other crib and check on the girls. Elizabeth is deep in sleep, her delicate features so peaceful, like her nature. She will no doubt be a beauty like her mother. And any man who wants to even approach her will have to go through me. I pick up her chubby little hand and kiss it. Laura comes and tucks her in as I move on to Angelica's bed. I pull back the lace canopy and look down on her sleeping face. She has already become oblivious to the scarring on her face. As has everyone here at the château. But I fear for her. For the day she has to leave and face the world. With her courageous heart I doubt we will be able to keep her in these protected confines. Well, we will have to cross that bridge when we get to it.

After Laura tucks Angelica in, we go into our sitting room. The armoire that was placed on the door between this bedroom and my sitting room has long since been removed. Laura goes to the settee in front of the fireplace and unlaces her shoes, slipping them off. I pour her a glass of wine and cognac for me. Joining her on the settee, I pull her to me and she rests her head on my shoulder. As she takes a sip of the wine, she sighs, this time contentedly. We do not talk. Just enjoy this moment. Luxuriate in each other. Her hand slips under my shirt and my hand enfolds her waist. Just as she turns her head up for a kiss, there is a knock on the door. We freeze, unable to believe what we have heard. We wait, silent, hoping we were wrong. Again the knock on the door.

"_Merde,"_ I breathe out.

"Shall I get it?" Laura asks.

"No. I will make short work of this," I say, reluctantly standing. I throw the door open, intent on handling this intrusion expeditiously. I am surprised to find Matt standing there. His expression tells there is a problem.

"Sorry to bother you and Laura after you've retired to your rooms, but it's the only time I could think to have a totally private conversation with you both." Apologetically, he adds, "May I come in?"

"Yes," I reply tersely. Matt would not be coming here like this if it were not important. But what could it be? My curiosity has been piqued. But also my trepidation.

"I'm sorry to bother you like this, Laura," Matt bows his head as he comes to a stop in front of the settee. He's adopting the proprieties of our society, as are all the Americans.

"Please be seated, Matt," Laura motions to the arm chair near her, "and tell us what's on your mind." Her eyes study him, too, wondering as I do.

He sinks into the chair, fatigued like us, after a long, arduous day tending to the matters at the château. But he hesitates, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. "Well, there's been something I've wanted to talk to you about ever since I got back from the de Chagny estate a week ago."

"Is this about Christine? Is she having…health problems?" Laura asks, worried.

"No! Nothing to worry about there. That's why Dara and I stayed two weeks after the delivery. I monitored her recovery closely. The cesarean is healing well, as I told you. No, she will be fine." Then Matt stares up at me, studying me. "No, this has more to do with Raoul."

I feel the hackles rise on my neck. "What is he up to now?" I demand.

"Well, he was drinking pretty heavily the night we arrived. I know he was worried about Christine. Worried about the delivery and a possible cesarean. So, getting drunk under the circumstances is understandable. Can be overlooked." Matt pauses and clears his throat. "But he said something a couple times that night to me. And, I overheard him say it several times to his friends over the next couple weeks. And, well, I think you should know."

"What is he saying?" I hiss out.

"That you are Angelica's father. That her scarring proves it."

I look down at the goblet in my hand. It is shaking with rage. In an instant I send it flying into the fireplace, shattering it. Laura gets up and comes to me, placing her arm around me and pulling me to her. She kisses my cheek, then turns and faces Matt. "Why did you tell us this, Matt? You're a good man, you must have a reason to pass this on."

"Yes, Laura, I do. I believe Erik. That he's not the father. And I know a way to prove it."

"I don't need proof, Matt," Laura replies. "I believe Erik."

"But I do want proof," I blurt out. "For once and for all."

"Well, we can do DNA testing. Take a sample of tissue from Erik and Angelica and send it to the future. To a lab. We'll get back a detailed analysis. It'll confirm she's not your daughter," then his voice lowers, "and it will also indicate whether she's a relative. Possibly a niece."

Laura gasps. I glare at Matt and ask, "What makes you think Angelica may be Raoul's daughter?"

"Angelica has the moon-shaped birth mark that you have. Very unique. Probably inherited. And if she's not your child, that leaves Raoul, doesn't it? It would also explain why he was so drunk, so worried about the baby that was about to be born."

"Yes, perform the test," I say emphatically. "I want this laid to rest."

"Good. Come to the infirmary tomorrow with Angelica and I'll take the samples." Matt bows his head again to Laura and walks to the door. As he reaches for the knob, he looks back. "May I ask something?"

"What?" I ask, suspicious.

"If she's Raoul's child, are you going to tell him?"

"No," I snarl. "Never!"

_Saturday, May 23, 1873_

_Dara's POV:_

I busy myself at the counter, trying to push down the ache rising inside me. Must focus on herbs and the chemistry. Numbers and proportions. Frustrated, I root through the cabinet for my notebook.

"You okay?" Matt leans against the counter. I avoid his eyes, thumbing blindly through my notes, having completely forgotten what I was looking for.

I set the book down with a sigh and finally look at him. Instantly a sting is at my eyes but I force it back and lie. "Yes I'm fine."

It falls flat. I feel the truth pouring from my eyes. About my fears. About the harshness of reality. And the grief I've been squelching. Matt folds his arms. "I'm not going anywhere. Need to talk?"

Biting my lip to hold back the tears, I look out the window. A squirrel darts across the grass and up a tree. It's sunny. Beautiful. But I'm in the middle of a silent, raging storm. I feel his hand under my elbow. "It's okay. Life's tough." He looks straight into my eyes. "Anything wrong, physically, that I should know about?"

"I'm not in any pain."

"If you were in pain, I'd know," he says simply.

I take a long, deep breath. "Matt, I think I'm finally ready to know the details. About what happened to me. The internal damage." I look up at him, bracing for the worst, "How bad is it?"

He doesn't move or go for the file. "Has your cycle stabilized?

"It has. The herbal therapies I've been using seem to be healing my system and bringing my hormones back in balance. I've concluded that I'm still ovulating. But how bad is the damage? Do you think…I'll ever be able to carry a child?"

He lets out an empathetic sigh. "Even with reconstructive surgery, I'm afraid some the damage is permanent. And if you are ovulating at all you're at high risk for an ectopic pregnancy." Giving me a moment to absorb this he continues. "I would have done a hysterectomy during your surgery if I thought you would have survived the procedure. Thinking that you were a woman of this time period possibly without a lot of control over your reproductive life, I thought a hysterectomy would help keep your life out of jeopardy."

A sickening wave of shock washes over me. "Then why didn't you do it?"

He shakes his head. "I had you open on the table almost too long, just trying to repair enough damage to keep you alive. I actually had to do it in two separate procedures to keep you stable. I just didn't think you could withstand a hysterectomy on top of everything else. If you'd been strong enough I would have. Now I'm glad I didn't. You can make a choice about that yourself now. And you've got control of your own reproductive life. But you're still at high risk. Even if there was a successful implantation, it's doubtful you could carry the baby."

I close my eyes allowing it to sink in, then break into angry tears. "All these recent births have brought this to the surface for me, Matt. I've always revered the female body and the miracle of childbearing. After I left the field of biochemistry, I studied to become a naturopathic specialist in women's hormone and reproductive issues. All my life I've treasured the gifts of my body and looked forward to taking part in the miracle of giving life. Now all that's been taken from me. The possibility may be gone, but the desire isn't." My eyes still closed, I feel Matt's arms wrap tenderly around me. I can no longer hold it in. Quiet, unstoppable grief pours from my heart.

Matt's eyes are misted when I finally pull back from his embrace. But some of the heaviness is gone from the air. The warmth of the sun through the window finally seems to reach me, and I feel less caged. More alive. Matt leads me outside, and I breathe in the fresh air. Not caring if anyone's looking, I reach under my skirts and pull off my shoes and knee-high stockings, leaving them on the ground. As my feet sink into the soft grass, deep peace wells through me. The air cleanses me and the sun warms me. I let my hair fall free and be filled with the breeze. Matt's hair is long enough now that's it's tied back, but a few brown waves escape and blow in the wind.

We walk until the sun begins to tire and fade. Beneath a sheltering tree, we sit on the ground and lean back against the trunk. As we watch the colors deepen in the sky, Matt opens up. "Life can be hard. And often things don't make a lot of sense. Some things are hard for the heart to let go," he shakes his head, "believe me, I know."

I think back on the conversations I've had with Julia, about how in love he was with Laura. How he guarded her, loved her, and now finds himself watching her have a life and family with Erik.

"In some ways it's difficult for me to be here," Matt admits.

"So, why would you stay?"

"I'm committed to my work in the infirmary. They need a competent doctor here, and I want to teach new, advanced techniques to other doctors. Spread concepts of sterilization and more advanced surgical techniques."

"But being here is personally difficult for you. I can't go back, at least not to the life I was living. Or even the life I wish I could live. But you're choosing to stay even though you could go back. Why?"

He doesn't answer right away. Finally he turns to me with an honest gaze. "I guess I've always known that in spite of it all, somehow my destiny is here."

He stands and reaches down for my hand, helping me up. We walk in silence back to the château. Inside the infirmary, I tell Matt I'm ready to see my medical file. That I'd like to take it and look over it privately."

With a gentle nod, he takes the file from his desk drawer and hands it to me. "I think my notes are readable," he half jokes. "Any questions you have, I'll try to answer. Whenever you want."

I take the file and look at my name written in his handwriting. Asking for a pencil I erase "Dara" and correct the spelling. He looks on with a curious glint, then turns his blue eyes on me. "So it's _Daire_," he says my name with a playful Irish lilt. "I didn't take you for Irish."

"I didn't take you for Irish either," I tease. "What did you think I was?"

He gives me a contemplative stare. "Moroccan maybe? You remind me of Rajan."

I arch an eyebrow enigmatically. "Maybe I'm some of that too."

After a moment he breaks his curious gaze and shuffles a stack of books on his desk. Underneath is a book about flowers. "What's this?" I pick up the beautiful volume.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Oh Antoinette brought that a while back. It's pretty much useless. But don't tell her I said that." When I feign offense his mouth takes on a slight grin. "I confess I only looked at it once. She brought it back when you were still in recovery down here."

"So that's your secret," I smile knowingly. "You with all those beautiful flowers strewn around my room."

He laughs. "Nope. I didn't need any inspiration from a book."

"What do you have against it?" I pry jokingly.

He stops his paper shuffling and peers down at me. "I looked up 'get well,' and it said to give you garlic."

An outright laugh escapes me. "Well garlic is a powerful healing herb."

He gives me a skewed grin. "Still…."

...

There's a knock on my bedroom door as I'm finally getting into my nightgown. Julia comes in from her late night run, winded and glowing. Like usual, I help her out of her clothes and into a warm nightgown by my bedroom fire. She's still breathless as we put on the long socks to keep our feet warm. I give her a knowing smile and she radiates even more. "So…?" I pry.

"He loved my belly dance!" she declares, eyes alight. "You're such a great teacher."

"Well you've caught the spirit of the dance. And when you feel it in your body, you can't help but mesmerize him. Did he play the pipes again?"

She nods, intoxicated, "Daire, he's every woman's _dream_!"

"_Every_ woman's?"

She's still next to delirious as we climb into bed and huddle under the covers. "You should see him in the river in the moonlight," she gushes. "The moon shining on his dark shoulders, and those glistening dreads. He's like something from a fantasy."

I giggle. "Clearly you're in one."

"Look at this," she gets up on one elbow and works her fingers through her hair, eyes gleaming. She draws out a long, slender braid wrapped with a small gold clip. I breathe out in admiration as she smoothes the tiny braid. "He said I needed at least one braid somewhere on my head. And he took a lock of my hair and wove it into his dreads. Of course there are no 'strands' of his hair to give me, and his dreads look best on his head," she laughs. "But don't worry. It's in just the right spot. It won't show, even when my hair is up."

"So tell me about your trip into Paris. What's it like going to the opera with Blakeney?"

"Oh all that pomp and foppery, it's all for show," she groans. "But you should see Blakeney and his men when they drop their facades. They're all rugged. Even exotic. Especially Blakeney and Rajan."

"Blakeney? Really?" I fall back on my pillow, laughing.

"Daire!" Julia stops me. "The way you just laughed, and that flash in your eyes...looks so much like Rajan."

"You just can't see anything _but_ Rajan right now. No matter who you're looking at. Or what. You go out to the stable right now and one of the horses will remind you of him."

"How do you know so much about it? Are you in love?"

"Well no."

She suddenly turns quiet and serious. "So you two are 'just friends'."

"Who? You mean Matt?"

"Yeah, you two seem so close. And you're so perfect for him. Isn't there anything…_happening_?"

I suddenly feel like I have cotton in my throat. When I don't say anything, Julia whispers mysteriously, "You're even bound by blood."

"Well he told me I had a transfusion. Did he give me his blood?"

"Are you kidding? When he brought you in you were just about gone. He was so determined to save you, he gave his own blood. He worked tirelessly."

"I don't remember anything after the gunshot. Not the carriage ride or being dumped over a road bank. I do remember how stormy it was that night though. What in the world was Matt doing out in it?"

"He wasn't out in it for kicks. Something drove him out. Even he didn't know what. I was with him all that day and he was as edgy as a bulldog. The worse it stormed, the more agitated he got. That night we tried to play chess but he couldn't concentrate. Finally he got up and told Jeremy he was going out. We thought he was crazy, and I even tried to stop him. But he said he didn't know why, just that something was driving him out there. The storm was so bad, and he was gone so long, Jeremy decided to go out after him. That's when he finally showed up, running across the grounds in the torrent, carrying you. He was bedraggled as hell, and I would have thought you'd drowned if it weren't for all the blood. Jeremy and Matt worked all night trying to save you. I just did whatever they told me, which wasn't much. But it was the most amazing thing I ever saw, watching him save your life." I listen wide-eyed. "We were supposed to leave the next day for Spain, but Matt stayed here with you, of course. And that's the morning I met Rajan," she smiles. "Blakeney and he shadowed us on the trip to Spain."

Julia talks about Rajan, until she tires and goes off to her own room. Curling against my pillow, I watch the candle burn. The undulating flame shimmies gently on the waft of my breath. So Rajan liked her dancing. I feel a deep satisfaction, as if through teaching her, that part of me is still alive. No wonder she's so taken with Rajan. He feeds her daring, adventurous spirit, and summons her femininity at the same time.

The flame sways slowly, hypnotically. Deep inside is a desire to move like a goddess, circle my hips and stir the life of the earth to rise through me. To dance barefoot on the grass. But again I feel the wave of grief. The desecration of my body. I wrap my arms around my belly, letting the tears come once more. I see Matt's eyes again, feel his arms. And it eases the pain.

I take the file and the book of flowers from under my pillow. Through tears I read his medical notes on the surgery. His assessment of my internal damage. The cc's of blood he gave. What he could and could not repair. His decision not to do a hysterectomy. The second surgery and another gift of his blood. I read the amounts again, both the blood given and saline fluids. The only way he pulled it off was to boost his own blood volume with IV fluids. Why on earth did he risk so much to save someone he didn't know? And I marvel at what Julia said, about his feeling compelled to venture out in that storm.

Gingerly, I lay the medical notes aside. Beneath them are the drawings he used to communicate with me when I refused to speak. I smile through my tears at the little stick figure with long wavy hair, the vignettes he drew in his attempt to understand who I was. To take me home. But how could I have told him, not knowing who he was, that I lived in a tangle of skyscrapers and concrete? And that the life I led is impossible to go back to.

"_She likes flowers," _is scratched randomly on another page among other notes.

"_Maybe a dancer. Morrocco? She reminds me of Rajan. Blakeney tried Arabic. No response." _

"_Heard her voice today. __Magical." _

Replacing the papers, I open the book of flowers. Does garlic really mean "get well?" Sure enough! It also means "_courage, strength and wards off Evil and illness."_

I scan the pages for purple lilacs. I remember, vividly, him handing me a purple lilac bloom as I lay silently recovering from my injuries. And I remember the look in his eyes. The words drift off the page like the scent I remember when he handed me the flower: "_first emotions of love." _A softness comes over me again. It was his tenderness when he gave me the flower that caused me to finally speak his name, and to say thank you. _Magical_, he called it.

I gently close the book, pondering all Julia has said to me, and what I've found in the file. The hopelessness of my dreams to give life. And the miracle that I am alive. Turning my palms upward in the dancing candlelight, I visually trace the veins of my forearms. In the stillness of the night I feel, almost hear the blood, the life, pulsing through me. He saved what was left of my life, and gave me his when mine wasn't enough. His kindness and patience were a balm to me as I gathered strength to face the truth. And his friendship has been my ballast through it all. Could there truly be more?

With a last glance through the file I close it and place the book of flowers on top. There on the cover is a picture of purple lilacs. I brush a tear from my eye. _First emotions of love._ Is that truly what he's been feeling? I tuck the book and the file under my bed, then blow out the candle and lie in the dark cradling my belly. Seeing his face. His eyes. Remembering his touch. Somewhere on the way to sleep, I see a wide field of flowers. And beyond that a hill, with children running to meet me…


	119. Chapter 119

**A/N: Despite many obstacles, happily we are able to post on time and on the 4****th**** of July! Happy 4****th**** to each of you in the U.S. I hope you've had a special day and enjoyed great fireworks! A belated Happy Canada Day for our Canadian friends! And, a Bon Tour de France to our readers in France. My husband is a fanatical bike rider. He never misses the Tour and I love watching to enjoy the beautiful French countryside and villages. **

**Well, this chapter is longer than usual, but this is a turning point in the lives of Erik and Laura, as well as other at the château. On the 4****th**** of July we celebrate one kind of courage, but courage comes in different ways and many forms throughout our lives. Often with no fanfare, no speeches, no medals. Just the quiet decisions we make that are difficult, but have great thought, heart and sometimes sacrifice in consideration not only of ourselves, but of others. I look forward to reading your thoughts about this chapter, and hope you will share an experience of your own when you made a momentous decision.**

At Château Mercier, once again, Rilke's words, "life holds you in its hands…" has great meaning.

* * *

**Chapter 119 Life Holds You in its Hands, Phanfan, KFC & Phanna**

_Château Mercier _

_Friday, May 30, 1873 _

_Erik's POV:_

"_Joseph!" _I bellow as I enter the stables.

He is saddling his horse and spins around, startled. "What's up?"

"I have just been to the guest suite. The bathroom is not finished and the Contessa will be here in ten days. Why is it not yet complete?" I demand.

"Well," he rakes his hand through his hair, "we've been having a devil of a time getting supplies. The copper pipes haven't arrived, yet. Then I got a letter last week that the claw-foot tub won't get here until next week."

"But the tiling is not even completed!" I am losing my temper with these excuses.

"Oh, that! Well, the tile-layer from the village got injured in a hunting accident. His family sent word he's on the mend and will be back by next week. Should only take him a few days to finish up."

"I want you to make sure that the bathroom is finished by the time the Contessa arrives." I glare down at him, "Can you do that?"

"I'll make sure it's done on time," he glares back. "If I have to pick up the tub from the factory and lay the tile myself."

"I'll hold you to that." I turn on my heel and return to the château. When I enter, the smell of baking bread lures me to the kitchen. Jeanette is taking fresh brioche out of the oven. I walk up behind her and say, "No one makes brioche like you."

Jeanette jumps, dropping the tray on the counter with a bang. Her hand grabs her apron and as she wipes her face, she peers up at me. "I didn't hear you come in, Comte. You mustn't sneak up like that! Nearly frightened me out of my skin!"

"Sneak? I did no such thing!" I harrumph. "I was merely commenting on your exquisite brioche."

She blushes and relaxes a little. "Would you like one?"

"Certainly."

She takes a linen napkin and wraps up one of the brioches, handing it to me. "Could I make tea for you?"

"No. I will help myself to some wine." I go into the dining room and pour some Chateau Margaux. I take a bite of the buttery brioche and head for the comfortable chair in the Great Hall that has a splendid view of the front lawns. I never get there. Jeremy waylays me.

"Erik, it's arrived. I just delivered the reports to Matt," he announces. "Thought you'd want to know right away."

My heart skips a beat. What I have wanted to know. What I have dreaded to find out. I give Jeremy a nod, but say nothing as he turns to go. I look down at the brioche. I have lost my appetite. I set it down on a console, but keep the wine. I suspect I will need it. Resolute, I walk down the corridors to Matt's infirmary. A number of servants and workers pass by, all seeming to give me wide berth, their faces disclosing fear, their voices hushed as they glance my way. What causes their trepidation? Do they know what the report contains? Only Matt, Jeremy, Laura and I know of the tests that were done. Surely the servants could not have found out. Or is it something they read in my face? Sense in my mood?

When I enter the infirmary, Daire looks up from her microscope. Her expression turns alarmed when I come to a stop in front of her work bench. "Is Matt tending to anyone in his office?" My voice is brittle.

"Uh, no. He's alone," she replies haltingly.

I sweep past her and enter the office without knocking. Matt is seated at his desk, intensely focused on papers. "I'll be done reviewing the reports in just a minute, Erik," he says and motions for me to be seated in the chair on the other side of his desk.

I set down the wine goblet, but go to the window, looking out on the garden. And begin pacing, watching Matt out of the corner of my eye. As soon as he looks up, I halt and demand, "Well?"

"The DNA tests verify that Angelica is a member of your family, definitely related to you. But she is not your daughter."

"That I already know. So, this verifies that she is Raoul's daughter?"

"Well, the tests don't prove that. After all, we didn't test his DNA."

"And what was ascertained about my other concerns? Were they able to determine what causes this?" I hiss, pointing to my mask.

"Yes, they were," Matt clears his throat, "and that part of the report was surprising. Unexpected."

I cross the room in a flash and pound on the desk, "Well?"

"The condition you have is known as venous malformation. Your family has a rare genetic condition, a type of venous malformation that is inherited."

"Yes, of course, we know it is inherited. But I asked you to find out if I can pass this on," again my hand jabs toward my mask, "to my children. Or whether they can pass it on to theirs. My mother believes it skips generations. Is that the case?"

"No, Erik, that is not correct."

"What?" I sink into the chair in front of his desk.

"The condition that occurs in your family is not passed by a recessive gene. They verified that you have a rare condition that has been mapped to chromosome 9q. And, it is inherited in an autosomal dominant manner. A dominant gene means that an abnormal gene only needs to come from one parent to cause the condition. It overrides the normal gene contributed by the other parent."

"Then why were our children born without the condition?" I am confounded.

"Because of the ratios. If one parent has a dominant gene with this condition, and the other parent does not, then the child has a fifty percent chance of inheriting the dominant gene and having the condition and a fifty percent chance of inheriting the normal gene. In other words, it would be expected that two out of four children would have the condition, and two would not."

"So, if Laura and I have more children, they could inherit this…"

"Yes," he shakes his head sadly, "they could."

"I had believed the condition skipped generations, based on what Zoe said. And the Contessa also believes that. It is why I thought it safe for me to have children…" My mind reels, stunned. But this was what I wanted to know. What I feared to know. And this is not the end it. There are other matters now that must be dealt with. "So, our children. Will they pass this on?"

"That is the good news. If they did not inherit this, then they do not have the dominant gene and they cannot pass it on. And, this condition manifests from birth. Neither of them have any of the signs or symptoms."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Well, this condition can occur in many places on the body, even internally. In your family this sometimes manifests on the face at the same time that the birthmark, probably a port wine stain, also occurs. That is so remarkable, your family has noticed that condition when it happens, but they probably didn't connect it as being related to scarring that members of your family had on other parts of the body."

"So, Elizabeth and Little Erik cannot pass this on," I sigh, relieved. Wetness forms at the corners of my eyes.

"That's right."

"But I can still pass this on," my voice lowers menacingly, "indeed there is a high likelihood that my next child will have this condition."

Matt does not answer, but his eyes tell me all.

I groan. "I have put much thought into what I need to do. When I was in the future, I overheard a bodyguard telling of a procedure he had just gone through. A procedure that would prevent him from fathering any more children. Does that truly exist?"

"Yes, it's called a vasectomy." Matt leans forward in his chair. "But you don't need to do that, Erik. Laura's using birth control pills sent from the future. She'll always have access to those."

"But will that insure she does not become pregnant?" I press. "And are those pills benign?"

"Well, no, they are not a hundred percent effective. And taking them could possibly have side effects."

"Side effects? You mean they could have a negative impact on Laura's health?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

I pick up the goblet and drink the wine down in one gulp.

"So, this procedure. Is it complicated?" I glare at Matt, "Does it affect in any manner my…physical ability?"

"No, it's a very simple procedure. There's discomfort for several days while the incision heals, but that's all." He smiles reassuringly, "And, it in no way affects your ability to have normal relations."

I digest this information. This prospect. Hesitatingly I ask, "Can you perform this procedure?"

"Yes. It can be done right here in my office," Matt replies, then pauses, studying me. "But shouldn't you discuss this with Laura before you do anything?"

"Indeed." I stand and look down at Matt. "Thank you for your honesty."

I walk back to the kitchen in a daze, seeking Jeanette. "Have you seen Madame Mercier?" I ask her.

"Why yes. She went to the library about an hour ago. Said she had correspondence to answer."

In the library, I find Laura intensely scrawling a letter. She does not look up until I am standing in front of her desk. "Oh, Erik! I didn't hear you come in," she smiles warmly, adding, "as usual."

"A habit from my days haunting the opera house," I smile wryly. "Could you put aside your paperwork for awhile and come with me? I'd like for us to take a walk down by the river."

"Well, how could I turn down such an offer?" she says, but her smile fades as she studies my face. She perceives this is not about a pleasant walk on a summer day. As she comes around the desk, she holds out her hand and takes mine, leading me out the French doors to the terrace. We walk through the garden and down the path to the river. Neither of us speaks. I gather my thoughts and prepare my words. She waits, expectant.

At the river's edge, we settle under a tree. I lean against the trunk of an old oak and Laura wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my chest. My hand strokes her silken hair as I begin, "Laura, there is something I must share with you. Something we need to discuss…"

_Sunday, June 15, 1873_

_Daire's POV:_

Barefoot, I walk through the meadow and over the hill toward the sunset. One by one I tear the petals from a red poppy and let them fall to the earth. The sky is bleeding with color tonight even as storm clouds churn in the east. The words from the little Rilke book I found seem to follow on the breeze.

…_So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you, greater than you have ever seen…_

The backdrop of my former life is starting to fade now. City skylines, rush hour traffic. TV screens, airline flights. I used to hate those things, but now my thoughts cling to them. Digital clocks, traffic lights, the images lose their clarity as I stand at the top of the hill and watch the sun's fiery crest melt into the horizon. Picking another red poppy I pull its petals and let them fall like tears. Petal after petal, until my fingers are stained red. Then I weave the long deflowered stems together in a circle and lay it on the ground. I take full, beautiful heads of flowers and drop them over it. For everyone I've left behind. My mother and father, the children in Africa. My sister, lifelong friends, grandparents, cousins in Ireland and Morocco. Kneeling in the dying light of the sun, I pour my heart into the earth.

My mind tries to shut out the painful memories springing up…the last days of my former life. Father dying in the explosion. Me being tracked and hunted down in Africa. Trying to escape, and that fateful muddy road, then my vehicle rolling down a hill. Waking up in a nightmare of captivity, in another time and place. I fight with myself as I try to brave the terrible memories of those first months. Enough to do what I came here to do….release them.

Storm shadows glide across the hill and the surrounding countryside, and the breeze picks up, rustling the tall grass edging the hill. When a crack of thunder jolts the sky, I rise from the ground to meet the rain.

The thunder builds, and with the gradual increase in the rain, I open the doors to the memories. Loud peals of thunder drown out my voice as I release my grief and anger into the storm. The sky answers, hurling spears of lightning like daggers into the ground.

_If a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadow passes over … you must not be frightened….you must think that something is happening with you…that life has not forgotten you…that it holds you in it's hand…it will not let you fall…_

I give myself to the torrent, letting it wash everything from me. Grief, fear, sadness. When the downpour finally slows I stand relieved, and empty, soaking it in like a flower. Wiping the tears of the sky from my face, I look down at the scattered flower petals already dissolving into the ground. Heads of flowers lie battered, but beautiful on the strewn petals. A few lie on their sides, unscathed. I turn them upward and arrange them on the circle of woven stems. Fixing the image in my mind, I breathe a prayer for strength and a blessing for those I've left behind. Then in the gentle shower, I walk back down the hill.

All that's left now is the ache. The ache that rises and subsides. Hungers and then quiets, but never goes away. I make my way through the field, trying to push him from my thoughts. It's impossible. Matt's heart and arms are open to me. But he's holding something back. Maybe because he senses it's somewhere I haven't been ready to go. I cradle my belly as I walk. Or maybe he wants to father a child, and since I can't give him that, I'm not the woman he needs. Even if that wasn't an issue for him, he'd have to know I won't use biochemical means to prevent a high risk pregnancy. Or further damage my body and hormonal systems surgically. It would be up to him to ensure I never get pregnant. But that would be asking too much.

I wipe my wet eyes. The rain is picking up again. It's twilight, now and cooler. I should get under a tree. Finding my favorite shade tree, I step under her protective branches and watch the sky pour down again. The flowers bow their heads. The grass bends, accepting the battering, life giving rain. It seems I can hear each individual drop hitting the ground, splattering on leaves and petals. Then there are hoof beats. I see Matt swing off Chiron's back and send the horse home. He walks toward me, carrying a blanket, then steps in under the branches and wraps it around me. "Planning to wait it out here, my lady?"

_My lady? _I blush. "How do you always know where to find me?"

He shrugs. "You just always seem to be in the first place I look."

"That's uncanny. I'm not that predictable."

He leans against the tree. "Well, it's like watching the weather. Upredictable, but you can kinda tell where it's headed," he smiles. "Learned that from my dad. He used to love to just sit and watch the weather."

I tug the blanket tighter around me.

"You cold?" he asks, wrapping his arm around me.

I huddle against him. "Do you think the rain will last long?"

"In a hurry to get home?" he teases, hugging me closer.

"Not really," I smile. "Just wondered where you think this storm's going next."

"Well actually, I didn't come out here to talk about the weather."

I gaze at him, uneasy. He has that look I've been longing for, yet dreading. A look that complicates everything. As our eyes lock in the dim light I feel his hands on my back. I blink away tears. "Matt you know my condition…and…"

He shushes me gently and pushes the wet hair away from my face. "I know. And I'd never put you at risk."

I hesitate. "And from a holistic perspective …."

He caresses my arm. "I know, it's important your body stays in tact."

I look up into his love-filled eyes, wondering if I could be worth it to him. If he would willingly give up his ability to father a child, so we could be together.

"I think we can repair the damage inside your body…" he says softly.

I sway, stunned. "What do you mean?"

"I've been doing a lot of research. A lot of consulting with medical specialists in the future. There's new technology. New procedures."

I feel a rush of hope. And disbelief. "But you said it was irreversible?"

"Not anymore," he whispers. "I've been in contact with a surgeon who's had high success rates with the procedures she's developed using the new technology. It's not a guarantee, but I've seen what she's been able to do for women with worse conditions than yours. You could see this specialist if you want to. I've just got clearance from the Program to take you there if you choose."

"I'd be going back to the future?"

"You'll just travel incognito. We'll give you an alternate identity. I'll be there to guard you. Keep you safe."

"And how did you convince the Program to authorize such an expense?"

A bit of mirth sparks in his eyes. "Let's just say I had a few good men on my side."

"I can't believe you've gone to so much effort, to figure this out and arrange everything."

He smiles, smoothing my hair. "It's nothing, my lady."

"What do you mean, _my lady_?"

"It's a medieval term a man would use when he found a woman of such great value, worthy of such honor because of her compassion, dignity and grace, that anything he did, even laying down his life, was not too high a price to pay just to be of service to her."

I let the words soak in, then timidly ask, "Laura. You loved her that way."

He looks deep in my eyes. "Yes, I loved her. And I did what I needed to do for her. Saw her into good hands. I wasn't her destiny. And she wasn't mine, but being with her, I saw flashes of it. Foreshadows. Shades of things I couldn't name. Loving Laura helped me understand what I was looking for. What I needed."

"What is it you need?"

"A woman I can give my life to, and lay it down for if need be."

"You should be very careful who you give it to."

"You give me no choice."

"What do you mean _no choice_?"

"I mean that I loved you with my soul before I knew anything about you. Before you even came. It's what drove me out, when I had no idea why, into a near hurricane to find you. And helped me find a way to save your life, against impossible odds. My soul loved you before you were conscious. But loving you with my heart came with what I saw after you woke up."

I almost can't find my voice. "What was it you saw?"

"It was your courage. From your condition, I knew you'd been through hell, but it wasn't until we finally got you talking that I realized the scope and magnitude of your losses. But to wake up in a strange place without a clue what your situation was, after withstanding months of coercion and abuse," he shakes his head. "You lost everything and everyone you'd ever known, nearly lost your life, then to find out you had no choice but to stay in the past…and face it every day with courage…that's magnificent, my lady. _Beautiful and brave._"

He holds my face in his hand. Reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, I meet his gaze with a kiss, my heart pounding fiercely with love for him.

_Saturday, July 4, 1873, just after midnight_

_Joe's POV:_

Sweat trickles down my neck. Damn, it's hot. Sure wish I had air-conditioning right now. I roll to the side of the bed and pick up my watch. 12:30 am. No use trying to sleep. The last few days have been unbearably hot and sticky. Not even a breeze to help. I get out of bed, grab some clothes and head downstairs.

I make my way through the kitchen, hoping it's cooler outside. It's not. The humidity's so thick it's like breathing underwater. The pungent smell of roses and jasmine permeates the night air.

"Can't sleep either?" Jeremy's deep voice booms out of the shadows. He's leaning against a tree, staring up at the sky. Lot of clouds tonight, but when the moon goes behind them, it's easy to see the stars.

"No. Too damn hot."

He studies me for a minute before replying, "Yeah, I know what you mean." I get the feeling we aren't talking about the weather.

"I'm going for a swim."

"Yeah, that might help cool you off," he drawls. Once again I get the feeling we're talking about two different things.

I watch him go inside, then take off toward the river. When I pass the dam, I can hear the creak of the large waterwheels as they turn in their endless circle, helping to supply running water to the château. Taking a shortcut over some large boulders, I reach the secluded pool below the dam. Because it's fed by the moving water, it's clear. Three of the ponds around the grounds are so stagnant, we fenced them off to keep the kids and the livestock out of them.

But this pool's deep in the center, and if you go down far enough, the water's cool. Tucking all my clothes in a branch of a nearby tree, I dive in and swim down to the cooler water. Feels good. When my lungs beg for air, I surface and swim the length back and forth a few times. Finally, I flip on my back and float, listening to the night sounds. An owl hoots somewhere above. I study the trees, trying to spot him. There on the branch! His wide eyes unblinking as he searches the ground. I stay motionless in the water. Suddenly, the owl takes flight, swooping toward the undergrowth. But I lose him and can't tell if he got his prey.

I close my eyes and once again concentrate on the sounds of the night all around me. Off to my left I hear an animal scurry through the dense foliage. Probably a beech marten. A cute little critter, but a pest. They love to forage for eggs. I've had to close several holes in the henhouse where they sneak in at night. They even took a couple of the hens a while back.

A nightingale begins his song of trills and whistles. Jeanette indentified the bird for me one evening when I'd asked if she knew what kind it was. Abruptly the song ends.

"Don't you know you're not supposed to sneak up on someone? Not that I would call that sneaking," I chide, "you make too much noise."

"Well, actually, I've been here awhile." The Contessa's lips curl into a smile. "Observing you."

I laugh. "You're early," I shift my position to stand in the chest-deep water and pull her into my arms, "I wasn't expecting you for another hour."

I lean over and kiss the pulse at the base of her throat. A small moan escapes her lips. "I could not sleep…"

I laugh. "So what made you think you'd get any sleep here?"

She places her hand on my bare chest, setting me on fire. Her lips touch my neck as she whispers, "Perhaps that is why I could not sleep."

My hand follows the curve of her back beneath the water, "Would you like to review your …swimming lessons?"

"Indeed," her eyes look deep into mine, "you are a good teacher."

I pull her with me into the deeper water and we swim together, letting the water glide over us as we explore each other. And make passionate love. Before we leave the pool, I take her hand and we dive deep, letting the water cool our bodies.

On the bank, I spread the blanket she brought. "You didn't happen to bring any food, did you?"

"Of course," she pulls out an apple and a chunk of cheese from the pocket of her cape and tosses it over, "I remember how hungry you get…in the middle of the night."

Grinning my thanks, I bite into the apple. It amazes me how she's taken the time to learn my habits. I've never had anyone do that for me before. Even during the months I spent in Spain, she was always conscious of my likes and dislikes. At first, I was flattered. But now I know that she does this for people she cares about.

I always feel comfortable with her. I recall the night I was on my way back to the château after one of my swims and saw her walking toward the river. She'd just arrived that afternoon and invited me to walk with her so we could catch up. I brought her here to show her the pool, and we ended up talking for hours. When we returned to the château, I didn't walk her to the house. I told her I had to check on the horses. Didn't want anyone to see us together that late, and she agreed.

Several nights later she was sitting by the pool when I got there. I was surprised since it was midnight. When I dove into the pool, she admitted that she wasn't good at swimming. I teased her about it and offered to give her a lesson. I soon learned that being so close while teaching her was a mixture of pleasure and pain. I caught a teasing look in her eyes when she "accidentally" brushed up against me. She didn't object when I took her in my arms and kissed her thoroughly. We gave in to our passions and met again a couple nights ago to continue her swimming lessons. And other things.

The Contessa's a woman secure in herself. I like that. She's a modern woman, just born a century too soon. I stop eating the apple to watch her remove the pins from her hair, letting the long braid fall to below her hips. I don't think she realizes how sensuous this simple ritual is. I reach out to touch her silky hair, but she grabs my hand and turns it over, depositing her hairpins there. "Please find somewhere secure to put these. I barely had enough the last time to rearrange my hair." I tuck them into the pocket of my shirt, still hanging over the branch. I lean back on the tree trunk and pull her into my arms. She rests her head on my chest and runs her hands enticingly over my stomach.

"I heard that Angelica got hurt today. Is she okay?" I ask.

"_Si._ She tumbled off a bench, but it was not that high off the ground. Charlotte actually broke her fall."

"Charlotte's the ultimate mother hen," I laugh, "you don't have to worry about any of your grandchildren while she's around."

"Antoinette seems to enjoy having another daughter."

"Yes, Antoinette always wanted more children. The adoption is ideal for her. And Ace."

"Do you regret her decision to marry Ace?"

I stop munching the apple and stare down at the Contessa, but all I see is the top of her head. Someone's told her about Antoinette and me. I take a deep breathe. "No. I don't," I say truthfully. "Don't get me wrong. Her rejection stung. But now I realize that she's much happier with Ace."

"And what about you? Are you happy?"

"Are you asking if I still love her?"

"Do you?"

I don't even hesitate on that one. "I'll always have a soft spot for her. But, no. I don't love her now." I toss the apple core into the forest behind us, then turn her so I can gaze into her eyes. "Why are you asking?"

"Perhaps I want to make sure your heart is not involved with another."

I draw her into my arms. "And why is that?"

She averts her eyes. "You are so much younger than me, Joe. It wouldn't be fair if our relationship held you back from someone you love. Do you have strong feelings for another?"

I turn her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "I do have strong feelings. For you. However…" She kisses me, making me forgot what else I was going to say. When I come back to my senses, I remember. "_However," _I clear my throat,_ "_I just can't imagine our relationship being okay with Erik." My jaw aches thinking about that.

"_Si._ That is truly a concern and why we must remain cautious." She sighs. "Maybe in time."

"Maybe." _But I don't think so._

"Joe, when I return to Spain, I want you to come with me."

She's nailed my dilemma. I want to return to Spain with her, too. I've wracked my brain trying to figure out how to make it happen. "It's not as easy as that." I give her a version of the truth. That I contracted to work _with Erik _for three and half more years. "Then," I add, "I can go where I want."

"Maybe I can convince Erik that your work in Spain isn't completed." She smiles seductively. "After all, I could say that you need to come to my home and create an elegant bathroom for me as you have done at Chateau Mercier."

I pull her close to me and take her long braid in my hand, running my fingers along the soft hair. "But my dear Contessa," I lean close to her ear and bite it gently, "you can always visit your grandchildren any time you want."

"Yes, I do so love to see them grow." She places her hand on the back of my neck, drawing me into a kiss. "But isn't it time you start using my Christian name and not my title?"

I blink at her and break into a grin, realizing what she's saying. "And what is that?"

"Bernice Louise." A glitter of humor dances in her eyes.

"It's a beautiful name," I compliment, but cautiously venture, "Do you have a nickname?"

"_Si_," she smiles, "my father always called me Nita because he said I was such a serious child. He was the only one who used it."

"Nita. I like that. May I call you Nita?"

"_Si._ I like the way you say it. Of course, you must only use it when we are alone."

"Speaking of alone," I touch the top of her bare shoulder, letting my fingers trail across a bare, full breast and down her small waist to the top of her thigh, "we have plenty of time before we have to get back."

The night air is still hot and muggy around us as her arms pull me down to the blanket next to her. "Indeed," she moans, "let's use it well."

It's three in the morning when the Contessa returns to the château. I follow several minutes later. I'm just coming out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs when Jeremy steps out of the shadows. His voice is low and steely, "_You. To the library! Now!" _He slams the door behind us. _"What in bloody hell do you think you're doing?"_

He knows! For a brief second I consider denying it, but his expression tells me I better keep my mouth shut and weather the storm. "I…"

"For cryin' out loud, Joe! _Are you insane?_ You know that Erik will eviscerate you if he finds out!" He begins pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head whenever he glances at me.

"I…"

"I thought you at least had some common sense. _But I was wrong!"_

"Sir…"

"I'm ordering you to end this relationship with the Contessa! _And you better damn well pray that Erik doesn't find out!"_

"Jeremy…"

"_Damnit, Joe._ This could bring everything the Team is here to accomplish down around us!"

"But…"

He glares at me. "You've signed a contract with the military, Joe! You are on assignment here and subject to my authority. You still have another three and a half years' obligation left."

"Sir…"

"_This is a direct order. If you disobey, you can be court-martialed and that will be held in the future. You'll have a long time to cool down in prison and you'll never see the Contessa again. Do you understand?"_

"But…"

"And that's the least of your worries if Erik catches wind of this!"

"I…"

"I want you to think long and hard on this! You straighten your act up or I will have no choice but to take action. _You are dismissed!" _

I storm out of the library and go to my room. It may be the 4th of July, but I didn't expect fireworks until after the picnic this evening. I fall on the bed, but I'm too frustrated to sleep. I fold my arms behind my head and stare at the ceiling. How will I explain this to the Contessa? _What the hell am I going to do now?_


	120. Chapter 120

**A/N: Thank you for your patience! We hope our readers in the U.S. are having a fun, relaxing Labor Day weekend, and all our readers are enjoying a late summer weekend. Fall is around the corner, and the turning of the seasons. **

**We writers took a summer sabbatical and didn't post last month, which as you know, is very rare. But since the reviews have decreased this summer, we thought you may all be busy with summer vacations. We hope to hear from you now to let us know if you are interested in the continuation of the Epic Case. **

**I want to thank our readers who have contacted me by PM and inquired about my health and said they missed reading the chapter! My health has been restored, and my two co-writers have written this long, eventful chapter to allow me to finish the editing of the book! We hope you enjoy this new episode! **

Life never remains the same. Like the seasons, people change and grow. And relationships mature. Even Erik's world is changing around him.

* * *

**Chapter 120 JOURNEYS by KFC and Phanna+**

_STARLab 21__st__ century_

_Matt's POV:_

"_Interesting."_ Nick eyes Jeremy and me from across his huge desk. Horatio leans back with his hands behind his head, trying to control his smirk. "Well," Nick crosses his arms, "it never ceases to amaze me how women always seem to end up running the show."

Jeremy doesn't fidget, just sits there sweating. I'm attempting to stay relaxed even though my request is more in line with what The Program wants.

"What do you think, Horatio?" Nick puffs on his cigar, frowning, "although you're probably not the one to ask."

"Well, I don't see Jeremy being needed there forever. He's always been my right hand man anyway, and," Horatio raises his bionic hand, "this thing's a poor substitute."

Just like Horatio to joke while we're stressing.

"Bein' your right hand around here isn't putting this man to his best use. He's not only a great leader for the Team, he, uh, _understands_ Erik." Nick says to Horatio, as if Jeremy and I aren't sitting right here listening to our fates being decided.

"Well, give me a trip back there, and I'll tell you what I think," Horatio replies. "But based on what I hear, sounds like Ace has a good solid footing there with Erik and the project.

Nick taps his cigar a few times. "Maybe I can come up with somethin' that'll keep his brain and wits in shape if he doesn't mind transportin' in and out some, and can tear himself away from his woman for a week or two a month."

"You got it," Jeremy interrupts.

Nick sends a cloud of smoke into the air, letting it hover as he draws out the suspense of this momentous decision. "I can see such an arrangement coming together after a year," Nick puffs in Jeremy's direction. "If you're still interested by then."

"Thank you very much, sir," Jeremy says coolly. He's sure good at masking his tension.

"And if the lady doesn't change her mind," Nick adds with a laugh, just to rub it in.

Jeremy nods and holds his tongue.

Nick turns to me. "And you, McBrighton. I'd gripe about a woman being the deciding factor for you, too, but since what you want lines up with what we want, I guess I'll overlook it." He squints at me through the smoky haze. "However, until we see if things do indeed pan out the way you hope, let's give this a little time."

"Right, sir. Just wanted to let you know where I'm at. Thank you."

Nick turns to Horatio. "You oughta keep these two current on their wing flapping skills too while they're here. And whatever else you can do to keep them in up-to-date."

Horatio nods. "Will do."

Jeremy and I keep our poker faces, but we know what this means. _And damn, I am going to get to Horatio before Jeremy does. _

Nick eyes us knowingly. "Why don't you two go get some well deserved R&R now. Let me know how Daire's surgery goes and when you think you'll be ready to transport back. Until then, get lost." Nick grins, giving us each a handshake. The three of us head downstairs, Jeremy and I feeling relieved. _Somewhat._

"So were you able to get what the doc and I ordered?" Jeremy asks Horatio.

"Just wait 'til you see." He wolf whistles.

Salivating, we hop in the elevator and punch the button down to the garage. "Damn, we can get back to 1871 faster than it takes to get downstairs," Jeremy gripes.

Horatio just shakes his head. "Don't worry, they're beautiful! You're gonna have a hard time throttling back on top o' those babies." Finally the elevator door opens and we dart out into the dim garage. Jeremy lets out a low whistle. "Now that's what I call R&R." He grins at me. "Right doctor?"

"Oh yeah."

_Daire's POV:_

"That meeting must be taking a while," Terese says, loading the dishwasher with the pots and pans I used for our Moroccan meal. She's glowing like the moon because her husband is home for a few weeks. Matt and I won't stay long after dinner.

We are lighting the candles on the table when we hear a loud roaring outside. Terese and I watch open-mouthed as Matt and Jeremy get off two big, black motorcycles. They take off their helmets and run their hands through their hair, grinning from ear to ear. "Having Christmas in July now, are we?" Terese exclaims when they walk inside.

Jeremy snatches her into his arms and laughs. "It's always Christmas when I come home. Wow, what have you two been up to? It smells great in here."

Matt winks at me from behind Jeremy. I stare in a daze at Matt in jeans and leather. When Jeremy follows Terese to the kitchen, Matt pulls me into his arms, stealing a long kiss. My heart pounds at the feel of his mouth, and the smell of wind and leather and machine. I can't take my eyes off him during dinner.

When the guys mention that they want to take us riding after dessert, Terese lets out an excited whoop! Matt shoots me a daring look. Since I'm wearing a dress, Terese offers me a change of clothes. And Matt and Jeremy say they've brought us leather. Terese takes me to her spare room, and I change into clothes for the ride. I'm petting the adorable white cat on the bed when Matt shows up with my leather jacket. The cat takes one look at us and digs its claws territorially into the bed. Terese stops in the doorway and laughs. "Clause thinks you two lovers are going to take over his bed tonight."

Matt's amused wink sends shivers dancing up my spine. My normal aversion to jeans evaporates as I imagine sitting on the bike behind him. On the way outside, he wraps his arm around my waist, hanging his thumb through a belt loop on my jeans. I smack his backside for that and hang my thumb in his back pocket. With a laugh he zips my leather jacket all the way up to my chin, then hands me my helmet. I get on the bike and settle in behind him. "Keep your head down," he warns, "and hang on."

We ride like the wind. A strong, wild wind. Through the dusk and into the night. Eventually, at a stop light Jeremy and Matt nod to each other, then Jeremy turns and heads off in a different direction. I wave to Terese and lay my head on Matt's shoulder, wrapping my arms tight around him. As we wait for the light to change, he reaches back and rests his hand on my leg for a moment before we speed off into the night.

_Jeremy's POV:_

Intoxicated, I run my fingers through Terese's moonlit curls twined in the green grass. Sinking into her like a deep well of living water. And drowning. But something is different about tonight. And not just because we're on a bed of grass. "Do you feel that?" I breathe next to her ear. "Like some magical presence?"

She moans 'yes' through a kiss as I roll her above me. I let out a long breath as her body silhouettes against the moon. "I think it's because the stars are watching," she whispers, her tresses falling like gold over her shoulders. I have to fight to breathe as the vision above me takes on every nuance of the feminine divine. Overwhelmed, I close my eyes and pull her to me, losing myself to her in a deeper way than I've ever allowed myself. It's a sweet, molten, magical energy that flows through us. That we drown in and wake from, breathless and reverent, listening to the twinkle of stars.

_Daire's POV:_

"Where are we going?" I ask Matt as he helps me off the bike.

He grins, pulling off his helmet. "We're going t' heaven, Daire."

I look around. "Exactly where is that?"

"Up," he winks, leaning to kiss me. Then he takes me by the hand, and we run through the shadows along the edge of the grounds, toward a large metal building. As we get closer, I see two men pushing an airplane out of the hangar. I glance at Matt, ecstatic. "We're going flying?"

"Well I hope it flies," he teases.

One of the men strides out of the shadows. "So this is the lady." He reaches out and shakes my hand. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm Horatio." He winks at Matt. "Ready to take her up? She's fueled and ready to go."

"You're flying this, Matt?" I gasp.

"Yep. One of my little known skills, from the good old special forces days."

"Can't let him get rusty," Horatio grins, slapping Matt on the shoulder. "You two have a nice flight."

Matt takes my hand, and we climb into the plane.

"I had no idea you were a pilot," I say, still amazed.

"Just one of _many_ things you still don't know about me," he teases.

"I thought you were just a medic, and…well, you just never let on."

"Something I learned in eighth grade." He leans close tempting me to kiss him. "In writing class. Show, don't tell."

"So show me how you fly." I press my lips to his, my heart racing.

Soon we are pulling away from the hangar into the darkness. Then suddenly a row of lights appears ahead of us, and we turn onto a private runway. As we wait at the end of the runway with the engines revving, Matt is relaxed and confidant. He flips switches, pushes a few buttons, talks to someone on the radio, even cracks a joke with whoever is on the other end. Then he hands me a headset, and I hear him bantering with Horatio. Sounds like Greek to me. Finally they cut it short, and Matt smiles my way. "Ready to fly?"

I can only gasp as we pull away into the night, gradually picking up speed and then lifting off the ground. I feel pasted into my seat as we climb high into the night sky, seemingly aiming for the stars. When we level out, Matt reaches for my hand. Soon we are flying over the myriad lights of Seattle. I look down and see the interlaced patterns of streets and neighborhoods, then back up at the stars. "Everything down there is so man-made, contrived." I look up at the stars. "But the sky is so vast, beautiful…"

"We're not quite to heaven yet," he smiles. "About another hour."

What is he talking about? I can't even imagine anything better than this. "So what else don't I know? It's strange feeling like I must not know half of what there is to know about you."

"Yeah, I know that feeling. All too well," he teases.

It's a incredible flight. We chat through the headsets while flying over vast areas of darkness littered with tiny lights.

Finally Matt points ahead. "There."

I look down. Feel like we're suspended above the Milky Way. Colorful swirls of lights, everywhere. "Where are we?" I breathe.

"You're looking at the lights of Spokane. Approaching from the south." I feel his hand caressing the back of my neck. "It's pretty much heaven if you ask me."

We seem to circle forever, playing among the stars, over the Milky Way. Matt banks the plane so tightly, I fall against him. Steering lazily with one hand, he wraps his other arm around me as I sink against him, and we stare down into the swirling lights. On the way home he teaches me to fly. I cherish every memory knowing I may never fly above the earth again. On the ground I wrap my arms around him, letting tears fall to his jacket. "Thank you! I'll never, ever let this memory slip away."

He holds me for a long time, trailing his hand through my hair, then all the way down my back. "Neither will I."

_Four days later_

_Daire's POV:_

I drift down from the stars, through the Milky Way just as dawn begins to break. Floating gently from hill to glade and river to stream. Breezing through tips of long grass and fluttering through leaves. The rising sun greets me as I hover at the faces of blooms and flit from flower to flower. At last I sink beneath a tree, drawing life from the earth as warm sun rays embraces me.

Then pain. The world swirls. I'm swimming in fog. But the sunlight is beyond. I will myself toward it, and the fog dissipates. I feel warmth and pain. And Matt's hand wrapping mine. The misty landscape floats away. It's just him smiling down at me, more wonderful than any sun.

He kisses me long and deliciously, enticing me further away from my dream world. "Sorry to wake you but I missed seeing your eyes."

I look deeply into his, willing him to kiss me again. He brings his lips within inches of mine and smiles. "Come on, princess…time to wake up."

"Just a little more…sleep…," I moan.

He laughs. "You've been sleeping forever."

He pulls back the curtain and opens the window so I can look out at the birds in a nearby tree. Then a doctor comes in to check on me. She's smiling and tells me everything went well. The sun feels warm on my face as I breathe the fresh air. A golden crowned sparrow lulls me in and out of sleep.

Drifting into wakefulness, I open my eyes. Matt is close beside me, drawing pictures on a sketch pad. My heart quickens, remembering when I lay recovering in the infirmary at the château, and Matt drew pictures to try to communicate with me. He was patient. Gentle. Understanding.

And intuitive. I still can't believe he knew to come and find me when he did. Or that he would go through so much to keep me alive. Too tired to reach out and touch him, I let my gaze trace his face and wander through his unruly hair. Then I look down at his hands and at the paper. He's drawn a woman with a smile, and a stick figure man in her shadow. The man has a heart shape in his thoughts. The woman has a briefcase. Then right beside the woman he draws a figure with a cloak and a mask. The two join hands. Then he draws a jagged line through the other man's heart. The sun shines down on the happy couple. But storm clouds rage above the man in the shadows.

Matt turns the page. The storm gets bigger, clouds get darker, and the man is running in the rain. Lightning spears down all around him. There is a hill, and the crumpled stick figure of a woman. In the next scene, the stick man runs with the crumpled lady in his arms. Then she is on an operating table, and he's wearing a frown. In the next picture, she's in bed, and he's sleeping in a chair beside her with question marks hovering above his head. Matt sketches a dream cloud full of flowers and a lady with long hair walking over a hill. My eyes begin to tear up when he draws the smiling faces of little children running over the hill to meet the lady.

Then he turns the page and begins the next scene. The lady in bed wakes up, looking fierce! I laugh quietly at the progression of faces Matt draws to depict that scene. He draws a lot of empty speech bubbles above the woman, but hearts start to appear around his figure. Then he draws me again. In a flowing dress. Long wavy hair. And a long, floating…wedding veil? After drawing a bouquet of flowers in my hand, he draws himself beside me with smile on his face. Then he lays down the pencil and shows me the picture, as if I didn't just watch him sketch it. When he glances at me with a shy, questioning smile, I feel laughter bursting from me and tears about to flow.

I reach up to touch his arm. "But Matt. We don't know yet if I'm going to…be healed."

"It doesn't matter, love," he smiles. "If we can't fix you, we'll just fix me."

I cannot believe what I'm hearing. "Are you sure?" I finally whisper. "That's quite a sacrifice. Some men feel it's…unmanly."

Matt rolls his eyes. "What's unmanly is asking a woman to alter her reproductive system in order to prevent pregnancies. To pay with her health and well being to keep his ego stoked. That's what's unmanly." He leans down and kisses me again. "It's my job to keep you safe. And sound. That's what it means to be a man."

"You're wonderful," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.

"So, will you marry me?"

I feel my tears welling. "When?"

As he nuzzles my neck with kisses, his shoulders begin shaking with laughter. "Will you just say yes? Please! Put me out of my misery."

I give a painful laugh. "I'm drugged, Matt. Are you sure you can take yes for an answer?"

"If you say yes, I'll call it a yes." He slides off the chair onto one knee and kisses my hand.

I look deep in his gleaming eyes. "What if I can't say yes?"

"Why can't you?"

"Because 'yes,' isn't enough. 'Yes' doesn't say how much I love you. Or tell what it took for me to finally feel safe with a man. That you healed my heart with your love, and that being with you is worth everything it took to get here." Getting up on one elbow, I push my fingers through his hair and draw him close enough to kiss. "The word 'yes' doesn't begin to say how wonderful you are, and that I want to be the one to tell you every day."

_Near Château Mercier_

_Friday, August 25, 1873_

_The Contessa's POV: +_

When the carriage hits a bump in the road, the box on Sue's lap goes flying into the air and lands upside down on the floor. She leans over to retrieve it, grumbling, "Good grief. I swear this road gets worse every time we travel it."

"_Si. _The heavy rain last week must have washed away more of the road." As if to give my words credence, one of the wheels gets caught in a furrow. Sue and I hold on as we sway back and forth until the driver brings the carriage under control.

Sue wedges the box between her skirts and the side of the carriage, then opens the lid. She lifts out the book of _contes de fée _and runs her hand over the fine morocco leather binding with gilt lettering. "What a beautiful edition of fairy tales. Laura will enjoy it reading to the children." Next she examines a small cloth doll for Elizabeth and a colorful top for little Erik. "Oh, Contessa, the twins will love their birthday presents! It's hard to believe they're going to be a year old in just a few weeks."

"Time has flown by swiftly," I observe, reflecting on the many changes in my life in just a little over a year. Finding Erik, meeting Laura, the birth of the twins. Angelica coming into our lives. The birth of Raoul and Christine's son. And meeting Joe.

I quickly push the last thought aside. Reaching into my reticule for a handkerchief to cover a cough, I see the neatly folded list from Laura. Yesterday at the noon meal, I mentioned to Erik and Laura that I would be traveling into the city today to shop for birthday gifts for the twins. Laura asked if I would purchase a few items for her. When I told her I would be delighted to do so, she promised a list before I left. Jeremy had overheard our conversation and graciously offered to send some of the men to accompany me. But I politely assured him that Alejandro would see to all the arrangements as he has done for many years.

When the meal was finished, several of us had retired to the Great Hall to play cards. I glanced around for Sue since she's excellent at whist and we often choose to be partners. Spotting her across the room talking with Jeremy, I walked over to see if they would like to join in. Jeremy declined, saying he had business elsewhere, but Sue and I spent a most enjoyable afternoon winning at cards.

Last night at dinner, Sue asked if she could accompany me on my trip. I thought that odd. After all, she told me earlier that she'd just gone into Paris last week. Of course, I immediately said I would welcome her company. As I was leaving the dining room, I saw Jeremy speaking with Sue. From her expression she didn't particularly like what he was saying to her and several times her eyes darted toward me. It made me feel uneasy and I wondered if Jeremy had something to do with her accompanying me. But for what purpose?

"Oh," Sue's exclamation draws my attention back to her, "this dress is darling!" She's holding up one of the small frocks I had my dressmaker sew for Angelica. I watch as she continues to peruse the other articles of clothing. Her cheeks are flushed, whether from the warm day or her enthusiasm with each new discovery, I cannot tell. In her excitement she seems but a mere child herself. At last she begins to neatly replace the toys and clothing in the box. Then she puts the lid back on and ties the ribbon securely, commenting, "I hope the twins will like what Joe and I are making for them."

"I am sure your gifts will be happily received by the children." I coax her to tell me what Joe and she have constructed. She goes into detail about the wooden toys called 'cars.' When I look at her questioningly, she explains that they are 'riding' toys. Presuming they must have constructed some sort of horse, I ask, "Like a rocking horse?"

"No. More like a carriage…but a lot smaller and open on top. Sort of like a…," she taps her finger against her chin, thinking, "like a cart with a steering wheel."

"_A steering wheel?" _I ask perplexed.

"You'll understand when you see them."

I smile indulgently. Many times, her words leave me confused. Sometimes she's not even aware that she's used an unusual phrase that makes no sense to me. I wonder if this is an American trait. But, most often, it is Sue who speaks so strangely.

Sue lifts another box and shows me what she purchased in Paris. A small bottle of perfume, colorful ribbons and a novel by Charlotte Brontë. "It's one of my favorite books," she says. "I love to reread it whenever I get a chance. Did you know that _Jane Eyre_ was originally published under the pen name of Currer Bell?"

"_Si," _I nod, then continue, "And first published in three volumes. I have the first editions in my library."

"Really? Boy, I'd sure love to see them."

I laugh. "You are most welcome to visit me in Spain anytime." _And Joe may accompany her._

Sue asks if I mind if she reads. I shake my head. When she opens her book, I let my mind wander to thoughts of Joe. Especially to our last tryst at the pool where everything had been so wonderful. And to how we'd made plans to meet the next night. I had cautiously made my way to the pond and waited for several hours, but he didn't show up. Perhaps he had some business to attend to, so I returned the following night and waited. Again, he was not there.

So the following morning I went to discretely seek him out. I sensed there was something wrong. Joe is an honorable man and not one to break his commitments. I found him working on the fence near the stable. The morning was warm and his jacket hung nearby on a branch. I took in his muscular chest beneath his shirt, recalling the warmth of his skin. When he saw me walking toward him, his eyes held mine. There was no hint of avoidance in his manner. In fact, his smile had been welcoming.

We were just exchanging greetings when Jeremy stepped out of the stable. Joe froze. I thought his reaction strange since we were merely talking, but the men seemed at odds with each other. Then Jeremy bade me a cheery _"Buenos dias"_ and turned to Joe, asking him to inspect his stallion's left hindquarter. Perhaps I'd imagined something that wasn't there. Joe gave me an apologetic look before he left with Jeremy. I understood, of course. We always need to be cautious around others.

The next day when I saw Joe again, he was acting skittish, like he expected someone to appear at any moment. And someone did. Derek. Joe mumbled a polite excuse to me and hurriedly took his leave. It seemed to be coincidence until the same situation was repeated. Several times. Joe and I have never been able speak without someone interrupting us. But why?

The carriage slows, and I peer out the window. We are turning onto the road which runs through the forest near the château. I always enjoy this part of the journey. The variegated greens of the trees and dense undergrowth. The patches of swaying grasses in the gully. The small creek that flows alongside the road all the way to the château. It reminds me of the mountain trails I ride when I am home in Spain.

I look up into the arm-like branches of the tall trees which create a shady canopy overhead. The air is much cooler here. Occasional sunbeams stab through the thick verdant growth, causing me to squint when the dappling beams flicker across my face. The dense forest muffles the passage of our carriage. On the other side of the creek, I see a beech marten scurry beneath a bush. Joe says they usually come out at…

I inhale deeply. Try as I might, it is difficult not to have Joe constantly intrude into my thoughts. Am I becoming too embroiled with this man? My feelings for Joe are quite different from those that my husband and I shared. I barely knew Edmond before we were married. Our fathers had arranged the marriage since it was politically and economically advantageous to unite the two families. Edmond brought a noble French title and the power that accompanied it. My contribution was my family's vast wealth. During the early days of our marriage, I considered Edmond a good man and found myself slowly coming to love him. I remember how tenderly he'd held me when we mourned Erik's death.

_But he had deceived me! _I clench my fists.I didn't discover the truth until almost two years later when I overheard a conversation between Edmond and his father mere weeks before Philippe's birth. I was appalled to learn that Edmond-my husband and father of my children-had succumbed to his father's machinations. _Erik hadn't died. He'd been sent away because his deformity would have been inconvenient for the de Chagny lineage._

Suddenly, Sue chuckles at a passage in her novel, pulling me out of my reverie. I glance at her, wondering if she noticed my clenched fists. But, thankfully, she's paying me no mind. I relax against the back of the seat.

Even now the memory of what Edmond did to Erik sickens me. I shut my eyes, trying to forget the horror of that night and the ensuing argument when I confronted Edmond with the truth about Erik. My husband did not even have the decency to be ashamed, but instead forbade me to pursue the matter. Even forbade me to search for our son. I never forgave him. But I defied him and searched in secret for years. To no avail.

Unexpectedly the carriage begins to slow. I push my thoughts aside and lean out the window, trying to see the cause. Alejandro rides next to my window. "There's a rider on the road ahead hailing us, Contessa," he informs me, then urges his mount forward, two men at his side. The other guards stay and take defensive positions around the carriage.

Is it a highwayman? My blood runs cold, conjuring _banditos_ rushing at us from the forest. But there have been no reports of recent activity. Perhaps it is merely someone needing assistance. Nonetheless, Sue and I need to be ready for whatever may happen.

Anticipating that Sue may be frightened, I turn to reassure her. I'm surprised when she lifts her skirt to reveal a weapon strapped to her upper thigh over her pantalets. "I was a girl scout. Always prepared," she quips, then grimaces when she sees me blink in confusion at her words.

_What's a "girl scout?"_ Another mystery in a long line of them. But I recover quickly and inquire, "I presume you know how to use the gun?"

"Oh, yes."

Nodding, I take my own weapon from under the seat. As she said, we are now both "prepared." Soon I hear footsteps approaching, then Alejandro calls out, "It is safe." The carriage door opens, and to my amazement Joe is standing there.

"My deepest apologies, Contessa," Joe says formally, "but it's important that I talk to you."

His behavior is most peculiar. Why would he stop my carriage in the middle of the road rather than wait until I'm at Château Mercier? Has an urgent matter has come up at the château? "Is something wrong with Erik or Laura? The children?" I blurt out.

"No they're fine. Everything's fine at the château. I just need to talk to you."

I scrutinize him keenly, but cannot discern his intention. I indicate for him to join us and take the seat next to Sue.

Joe ignores his sister, keeping his eyes locked on mine. "No, I would prefer for you to come out and take a walk with me, Contessa."

I struggle with a moment of panic, still wondering if something is amiss. I clear my throat to answer, "_Si."_ He offers his hand to help me down. Alejandro gives me a quizzical look as Joe turns back to speak to Sue. I tell Alejandro to remain here while I walk with Joe.

Behind me, Joe lowers his voice, but I overhear their conversation. "Susie, you need to forget I was here."

"Are you crazy, Joe? You know what kind of trouble I can get into if he finds out!" I wonder who 'he' is. Erik?

"Well, he won't if you don't tell him."

"But all the Contessa's guards are here. They'll tell…"

"No. They're completely loyal to her and won't say anything. Please, Susie," Joe pleads with her, "I need your help. This is really important to me."

There's a long pause before she answers, "Okay. But this could get us both in hot water."

Joe closes the carriage door and escorts me in the direction of the trees. We've only walked a short distant, but I can no longer contain myself. "Joe, what's going on?"

"Let's go where we can talk in private, then I'll explain." He leads me off the road into the soft grass. When we reach the edge of the forest, we step into the shadows and stop. I glance back at the carriage. Alejandro remains mounted and alert, uncomfortable about stopping on the road. He orders two of his men to scout the area. The others remain close to the carriage. And me.

Joe says nothing at first, just stares into my eyes for a long time as if trying to read my mind. I wait for him to speak, a bit confused at all this intrigue. Finally, he begins, "I'm sorry I haven't been able to meet you at the pond."

He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it in spiky disarray. I want to reach out and smooth it down, remembering how his hair feels between my fingers. But I refrain. "You have accosted my carriage in the middle of the forest to apologize?"

"Nita…"

"I waited two nights for you!"

"I figured you did," he takes a step toward me, "but I had no way to let you know I wouldn't be there." He hesitates. "I'm sorry, but I can't see you again. Like that."

My heart skips a beat. Why does he speak these words? When he was in Spain we spent most of our days together, and I have come to know that he is a forthright man. In the past months when we spoke of our feelings, there was no deception between us. Softly, I ask, "And why is that?"

"Nita, it's not what I want," his tone is agonized, "I've been ordered not to…"

His words take me by surprise. _Ordered? _Who could order him not to see me? Then it occurs to me that it could only be one person. "So Erik has found out and ordered you not to…"

"No, not Erik." Again, he runs his hand through his hair, a habit I've observed when he is unsettled. Oddly enough, this time his fingers succeed in smoothing his hair back down. He paces back and forth a few times, clearly at odds with what to tell me. Then he blurts out, "Jeremy has ordered me to no longer, uh…." He looks at me, misery in his eyes. "He knows about us, Nita. I've been ordered to end my relationship with you."

Jeremy knows about us and has ordered him to stop seeing me? Now it all makes sense. That's why Jeremy's been so vigilant about showing up or sending someone to interrupt whenever Joe and I try to talk. "But what right does Jeremy have to interfere in our lives?" My anger flares at his insolence. "_How dare he!"_

Joe reaches out to touch my cheek, imploring me to understand. "It's complicated, Nita. When I told you that I contracted to work with Erik that wasn't exactly the _whole _story. Jeremy's in charge of the team of Americans at the château, including me. I have to follow his orders."

"_Si,_ I suspected as much." I nod my head. "Even when Erik came to Spain, it was evident that Jeremy was in charge of the other men. I have even come to realize that he is also in charge of Julia and Sue. I knew the men were probably military, but the women? How could that be?"

"We are all under Jeremy's direction, just in different capacities." He shifts uncomfortably. "And we're here for a purpose. On a mission."

_Military men on a mission?_ Thoughts of the recent war with Prussia send a chill up my spine. What is Joe involved in? "Who has sent you on this mission?"

"I shouldn't be speaking to you about any of this, Nita."

"Tell me Joe," I insist. "Has your government sent you?" I can barely get the words out, but I must know.

The muscles in his jaw clench, and he takes a long time to respond. "Yes. We're working for the U.S. government…"

_Ay dios mio! __"_As spies?" I demand, taking a step back.

"No, no," he reaches out and takes my hand, "Nita it's not what you're thinking. In fact, Erik is working with us. Our Team is spearheading many projects. You've seen the work we do around here and the programs I set up for you in Spain. That's our work. Not spying."

Hesitantly, I admit, "I have seen the changes you speak of. They are good changes. But why?"

"It's all part of a plan. But that's all I can tell you. Just know we are not here to undermine any government."

Relief sweeps through me. "That is good to hear, Joe."

"There's so much I want to tell you, but I'd be in big trouble if they found out I told you even this much." He implores me, "You must keep what I have said confidential."

"As long as you have told me the truth, Joe, I would never betray you."

"I know you wouldn't." He steps closer and takes my hand. "There is much at stake here. That's why Jeremy gave me no choice about seeing you."

"There are always choices, Joe."

"Yeah, I know. I'm working on that. Just haven't come up with a good plan." When he grins, I see the man who has intrigued me all these months. Then he adds, "Yet."

"A plan?"

"Of course. I won't give you up, Nita." He pulls me behind a large tree, then takes me in his arms. "I'll find a way to solve this so that we can be together."

I slide my hand up the front of his shirt, stopping at the base of his throat. His pulse throbs beneath my fingertips. "You are very confident of me."

He puts his lips near my ear. "_Si._ I am."

His warm breath sends shivers of pleasure through my body. Slowly, he kisses his way to my lips. As I return his ardor, I begin to make my own plans. After all, being Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny does have its advantages.

I am so absorbed with the sensations of Joe's passion that I dismiss the sound of hooves racing toward us. Suddenly Alejandro looms over us on his horse. "Erik is here!" He calls out.

Stunned, I step quickly back from Joe. Erik reins his horse to a stop and leaps down, his cape flying wildly behind him. Like an avenging dark angel, he bears down on Joe, snarling, _"How dare you take liberties with the Contessa!" _Suddenly a Punjab lasso hisses through the air and wraps around Joe's neck. I scream.


	121. Chapter 121

**A/N: Well...the reviews and comments for the last chapter were very supportive and, well, vehement! We appreciate your letting us know that you still care so avidly about the people who inhabit the world of The Epic Case! We read each review as soon as it is posted and please know that your enthusiastic comments help to keep the creative juices flowing! **

**We hope each of you is enjoying the beauty of this time of year…the changing of the seasons when the trees turn to flaming colors and the air gets crisp! We'll post the next chapter a tad early…On October 31****st, ****for Halloween!**

Well…Joe finally drove Erik to resort to the Punjab lasso! Like the turning of the seasons, so too, do events bring changes in people's lives.

* * *

**Chapter 121 CONSEQUENCES by Phanna and Phanfan**

_Near Château Mercier_

_Friday, August 15, 1873_

_Alejandro's POV:_

As the Contessa and Señor Joe walk into the forest, I survey the dark shadows surrounding them, on guard for any sign of danger. I must respect her privacy, but this is very dangerous.

"Alejandro." I spin around at the urgency in Jacquin's voice. He jerks his head at a rider coming toward us. _The Comte!_ Coming up the road from the château! From that vantage point he'll be able to see his mother standing with Señor Joe behind the tree! As I turn my mount, I catch the Comte's expression when he spots the couple. His mouth contorts with rage. Angrily, he races his black stallion toward the Contessa and Señor Joe. And they are totally unaware of the danger hurtling toward them.

I spur my horse and barely reach the Contessa with a warning before the Comte is upon us. As he dismounts, he pulls something from beneath his cape. Never in my life have I seen a man move so quickly. The Contessa has scarcely stepped away from Señor Joe when the air hisses around us. With deadly accuracy, a Punjab lasso snakes around Señor Joe's neck. His hands fly to his throat, clawing at the strangling cord.

The Contessa screams as the Comte lurches forward to tighten the lasso. With a swiftness rivaling her son, the Contessa steps into the small gap between the Comte and Señor Joe. Her green eyes ablaze, she demands, "_You will not do this, mi hijo!"_ I recognize that tone in her voice, like the sharp edge of a steel blade. I signal three men to dismount and be in readiness if the Contessa cannot stop the Comte from garroting Señor Joe.

Still the Comte glowers at his mother and tries to sweep her aside.

"_Erik. No!" _she pleads.

But her words do not halt him, and he reaches for Señor Joe once more. I motion for the men to move quickly. They are barely able to restrain the Comte.

As Señor Joe extricates his throat from the Punjab lasso, he glares toward the Comte. Swiftly I grab his arms from behind. "Do not do anything _loco!_" I hiss to him under my breath. He grunts and tries to pull free from my grasp.

Both men stare daggers at each other for several long moments, as the Contessa remains firmly planted between them. "No!" she declares as she looks from one man to the other. "I will not have this!"

Finally the Comte snarls, "Get him out of here!"

Keeping my grip on Señor Joe's arm, I lead him over to Jacquin and give my orders, "Take two men and escort him back to the château. Turn him over to Señor Jeremy." In a lowered voice, I add, "Ride quickly so the Comte does not overtake you."

When I turn back to the Contessa, she's still standing mere inches from the Comte. He is breathing deeply, angrily. His eyes burn like coals as he glares down at his mother. Then, without speaking, he turns on his heel. He bounds onto that devil horse of his and rides off, his cape flying behind him like the wings of a bird of prey. I cross myself. This will be a long evening. And God only knows what it will bring.

_Jeremy's POV:_

"Erik's just left to meet the Contessa on the road and escort her back," Laura announces as she returns to the Great Hall and joins us. She sits on the settee and pours tea, handing a cup to each of us. She does it with a practiced grace. Like she's been doing it all her life. "I just talked to Jeanette, and she'll have dinner served shortly after they get home."

"Good," I chime in as I take a cup, "I'm starved."

"You're always hungry lately, Jeremy," Ace chuckles. "You must have used up a lot of energy on your vacation." Antoinette and Laura laugh. I accept their ribbing good naturedly. After all, I got to spend time with Terese.

A low rumble of thunder rattles cups against saucers. I glance outside at the dark, ominous clouds. "They better hurry. Looks like that storm's going to hit soon."

When we hear a commotion in the hall, Antoinette sets her knitting aside. She walks toward the doorway, greeting the nanny and the three kids with her.

Angelica runs toward Laura, towing little Erik behind her. Antoinette holds Elizabeth in her arms and sits next to Laura on the settee.

Laura hugs the children and asks, "Are you all on your way to dinner with nanny?"

Three heads nod up and down. Then Elizabeth starts chanting 'carrot,' 'carrot.' Angelica smiles indulgently at her younger sister and informs us that carrots are now Elizabeth's favorite vegetable, then adds that _her_ favorite vegetables are cherries. In a serious tone, Angelica tells us that little Erik isn't 'persnikerly' and eats everything! We have a good laugh, then Laura kisses them before the nanny takes them upstairs to get them fed and ready for bed.

After they leave and the room's quiet again, I offhandedly ask Laura, "So why did Erik decide to meet the Contessa on her way back from Paris?" I've been twitchy about the possibility of him finding out about Joe and the Contessa.

"Well, she's been so busy these past few weeks, Erik hasn't been able to go riding with her." Laura takes a sip of her tea. "He was so restless today, I encouraged him to get out for a while. So he decided to surprise her. He figured he could talk Sue into riding up with the driver while he visited with his mother inside the carriage."

I nod noncommittally and meander over to the window. Is the Contessa avoiding Erik's company so that he doesn't pick up on any clue she might inadvertently give about Joe?

For awhile the only sound is the soft clicking noise of Antoinette's knitting needles. It amazes me that she doesn't even look down at the needles and yarn when she talks to Laura. "Are you planning a party for the children's birthday?"

"Actually, I was hoping I could get your help with that." When the two women start making plans, Ace gets up and joins me at the window.

"What are you going …." Ace stops and narrows his eyes on something outside. I follow his gaze. Several are men riding up the driveway at breakneck speed. What the hell? It's three of the Contessa's men._ And Joe's with them! Why are they returning in such a hurry? What's happened?_

Ace and I head to the front door. The women are still deep in conversation, so we disappear quietly. As we step outside it begins raining, and the ground vibrates from a long roll of thunder. When Joe gets closer, I see the rigid set of his jaw. My gut tightens. Yep, something's wrong and I bet a year's pay it involves the Contessa. Jacquin reigns in sharply and slides off the saddle. "The Comte is close behind us. Alejandro said to make sure Señor Joe is out of sight before the Comte gets here."

_Damn! Erik's found out!_ "Thanks, Jacquin. I'll take care of things from here." Pissed-off, I glare at Joe and order him to the underground rooms. Ace and I follow, and none too soon. Just as we take Joe around to the side of the château, lightening zigzags its way through the sky over the hills to the west. I spot Erik galloping up the long driveway, his hood pulled up to shield against the rain. Quickly we shove Joe through the cellar doorway.

When we get to the computer room, I tell Joe to keep going. There's a storage room at the end of the corridor, and we take him in there. Ace shuts the door and folds his arms across his chest. I'm so angry all I can do is shake my head in disgust. "How bad is the situation?" I demand.

Joe rubs his neck. "Bad," Joe croaks out the word. When he pulls his hand away, the collar on his shirt falls open, exposing red welts.

Son of a… _So Erik tried to kill him with that damn lasso!_ I knew this situation was going to blow up. How in the hell am I ever going to smooth this over? I contemplate several rounds with the punching bag or better yet, Joe. "I gave you direct orders to stay away from the Contessa, but you just didn't listen, did you?"

"Jeremy…" His voice is only a hoarse whisper.

"Stop right there." I turn to Ace. "Go get Matt. And have Ty stand guard duty outside the door." When Ace leaves, I turn back to Joe. "Sit down. We'll have Matt look at your throat first, then you've got a helluva lot of explaining to do."

Ace arrives back with Matt in minutes, and I watch as he checks Joe out. "Well," I ask sarcastically, "is he going to live?"

"If he has sense enough to stay away from Erik," Matt snorts as he dabs the red welts with something or other. Suddenly Joe hisses through his teeth and jerks backwards. "Sorry about that," Matt says, "but don't want an infection from those cuts, do you? And your throat's bruised pretty badly, so you need to give your voice a rest for a few days." Matt looks at me and adds, "He really shouldn't talk much yet."

I stare pointedly at Joe. "I can arrange that." Joe grimaces. _Good!_ He can stew for awhile and think about the mess he's made. When Matt finishes, I walk him to the door and say under my breath, "Keep this to yourself for now."

"Will do," Matt nods. Ace shuts the door behind Matt and leans against the wall, frowning. As I turn back to Joe, he lets out a long sigh of resignation.

"Okay, let's play twenty questions with you just nodding 'yes' or 'no.' You disobeyed orders and went to meet the Contessa, right?"

"Needed to tell her why…" his voice cracks and he can't finish the sentence.

I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. I sit down and tip my chair back. "So you continued to see her after I ordered you not to."

He shakes his head no.

I scoff. "You're telling me that you just happened to meet her on the road today?"

He runs his hand through his hair, then adds a warbly, "I planned it."

I lean forward._ "You planned it?"_

He nods yes.

"_Damnit, Joe!"_ I stand up so fast I tip the chair over. "I sent Sue with the Contessa today to make sure you _didn't_ do some fool thing like this!"

Ace pipes up, "Are you dumb enough to drag Sue into this?"

"Nooo," Joe shakes his head vehemently, "she wasn't…" He starts to cough. Ace grabs a canteen of water off the shelf and tosses it to him. Joe takes a few sips and that seems to help.

"What the hell happened then? Wait," Ace holds up his hand, "let me rephrase that. So Sue or the Contessa didn't know anything. You just stopped the carriage on their way back from Paris?"

Another nod 'yes.'

I ask the question this time. "Did you spend time with the Contessa before Erik showed up?" Again he nods. I take a deep breath and try to put more of the picture together. "Okay. So I'm guessing that Erik saw you and the Contessa...not just talking, but engaging in…. _Damnit, Joe!_ You weren't, uh…"

"_NO!"_ his voice comes out as a hoarse squeak.

"Does Erik suspect you _did_?" I demand.

"_NO!"_ Joe squawks out, his eyes wide, almost crazed.

"But," Ace's turn now, "Erik was furious when he saw you with her and used his Punjab lasso on you?" Joe grimaces as he bobs his head up and down. Ace narrows his eyes at him. "Joe, I know how hotheaded you are. Did you start it? Did you punch Erik or go after his mask?"

"I can answer that one, Ace," I snort. "_No,_ he didn't because he's still alive! And I bet Erik didn't get his hands on you or you'd be pretty busted up."

"The Contessa stop…" Another croak comes out.

"She stopped Erik?" I guess.

He nods.

"Then she had her men bring you back to the château, right?"

He makes a squawking noise that sounds like, 'sorta.'

"Probably," Ace ventures, "to keep you out of Erik's reach." Joe nods grimly. "You know, sometimes you don't have any friggin' sense. You've egged him on ever since you met him. And now you're putting moves on his mother! No wonder he tried to kill you. This isn't the twenty first century, Joe."

"Yeah," he ribbits, "I know, but I care…."

I cut him off. "Well, right now I don't care what your feelings are! If you stay here, you're dead meat. One way or the other, Erik will finish the job." I pace back and forth a couple times, thinking about all the consequences of this calamity. "Or Erik may threaten to walk out of this project." I glare down at Joe. "You've tied my hands on this one. I have no choice but to contact Horatio and arrange to transport you out. ASAP. Be prepared, mister. You'll be tossed into the brig until they arrange your court martial."

_Laura's POV:_

Antoinette knits away, cheerfully proposing children's games for the twins' birthday party. As she suggests having the party in the dance hall of Maison d'espoir, I notice Jeremy and Ace hurry out of the Great Hall, then hear the front door close. I gaze out the window. Looks like the storm's beginning. Why are they going outside now?

"I could teach the children at the Maison to do some dances for the party," Antoinette goes on. "They could put on a little performance."

"I like that idea. Angelica loves to dance. She'd be tickled to participate," I reply, my eyes going to the windows. "I need to check to make sure the windows are closed and locked. Looks like a bad storm tonight." I walk over and as I check the windows also survey the grounds and front porch, but Ace and Jeremy aren't there. I wonder where they went. Then when a bolt of lightning flashes I see Erik riding Noir up the driveway at a full gallop, his cloak flying wildly behind him. Why isn't he with the Contessa? In the carriage? He pulls his horse to a halt and leaps off, racing up the steps. When he enters, he slams the door so loudly, it sounds like a clap of thunder. Antoinette jumps and puts her knitting down, looking across the Hall at me, perplexed.

Erik comes barreling into the Hall, his eyes on fire. He sweeps his cloak off and throws in on a chair. "Where is he?" he demands.

I walk over to my husband and peer up at him. "Who, Erik? Who do you mean?" I ask calmly.

"Joe! Where is Joe?" He snarls.

"He isn't here," Antoinette stammers. "We haven't seen him."

"Where is the Contessa?" I ask. "I thought you were going to ride back in the carriage with her?" My stomach is going queasy. Erik's clearly after Joe. Did he find Joe in the carriage with the Contessa? I have known for some time that the Contessa and Joe have feelings for each other. I could tell by the way they talk to each other, look at each other. I also could see that Jeremy had given orders to the Team to keep Joe away from the Contessa. But I wonder. Did Joe also have plans to meet the Contessa on her way home? That would be catastrophic.

"The Contessa will arrive soon in the carriage. I did not wait to ride back with her." Erik's tone is steely. "But Alejandro gave orders for Joe to be returned to Jeremy." Antoinette gasps. She exchanges a worried look with me.

"Jeremy and Ace were here a few minutes ago, but they left. We don't know where they went," Antoinette speaks haltingly. "And we haven't seen Joe anywhere. Truly, Erik."

"Then will you go and find Jeremy?" he asks her. "I want to talk to him. Now!"

"Certainly." Again Antoinette gives me a nervous look, then quickly leaves, heading down the corridor toward Matt's infirmary.

I walk over and pour a cognac for Erik. As I hand it to him, I ask, "What has happened?" I keep my expression neutral, not wanting him to know what I suspect.

He takes the cognac and gulps down half the glass. Then Erik goes to the window and looks out at the storm. And begins pacing. _Not good._ I just watch and wait. Like the time so long ago in my office when he paced, and I didn't know what to expect. Or what he would do next. But for some time now, I have come to understand my husband and what he is capable of.

I read in the Paris newspaper about a businessman found dead in his office the week after that angry husband knocked me down when I tried to keep him from harming his pregnant wife. The man had been shot, but he also had a garrote wound around his neck. Erik and Jeremy had gone into Paris the day before, and Erik returned with a bullet wound in his arm. I knew Erik had settled accounts.

And Joseph Buquet. Erik always claimed he did not kill him, but I've always wondered. Then Erik fought side by side with the trained military men on the Team when we were ambushed. Yes, as I watch my husband pacing angrily, I have no doubt what he is capable of if he suspects Joe is having a relationship with his mother. But the Contessa? She's as strong-willed and hot-blooded as Erik.

"Erik, speak to me. Tell me what happened," I repeat.

He stops, but keeps his back to me. Just glares out at the storm as a lighting bolt flashes against his dark silhouette. "I found my mother standing in the woods. In the arms of a man."

"You mean Joe?"

"Yesss," he hisses.

"So, what did you do?" I need to know, and he needs to talk about it.

"I threw the lasso, but the Contessa stepped between us," Erik sneers. "Saved his neck."

_Yes, literally_—it occurs to me.

After a long pause, Erik tosses off the rest of his cognac and throws the glass into the fireplace. When it shatters, he turns and faces me. "If Joe thinks the Contessa can be trifled with, he deludes himself. During the trial on two occasions he cast disrespectful comments about you! Both times I struck him. But he never changes. He flirted with Zoe, then made advances to Antoinette. When he kissed my mother under the mistletoe, I thought he merely did it out of an excess of drink and lack of manners. But clearly, he is a bounder. How dare he touch my mother!"

Antoinette suddenly returns with Matt. "I'm sorry, Erik. I searched, but couldn't find Jeremy. Or Ace."

Matt flashes me a knowing look. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes!" Erik booms. "Find Jeremy! I want to talk to Joe!"

"That won't be possible," Jeremy replies. He and Ace are just entering the Great Hall. With a commanding voice, Jeremy adds, "Joe's gone."

Suddenly the Contessa storms in from the foyer. I glance out the window and see the carriage in the driveway. I had been so focused on Erik, I hadn't noticed it arrive. In a whirl of satin skirts, the Contessa turns and glares at Jeremy. Angrily, she demands, "Just _where_ has he gone?"


	122. Chapter 122

**A/N: This chapter is posted for Halloween and "Trick or Treat"! This is a busy, hectic time of year, but we took time to write this edition of The Epic Case as our special "Treat" from us to you. **

Sometimes when our emotions rule our heads, we find ourselves in a tangle of consequences….

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**Chapter 122 Oh, What Tangled Webs by Phanna, KFC and Phanfan **

_Château Mercier_

_Friday, August 15, 1873_

_Laura's POV:_

"Just _where_ has he gone?" The Contessa's question hangs in the air. She glares at Jeremy through narrow, challenging eyes, her head cocked exactly the same way Erik does.

The muscles in Jeremy's jaw clench. He's caught between that rock and a hard place. He can't say too much to the Contessa because she doesn't know about the future, and he has to tread lightly with Erik not to disclose he knew about Joe and the Contessa. Which I suspect he did.

But Erik's also glaring at Jeremy. Matt, Antoinette and Ace don't move, watching the scene play out. I hear the sound of rustling skirts coming from the foyer. But I'm the only one who looks around. As Sue enters the Great Hall, she's brushing at raindrops still clinging to her skirt. She starts to say something, but stops when she takes in the odd scenario in front of her—everyone frozen, waiting for Jeremy's answer.

Over the cadence of rain hitting the windows, Jeremy replies, "Joe's on his way back to America."

A cry escapes Sue, "No!" Antoinette goes over and takes her hand, then whispers something to her.

Everyone else ignores Sue's outburst and watches as the Contessa imperiously glares at Jeremy. _"Why have you sent him away?" _

Jeremy takes his time answering. "This is a military matter, Contessa," he says, not backing down, "I am not at liberty to discuss it."

"_A military matter?"_ she scoffs. _"Indeed!"_ she adds, pinning Jeremy with her piercing glare, also like Erik. "Did you do this on your own, or do you do the bidding of the Comte?" She glowers sideways at her son.

"I can assure you, Madame," Erik snarls, his eyes turning dark green, "I gave no such orders. If it were in my hands, Joe would be going nowhere."

Only the sharp intakes of breath by Antoinette and Sue break the icy silence that descends on the room. Then, as if the weather has been given its cue, the storm outside reaches a crescendo. A bright flash of lightning zigzags through the night sky, turning the Great Hall into daylight. Multiple claps of thunder rattle the windows in their frames, and the long, drawn-out rumblings vibrate the oak floors beneath our feet.

Seconds later, another blinding bolt splits the night sky. But this time we hear a deafening crack and splintering sound. It's so close! Lightning must have struck a tree. I wait for someone to look out the windows to see where it has hit, but no one moves. Like the turbulent storm outside, emotions are running tumultuous and unpredictable.

Desperate to keep this situation from escalating, I send Matt an imploring look. He gets it and steps forward, smiling at Sue. "Looks like you're drenched. Why don't you go upstairs and change. Then…"

"_Then…"_ Jeremy's voice fills the room like another clap of thunder as he addresses Sue. I hope he treads lightly. "You'll join Ace and me when you're done."

Sue's face goes white, but Erik and the Contessa are so intensely staring at each other, they don't notice. Antoinette whispers to Sue, "I'll help you get out of your wet clothing."

Jeremy gives a quick, formal bow to the Contessa and excuses himself, signaling Ace to follow. From where Erik and the Contessa stand, they can't see Jeremy stopping Sue at the foot of the stairs and speaking to her. But I do. Sue nods grimly, then follows Antoinette upstairs.

Matt steps next to me. "Laura, do you want me to stay?"

I study Erik and the Contessa. They're still glaring at each other, neither saying a word. I sigh. "No, Matt. There's nothing else you can do."

When he leaves, I walk over to my husband. "Erik, perhaps…"

But he ignores my words and strides angrily to the cabinet and refills his glass. He takes a hefty swig of cognac, then turns to his mother. _"Madame, _justbecause of our relationship you had no right to stay my hand out on the road!"

The Contessa shoots Erik a look of astonishment. "_Mi hijo,_ I stopped you from killing him!"

"You do not know this man! He has been a thorn in my side since I met him. And he is blatantly indiscriminate in his relations with women." He takes another gulp of cognac. "He is taking advantage of you!"

The Contessa walks around him and pours herself a glass of wine from the decanter. With her back to Erik, she waves her hand in the air, dismissively. "I am sure that you exaggerate…"

"_Non_, I do not!" Erik bellows out. "I saw you in his arms, Mother! I demand that you explain yourself!"

The Contessa swirls around, her skirts nearly knocking over a delicate chair next to the sideboard. Her back stiffens as she looks straight into Erik's eyes. "I bow to no man now and certainly do not have to explain myself, or any of my actions, to my son!"

Her words enrage Erik. His jaws clench and his shoulders tense. But I also see the determination and anger in the Contessa. They both need time to cool off. And I need to take Erik somewhere he can calm down.

"Please," I plead, stepping between them. "This may not be the best time to discuss this." I walk over and put my hand on Erik's arm. I can feel his muscles tensed like iron beneath my hand, his gaze still holding his mother's. Another flash of lightning and loud boom of thunder punctuate the air. I gently squeeze Erik's arm. "Please, Erik. The children may be frightened by the storm. We need to check on them." He looks down at me as if he's struggling to comprehend my words. As if he's pulling himself back from some precipice.

After many breathless moments, I see his shoulders relax. Barely. "Yes, the children." He turns to the Contessa. "Goodnight, mother." His words are clipped and strained.

"_Buenas noches, mi hijo."_ The Contessa's voice is shaky with emotion.

When I bid her goodnight, she smiles warmly at me, but her anger simmers just below the surface. There's something else in her eyes, too. Anguish? As Erik and I leave the Great Hall, I look over my shoulder and see her sit down. When she raises her wine glass to take a drink, her hand trembles. My heart goes out to her. We can't always control who our hearts are drawn to. I've seen Joe and the Contessa together when they thought no one was around. I'm sure she cares for Joe, and I think Joe sincerely returns that affection. And they've certainly been discreet. It's unfortunate that Erik came across them in a compromising situation today. In the world I came from, this wouldn't be a problem. The Contessa would be able to choose Joe as a friend, a lover or even a husband.

As we walk up the stairs, Erik's stony silence speaks volumes. I glance at his dark expression, the tension still apparent in his shoulders. He's seething. I see both sides of this dilemma. Most of Erik's rage right now is because it was Joe he found with his mother. Of course, Joe's track record doesn't endear him to Erik. And the fact that I was apparently the cause of some of the confrontations between the two men doesn't help. Even though time solves most problems, I'm not sure if it will in this case.

But from my viewpoint, from the culture I was born into, I feel the Contessa should be able to choose who she wants. Unfortunately, this is the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first. This society is different. I've made many compromises to live here, but then, I had no real choice. Now it saddens me to realize that the Contessa may not have any choice in this matter, either.

When we reach the second floor, the sound of singing comes from the children's room. Angelica is leading the twins in one of their favorite songs. She often sings with them whenever she thinks they might be frightened, and it always seems to calm them. Erik hesitates at the children's door and listens to the singing, but then turns and goes down the hallway and into our sitting room.

Heading for the cognac, he pours a glass. "Jeremy overstepped his bounds when he sent Joe away." He snarls as he takes a large swig and begins to pace. _"If I had Joe in front of me..,"_ anger spews out of Erik's eyes. I patiently listen, knowing that he needs to vent. Actually, sending Joe to the future was probably the best thing Jeremy could have done. I'm not sure if any of us would have slept with Joe still within Erik's grasp.

At the far end of the room, Erik stops and stares out the window at the storm. "_And my mother has lost her senses!_ Does she not understand that Joe is unscrupulous? A bounder? He is only after…," he glances back at me and stops for a half second, then waves his glass in the air, spilling cognac on the carpet. "_I will not have it!_ She has a position to uphold!" His voice booms around the room echoing the thunder outside. Inwardly, I sigh. What if the Contessa truly loves Joe? Will he ever understand? "After all, she is a Contessa, _and my mother_, and I will not abide what she is doing!"

As he continues his tirade, I sit next to the small table where Georgette has left a pot of hot tea wrapped in a cozy. I pour a cup and take a sip. Its warmth is soothing.

"And of all men! Joe is unprincipled. I heard the other men talking. Not only did he pursue Zoe, there were others!" I wonder if Erik would object so vehemently if the Contessa had been found with another man. _"And I will not forget that he dared insult you!"_ His angry voice reverberates through the room. I glance toward the door to the nursery, hoping the children won't hear. "My mother should not have stopped me," he growls the words, "_I would have solved this problem quickly!"_ Suddenly he hurls the glass into the empty fireplace, sending golden liquid and glass flying.

"Papa, papa!" We look around to see Angelica standing at the door, her eyes wide. "Something crash. You hurt?" Suddenly Angelica's running across the room toward Erik. He leans down to catch her in his arms and picks her up. "Papa. Hurt?"

Erik looks down at his hand. His finger is bleeding. "It is just a small cut, Angelica. Nothing to worry about."

"But, papa…"

The nanny rushes into the room, giving Erik a wary look. She must have heard him ranting and the glass breaking. She walks toward Angelica and holds out her arms. "Come. You should not be…"

"It is fine." I smile at the nanny to reassure her. The children have a soothing effect on Erik. This may help him right now. "Leave Angelica here and just see to the twins." She bobs a curtsy, then hastily shuts the door behind her.

Erik walks over to the rocking chair and sits down, holding Angelica on his lap. But she climbs down and her eyes search the room. "Papa, I fix you." She glances at me. Guessing that she wants a bandage, I give her my handkerchief. She takes it and climbs back into Erik's lap. With great gentleness, she wraps Erik's finger with the handkerchief and attempts to tie it, unsuccessfully.

"Let me tie it for you, darling." I go over to help.

"_Merci," _she smiles and watches intently as I perform my duty. When it's tied, she asks, "Better, papa?"

Miraculously, all the tension in him seems to drain away. His eyes glisten when he leans down and kisses her cheek. "Much better now."

Angelica strokes Erik's uncovered cheek with her hand, then starts singing. _"To Paris, to Paris, On my little grey horse." _Her sweet voice is clear and melodic.

Erik picks up the next lines, his deeper voice thick with emotion. _"To Rouen, to Rouen, On my little white horse." _They finish the song together.

_To Toulon, to Toulon,  
On my little blond horse,  
And let's go back to the mansion  
On my little black horse.  
At gallop, at gallop…_

My heart tugs, watching them. It was a miracle that Angelica came into our lives. Sometimes she will take off his mask and touch the scarred side of Erik's face. He actually allows her to do that. Although she never says anything, in those moments, she looks into his eyes and seems to understand that they share a special bond.

Erik rocks her until she falls asleep in his arms. But he doesn't get up to put her to bed. Instead he looks at me, his soft emerald eyes shining with love. "What has become of me? I never thought that love could change a man, but it has with me. It began the moment you walked into my life." He leans back, resting his head against the rocking chair. "And now, I find that somehow a small child can lift some of my burdens and give balm to a cutting wound."

I walk over to him and place my hand on his cheek. With a gentle kiss, I reply, "A wise man once said, 'Love conquers all things.' You see, Erik, love _is_ the most powerful force in the world."

_Friday, September 1, 1873_

_Château Mercier_

_Matt's POV:_

"Absolutely not," Daire's voice wafts down the hallway. I glance toward my bedroom door just in time to see her glide past without even looking in. Julia follows a moment later with an armload of dresses and women's undergarments. Noticing me in my room, she stops and leans against the door frame.

"She's refusing to wear corsets," Julia says matter-of-factly. "Can she do that?"

I laugh and shrug. "Apparently."

"I just assumed once she was healed from surgery she'd start to dress like the rest of us. But when I offered her these to try on for the twins' birthday party this afternoon, she looked at me like I was touched in the head."

"She's not entirely healed yet," I reply.

"No, Matt. She declared she'll never, ever, wear a corset as long as she lives." Julia holds up the bony undergarment.

I examine the ghastly specimen. "Well I don't blame her. Maybe she's going to start the clothing revolution a few years early," I joke.

Julia glares. "They are as uncomfortable as hell. But if they're as damaging to the female body as Daire claims, why are we required to wear them?"

"Because corsets are the new fashion. Just as senseless as platform shoes will be in the future," I tease. "Corsets won't go away until some woman, somewhere, says 'to hell with it'."

Frowning, Julia hoists her load again and heads to her room. I watch out the window as Daire goes into the garden, then meanders down a path into the trees at the edge of the grounds. Putting my notes away, I go outside and take a shortcut. The sunrise is just turning to gold when I come out of the trees onto the meadow. Daire's dress flows freely around her feminine form as she makes her way down the hill. She smiles when she sees me. When we meet in the center of the meadow she takes my hand and I kiss her dewy lips. "Good morning, my lady."

Our fingers twine as we walk through the gilded morning, following a stream uphill toward the hidden waterfall. On a bed of grass beside the pool, I take her in my arms, relishing the feel of her body beneath the gauzy dress. She tosses her sandals aside, letting the edge of her dress drift up over her warm, brown legs, exposing them to the sun. She is lush. Succulent.

"So, no corsets for you?" I tease, letting my hand wander at her waist.

"Never," she whispers between kisses.

"Whatever made me worry you might put one of those damn things on your lovely body?" I kiss her deeply,

"People expect me to."

I run my fingers along her chin. "I guess a Moroccan beauty can refuse if she wants."

"Any woman can refuse."

"Not as easily." I breathe the exotic scent of her hair. I run my fingers through her gorgeous dark locks, barely brushing my hand against her breast. Her gentle laugh tumbles like water as she lies back on my coat, sunlit hair splaying over the ground. She draws my hand to her warm belly and closes her eyes. "You have healing hands," she murmurs as I caress the softness around her womb.

_Daire's POV:_

My breath rises and falls beneath his touch. Pulling his face to me gently, I kiss him with longing. His eyes gleam deliriously, "Don't you remember the doctor's orders?"

"Yes. No lovemaking 'til I've healed. Maybe I should get a second opinion."

"I agree with those orders, but they're damned difficult to follow with a corset-less woman."

"So corsets helped keep women in line, in more ways than one," I joke.

"Don't worry about it," he smiles letting his hand wander. "I'll keep myself in line."

I relax and gaze at the sky. "I don't understand why Julia even bothered to offer me those clothes. She should know a belly dancer would detest corsets."

Matt's caress freezes on the curve of my hip. His stunned eyes gaze deeply at me. He seems to have lost his breath. "You're a belly dancer?"

I raise myself up on my elbow. "How do you imagine I keep my figure, Matt? You know I'm not a runner like Julia."

He stares at me, bewitched. "I guess I thought maybe it was the sword fighting."

I laugh. "Sword fighting does nothing for a woman's curves."

His eyebrows rise high at this revelation. His hand travels over my hip to my bare legs before he pushes himself up and tries to shake himself back to his senses. "Shewww..." he breathes. "Never in all the years I spent contemplating my future did I imagine I'd end up with a steamy Moroccan…belly dancer."

"Oh come on," I tease. "Doesn't it suit you?"

"It _suits _me," he laughs, still shaking his head in bewilderment. Before I know it he's pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. Then he strips down next to naked and dives into the pool. He disappears beneath the surface for what seems like forever, then comes up shaking his head like a wet dog. Laughing, he turns to me and dramatically holds up his wrist to take his pulse. "Okay. Heart rate slowing. Body temp approaching normal."

"Matt, it's too early in the morning. Get out of there, you're going to freeze!"

"Yeah, that's kinda the point," he laughs, dipping under again.

Halloween Night Party

STARLab, 21st century

_Horatio's POV: _

As I rush down the hall, I adjust the bicorn hat once again. The damn thing is so bulky and awkward I don't know how eighteenth-century naval officers managed to fight ANY battles with this thing on. I button up the stiff collar on the jacket and adjust the sword, then slip through a side door, trying to hide that I'm late for the STARLab Halloween party. The door barely shuts behind me when Bruce, dressed as a swabbie, snaps to attention and blows a whistle, calling out, "Admiral on deck!"

The piercing whistle stops everybody, and the room suddenly falls silent as dozens of eyes turn my way. So much for slipping in unnoticed. I salute Bruce and say, "As you were."

Everybody laughs and goes back to their cocktails. I spot Terese on the far side of the room in her elf queen costume and make my way through the crowd, trying not to lose the hat perched precariously on my head.

Terese eyes my outfit and laughs. "So, I'm guessing you were named after Horatio Hornblower?"

"Yes, and that's why my wife thought it would be funny for me to wear this outfit." I shake my head in frustration, sending my hat lurching to the side. I catch it and tuck it under my arm. "I need a drink." I head for the bar and order a double whiskey on the rocks, then make my way though the crowd to the sumptuous array of food on the buffet table. I fill a plate to brimming and return to Terese. "I'm starved. Been a long day. Let's find a table where I can chow down."

Terese and I scout around, but find only one table in the far corner that has a couple of empty seats. We go over and ask the six people at the table if the seats are reserved.

A man in a black wizard's outfit replies, "Nah, they're not taken, sit down and join us."

My God! It's Merlin! I didn't recognize him under the pointy hat and white wig. He scoots his chair over a bit, so Terese and I have room to sit down. Merlin's got three plates in front of him. He may be skinny as a rail, but he can really pack in the food.

"So where's your new assistant?" Terese asks Merlin.

"He's the newbie, so _he_ gets stuck in the lab tonight," Merlin says as he shoves more food in his mouth. I start doing the same. Between bites, I ask Terese, "What have you heard from Jeremy? I thought he might just take a quick break and be here at the party."

"No," she sighs, "he's got his hands full right now."

"I can imagine," I grunt sympathetically.

"Whoa! That's one authentic-looking costume!" a guy at our table blurts out. Everyone turns and looks toward the door. A tall man in a medieval knight's tunic with chain mail underneath has just entered. As he walks across the room toward us, the people part like the Red Sea as he passes. When he gets to our table and stops, I can tell it's not the power of his personality that caused people to step aside.

"Whew! Marek! When did you last have a bath?" I get to the point.

"Well, no showers in the thirteenth century and since you canna clean these clothes verra easily, they do retain their aura."

"You mean 'odor,' don't you," I chuckle.

"Well, that's not a polite way t' greet a traveler. I've come a long way."

"Why? Just to be here for Halloween?"

"You know I love the holidays. Try t' schedule my four trips a year to the future t' be here for the parties."

The two women sitting next to me get up and leave with some excuse about going to fix their makeup. Marek grins mischievously and sits down in one of their vacated chairs. He looks over at Merlin and says, "I'd be most obliged if you'd bring me a plateful o' food. Anything. I'm no' picky. And an Irish coffee. My presence at the buffet table might kill everyone's appetite."

Merlin just chuckles and leaves on his mission. He's usually in the transport room when Marek comes through, so he's used to the ripe condition Marek arrives in. But then, I am, too, so I get back to my food. After all, military men are accustomed to eating all kinds of food under all kinds of conditions.

"You don't usually wear your chain mail when you visit. Is that your Halloween costume?" Terese asks with a glimmer in her eyes.

"Of course! Colorful, is it no'?" Marek grins.

"Definitely!" Terese shoots back, "But don't expect anyone to dance with you."

"No matter! Chain mail is a bit heavy for letting loose on the dance floor. And if I canno' let loose, why dance?"

All the other people at our table get up and made hasty retreats. Marek notices and chuckles. "Well, now tha' we have some privacy, how are things going with all the projects?" Marek goes down the list of the four Teams in the past, and Terese and I fill him in on the progress of the projects each Team is carrying out to change the timeline. I notice he leaves the Team with Erik for last.

"Well," I clear my throat, "had a bit of a problem there."

"So what else is new?" Marek snorts. "Wha' happened? Did Erik finally Punjab lasso someone?" Marek lets loose his hearty laugh at the joke. Then he sees I'm not laughing and looks over at Terese. She's not laughing either. "Do no' tell me he actually _did!_"

"No, but he tried," I grimace.

"Who? Why?" Marek leans forward and rests his grimy elbows on the table, suddenly serious. "Someone foolish enough t' do something t' Laura?"

"Not exactly," Terese interjects. "It was someone foolish enough to do something to the Contessa."

Marek pauses, thinking. Suddenly he rolls his eyes. "You don't mean Joe by any chance, do you?"

"How'd you guess?" I ask.

"Well, Joe maneuvered the Contessa under the mistletoe last Christmas and kissed her. Erik decked him, o' course. I assumed that would be enough t' knock some sense in Joe's head, but I guess that was wishful thinking. So what happened?"

"Erik caught Joe kissing the Contessa again, but this time there was no mistletoe. Erik threw his Punjab lasso and only the Contessa stepping between the men saved Joe's life. Jeremy knew that Joe and the Contessa were developing a relationship and had given Joe orders not to talk or meet with her in private ever again. The relationship was to be terminated. Joe did for a few weeks, then tried to have a clandestine meeting with her when she was returning from Paris. He stopped her coach just before it arrived at the mansion. Unfortunately, Erik was riding out to meet the coach and saw them."

"So wha' did Jeremy do?"

"He relieved Joe of duty and transported him back immediately. Since Sue was in the coach and under orders to make sure Joe didn't have contact with the Contessa, she was also relieved of duty and sent back. Sue's been reassigned and will not be allowed to return to any the Teams in the past. Joe's cooling his heels in the brig."

Marek lets out a low whistle. "Well that's one hell of a mess. Has this affected Erik's relationship with Jeremy or the Team?"

"Actually, things have been a bit strained between Erik and Jeremy," Terese replies. "Erik suspects that Jeremy knew about the situation all along. And Jeremy says that the Contessa's angry about Joe being sent away. Although she tried to carry on like nothing happened, Jeremy sensed that she's depressed. He feels she had developed some feelings for Joe. She went back to Spain right after the twin's birthday party."

"Well, none of that's good, o' course," Marek rubs his beard thoughtfully. "But losin' Joe off the Team sets things back a bit. He turned out t' be very creative in adapting modern technology using the tools and materials available in the nineteenth century. He's already developed a way t' build efficient solar water heating for the mansion. That's a technique that would be very important t' develop and disseminate throughout Europe. Lots of energy efficiency in just that adaptation."

"Jeremy agrees," I shake my head. "Joe was even working on a water purification system and also teaching animal husbandry techniques. His background growing up on a farm was turning out to have a lot of pragmatic applications."

"It's not good to lose any of that expertise," Marek frowns. "The four Teams are introducing a variety o' new technologies as well as initiating social changes. We don't know what will be successful and have the long term effects we're trying t' create. Nope, it's not good to lose any of the innovations. Or people who can institute them."

Merlin returns with Marek's food, but just as he's sitting down, he gets a call. When he puts the cell phone back in his pocket, he grumbles, "The new man's got a problem. One of the systems went down, and he's stumped. Damn. I gotta go."

When Merlin leaves, Marek asks, "Do ya know why Erik has such a burr under his saddle about Joe?"

I tell him what I observed during the trial, and Terese relates what Jeremy has told her about Joe and Antoinette.

As he listens, Marek gets that devilish glint in his eyes. When we finish explaining, he takes a swig of his Irish coffee and shakes his head. "Ya'd think that Joe should know better than t' stir up the Phantom."

_Halloween night, 21__st__ century_

_The Brig_

_Joe's POV:_

"2100 hours! Lights out!" The guard calls out and the lights click off in all the cells. All I hear are the sounds of beds creaking as men settle in for the night. And a few coughs here and there. Then after a few minutes, some snoring. How can anyone get to sleep that fast?

I put my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling. Dim, orange light filters down from the exit light at the end of corridor. Kinda eerie. I chuckle ruefully. That's as much Halloween atmosphere as I'll be getting this year here in the brig. Sure hate to miss the Halloween parties. They're my favorite. Ever since I was a kid, I loved the costumes. The scarier the better. I had some wild friends. We'd always manage to carry off some pranks. One year we dug up an old outhouse and hauled it to town in the back of a pickup. We set it up on the parking lot near the town square and set it on fire. Caused a bit of a ruckus, but it only stopped the Halloween festivities for a little while as the fire department put out the fire. No one ever figured out we did it. Yep. I really get a kick out of Halloween. My mind keeps playing on all the pranks we pulled off. I prefer thinking about that rather than being haunted about what happened in France. And the Contessa. _Nita. _

The light seems to grow dimmer as I fight to keep my eyes open. Don't want to sleep. Get too much sleep in here. Not much else to do. Makes me stir crazy. _Oh, the smell of Jeanette's cinnamon rolls, piping hot and fresh out of the oven. I grab one in each hand as I wander through the kitchen and head out to the stables, munching as I go. One of the Andalusians has foaled. I go to the mare's stall and check on her and the foal, then head out to the pastures. _

_The sun is just rising and the air is warm. I lean against the fence, watching a cow and her two calves grazing. As I pass the garden, Eva is bent over, picking vegetables and handing them to Susie who puts them in a basket. We chat for a minute, then I take off for the river to check the men's progress on my new filtering system. _

_The day's hot now, so I stop by the pool and sit on a rock and throw stones in the water. As I gaze at the cool water in the pond, images of Nita appear. And of our trysts. _

_I continue on my rounds of the estate, checking on the vineyards and arrive back at the chateau at dinnertime. After dinner, I stroll out to the stable to check on the new foal again. By the time I leave, stars fill the night sky. There's a harvest moon giving off eerie, orange light. Someone is behind me. Nudging me. Go away! I'm happy here. He keeps nudging. _

"Leave me alone," I mumble.

"Why should I?" a deep voice responds.

There, hovering over me. A shadow. In the haze of dim orange light, I can just make out a shape. Tall, black, wearing a cloak. As it leans over me, piercing eyes come into focus. And the stark white mask!

"Holy hell! Erik!" I hold up my arms in front of my face and jam my body as far back on the bunk as I can, stopped only by the wall behind me.

"Indeed!" His white teeth snarl at me as he leans closer.

"How did you get here?"

"Did you think you would escape me that easily?"

"What do you want?"

"Satisfaction," he hisses.

"What do you mean?"

"I want satisfaction for your having wronged my wife and my mother and so many other women."

I push against the wall, trying to get farther away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He cocks his head and studies me. Then he begins to pace. Up and down the cell, with the faint orange light behind his silhouette. "Well, you insulted my wife on two occasions, didn't you?"

"Uh, I guess so."

"And you played with the affections of Zoe, knowing that you were going to leave and there was no possibility of a relationship?"

"Well, maybe."

"And Antoinette. You led her on."

"No! I didn't! I truly cared for Antoinette. She's special. If she hadn't married Ace, I would have proposed."

"How convenient!" The dark shadow halts and turns on me, glaring down angrily. "Don't you mean that you merely trifled with her feelings until Ace came along and intervened?"

"No! That's not what happened. That's not how I felt."

"Well, you always seem to have feelings about the women around you and then move on." The black figure hovers dangerously close. "But what made you think you had any right to take advantage of the Contessa?"

Sweat breaks out on my forehead and trickles down into my eyes. I blink, trying to keep the hulking phantom in focus. At any moment, he may lunge or throw that grisly lasso. Just remembering it around my neck makes my skin crawl.

"I…I didn't mean to take advantage of her."

"So, you admit that you did?"

"No, Erik! I mean that when I was in Spain, working on her estate, we got to know each other. It was easy for us to talk. She was always interested in the work I was doing. We just were comfortable with each other. We were together for months. And when I returned to France and parted from her, well…it wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. I missed her. Kept thinking about her. Then when she came to the château, it became clear she felt the same way."

The shadow lunges at me and grabs me by the shoulders, "You lie!"

"No!" I break his grasp with my fists and cram myself into the corner, keeping my hands in front of my face. "I'm sorry if you're offended. But the truth is, I care deeply about her. And, if that's an offense that you feel I should die for, then," I lower my arms, "go ahead."

The shadow pauses, glaring. "That's all I needed to know." He raises his hand and a mist emanates from it. Suddenly I'm back in my dream. _There's a storm, lightning, thunder. And a hovering phantom. It comes out of nowhere and follows me, everywhere I go. My arms flail out in defense. _

My eyes spring open and search fearfully in every direction. But the cell is quiet, lit only by the dim orange light from down the hall. No phantom. But wasn't he here? Standing over me? Was he real? Or was that a nightmare? I shudder and grab my blanket, pulling it over my head.

* * *

**Whether you are a regular or occasional reviewer, or have never posted a comment before…please return our "Treat" to you, with one of your own. We'd love to hear your comments!**


	123. Chapter 123

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to all who are celebrating this special day with family and friends. We usually post the first weekend of the month, but we're posting the December edition today, a week early, as our gift to each of you. We'll post our next chapter early, too, on Christmas Eve! We hope everyone is having a special day today, wherever you are in the world. **

**And, thank you so much to everyone who posted a review. We received a lot of comments about the last chapter and enjoyed reading every one of them! Most of you seemed to enjoy the surprise turn of events. We were also glad to have Mominator back! We missed her! And, we notice that comments are being made about the story line. Many of you enjoy the characters who inhabit the Epic Case and their personal stories. In fact, our story is nominated in the category of "Best Other Characters" on this website. Others want to know more about how Erik and the Team affect changes in the world beyond those already portrayed in this story. Well, you all know I have been writing the book version of this story for several years. As I have said several times, it contains the same premise, but a very different, deeper story, as well as entirely different characters, except for Erik and Laura. I have done extensive, detailed research for the book and that is incorporated into the book's story line, especially how Erik connects to important people, politically and otherwise, of the nineteenth century. I am writing that book as the foundation of a series and hope you will all enjoy taking that journey. It will answer your questions.**

Well, it may be Erik's birthday, but the prospects of a formal dinner party with the local gentry has Erik in a funk. Can even Laura save the day?

* * *

**Chapter 123 Who So Loves Believes the Impossible**++ by Phanfan and Phanna

_Maison D'espoir _

_Thursday, November 13, 1873_

_Erik's POV:_

Madame Truffaut frowns deeply as she begins her report. That portends some serious problem here at Maison d'espoir. "Madame Lamont arrived here several days ago with her infant daughter. She had been badly beaten, so Dr. McBrighton had her taken to the infirmary at the château. Yesterday her husband showed up on our doorstep demanding to see her. He had tracked her here. Of course we said she was already gone and did not know her whereabouts."

"I had to intervene and escort him off the property with the encouragement of my gun," Russ interrupts. "He's mean and has a short fuse. He said he was going to stay at the inn in the village and keep watching the Maison. Said he'd find her and get her. She'd never dare leave him again. I informed Jeremy right away, and he stationed a guard at the infirmary."

"We are sending another group of women to Calais to board the steamer for American in two days," Madame Truffaut says. "I advise asking Madame Lamont if she would like to go with them."

"Did Matt say she was physically able to make the trip so soon?" Laura asks.

"He informed me that she was. However, I thought it best to discuss this with you and the Comte before we broached the subject with Madame Lamont. If she goes with the group, they will require extra bodyguards to accompany them on the voyage and to our safe house in Pennsylvania."

"I agree," Russ interjects. "I wouldn't put it past that man to follow his wife all the way to America."

"If you believe that to be the case," I snarl, "then how would she be any safer in America? If he follows her there, can he not bide his time until she is on her own, then attack her?"

"If he is that kind of man, yes, he may do just that," Madame Truffaut replies. I take what she says seriously. She is a seasoned, wise woman, which is why we placed her in charge of the Maison.

"Just what did this man look like?" I ask Russ.

"Tall, dirty blonde hair. A beak of a nose and grey eyes, the meanest ones I've seen in awhile. Wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley."

_I, on the other hand, may find that quite opportune. _And, since I am planning to go into the village tomorrow on business, I might as well take my Punjab lasso with me. One never knows who one will encounter. And ever since Joe slipped through my fingers, I've been itching to put the lasso to good use.

Russ leaves and Madame Truffaut continues down her lengthy list of business regarding the Maison, a conglomeration of matters regarding the status of the residents, demands of the school and financial needs. Laura and I ask her to step outside the room while we talk in private and make our decisions. Finally we conclude our business with Madame Truffaut. It is late in the afternoon when we settle into our carriage.

I pull out my pocket watch. "Almost five. When did you say the guests are arriving for dinner?"

"Oh, not for awhile. Are you worried about missing your birthday celebration?" she asks coyly, smiling up at me.

"No, of course not," I protest. Actually, I'd rather listen to a Carlotta aria than have to put on a polite face for a tableful of stuffy gentry who are pretending to give a damn that it's my birthday. Contemplating this unavoidable state of affairs makes me even more ill-tempered.

Laura calls up to the driver, "Stop at the cottage, Louis."

This takes me by surprise. I have been trying to get Laura to take time off for many months now so we can have an evening alone at the cottage. She always has an excuse. It has been downright maddening, but whenever I protest, she always distracts me with some seduction or other.

"Why are we stopping, Laura? I thought we had to get back to the château to prepare for the onslaught of guests."

"Oh, it won't take long. I left a necklace in the bedroom when I was here last. I want to wear it tonight."

I shrug, reflecting that if she had agreed to even one of my entreaties to come here for an evening, she would already have the necklace. But at least the detour will put off a little longer having to deal with people I have no patience for tonight.

When the carriage stops, I help Laura down and escort her to the cottage. The autumn leaves are thick on the pathway, decrying the cottage's pathetically ignored condition. When we go inside, it's dark and cold. I glance over at the fireplace, remembering the nights we have spent on the thick carpet, warmed by its glowing flames. I sigh in resignation, wondering when that will ever happen again.

Laura disappears behind the screen that divides the bedroom from the sitting room. I hear the doors of the armoire open and then the drawers of the dresser being opened and closed as she searches for her necklace. Then, strangely, nothing. For many minutes, no sound at all. What on earth could she be doing? I'm about to go over and see for myself when she steps out from behind the screen. She is dressed only in a sheer nightgown, the contours of her body enticingly apparent. It takes my breath away. Finally I gather my wits. "Laura what are you doing?"

She says nothing, just holds out her hand. I walk over and take it, wondering what will happen next. When she takes me into the bedroom, I smile in anticipation. But she leads me past the bed and to the back corner of the room. Has she taken leave of her senses? Suddenly, she opens a door that had never been there before. Stupefied, I follow her through it and into a new room! My eyes travel around it, taking in the elegant fixtures: a beautifully tiled cabinet with a porcelain sink; in the corner a carved, golden cheval mirror; and tucked behind a half wall, a water closet. But the crowning glory of the bathroom stands at the far side. A large claw-foot tub. Indeed, the largest I have ever seen.

"Laura? How?" My stunned condition does not allow for any greater eloquence.

"This is my birthday gift to you. I designed it last spring and ordered the tub specially made. It came all the way from England. Joe has been supervising the construction in secret all summer. It's been two years since I arrived, and I felt it was time our cottage had more than a chamber pot." Laura looks around, half pleased, half wistful. "I'm glad most of the work was done by the time Joe…left."

I place my fingers under her chin and lift her face up. "So this is why you have been too busy to come to the cottage! You are as devious as I am."

"I certainly hope so! I wouldn't want to disappoint my husband," she smiles seductively.

"You never do." I lean down, kissing her deeply.

"Well then, if you will go and start a fire, the bedroom will be warm by the time we get out of the bath."

"We?"

"Yes. Can't you tell? It's large enough for two. I'll fill the water, while you light the fire. It's hot water. Joe installed a hot water heater and Antoinette turned it on today when she left the food."

"Food?"

"Your birthday dinner and cake, of course!"

"What about the dinner party? All those people who are coming?"

"Oh dear," she gives me an impish smile, "I believe I forgot to send the invitations, so it'll just be us. I hope you don't mind?"

"No. No in the least."

"Well then, why don't you get the fire going?"

Dazed, I do as I am bid. Sure enough, the bin by the fireplace is full of logs, and I make fast work of getting the fire started. As I walk back to the bedroom, I am already discarding my clothes. When I enter the bathroom, Laura is lounging back in the steaming water of the tub. Attired only in her necklace.

_Château Mercier _

_Thanksgiving Day, 1873_

_Antoinette's POV:_

It's still dark outside when I pick up the small clock on my bedside table. I angle it so that the faint glow from the fireplace lets me see the time. Charlotte will already be up and about. She's an early riser.

Reluctantly, I push the warm covers aside and start to get out of bed. Strong arms pull me back. "Don't go. You're all nice and warm." Ace's breath tickles the hair that's escaped my long braid.

"Let me get up and I'll stoke the fire. That will warm you."

He nuzzles my neck. "I have another idea to warm both of us." His fingers begin to lift my nightgown. "I like it when you're not all trussed up. It's much easier to…"

There's a light knock on the door. Ace lets out a grunt and falls back on the pillow. "Probably Charlotte." I pat his hand, smiling down at him.

When I open the door, I'm greeted with a rush of words. "_Maman_, hurry. It's Thanksgiving and you said I could help get everything ready."

"Yes, _ma petite_, but there's plenty of time. Let me get dressed and I will meet you downstairs."

She hugs me then dashes off. "Hurry, _Maman."_

Ace shakes his head. "Wish we could capture all that energy. We'd be rich if we could sell it."

"_Oui_," I agree. I poke at the banked embers in the fireplace until they glow red, then add small pieces of wood until flames dance. Waiting for the chill to leave the room, I walk to the armoire to select my clothing for the day. "I know you haven't had much sleep, but are you going to join me for breakfast?" He'd come to bed sometime after midnight, cold and tired, and I pulled him close to me to warm him. He didn't even manage a word before he fell asleep.

"I'll catch up with you later. I want to sleep a little longer." His eyes follow me as I lay out my undergarments and favorite day dress. He says one of his greatest pleasures is to watch me put on all the layers that women wear now. At the beginning of our marriage I'd felt shy. But Ace has a way of putting me at ease. Of making me feel confident. And beautiful. Besides, I must admit that I enjoy watching him dress also. It has led to many pleasurable moments between us.

He watches me wiggle into my corset and offers to help with the laces. He doesn't pull them as tightly as I used to. Laura taught us how physically damaging it can be, so I follow her lead and do not cinch the waist in so far. Sitting at my dressing table, I redo my long braid and coil it around my head. By the time I'm done, Ace is fast asleep. I pull the covers over him and add another log on the fire, then quietly make my way to the door.

As I descend the stairs, the aroma of baking bread wafts through the air. The kitchen staff has been working all week to prepare for the Thanksgiving feast. A twinge hits me in the small section of my heart that is set aside for Joseph. I am sad that he will not be here to enjoy this special celebration that he enjoyed so much.

Swags of fresh greenery are fastened to the banister and a large spray of bittersweet is gathered on the newel post at the bottom. I step into the foyer to make sure everything is in readiness for the guests who will be arriving around two this afternoon. Fragrant spices and oranges studded with cloves are tucked inside baskets scattered about. Some are even hung on the pegs, suspended by bright ribbons. I smile. Surely Charlotte's handiwork.

I tuck an errant pouch of spices back into one of the floral arrangements on the entry table. I am most anxious to see Meg today. Erik and Laura have kindly made arrangements for Meg to stay in Paris with Madame Tiernay while she attends the _Ballet de l'Opéra_. After meeting with Madame Tiernay, I'd felt confident in her ability to properly chaperone Meg. Sir Blakeney and Vicomte St. Just will be accompanying her on the trip from Paris and are invited to the festivities today.

As I enter the Great Hall, I'm happy to see that the dining tables have already been set in place for the feast this afternoon. Charlotte has been busy. Earlier this week, I put her in charge of sorting through the garden and choosing what could be used for decorating. Arrangements of fall flowers are already set in the center of the long tables with pumpkins, squashes and gourds placed amongst them.

"_Maman!"_ Charlotte rushes into the room. Julia is behind her, another floral arrangement in her arms. "I'm helping Julia with the decorating since everyone else is so busy preparing the food." She holds up several vines of green ivy and explains, "I'm going to weave them around the centerpieces and pumpkins."

"That will look lovely!" I smile. Happily she sets to her task. "Thank you for letting her help," I tell Julia.

"She's such a sweet kid, uh, child. And she has a knack for decorating."

I watch as Charlotte kneels on a chair to reach the center of the table, already weaving the vines in and out. But I have other things I must tend to so I excuse myself.

Edward is coming down the stairs when I step out into the hallway. He doesn't notice me as I scrutinize him. I'm worried about him. He's lost weight these past few months. When everyone was told that Joseph and Sue went back to America because of a family matter, the news hit Edward particularly hard. Joseph had been his mentor and, I suspect, his confidant. For a sixteen-year-old young man, Edward takes a lot on his thin shoulders. I recall the day Ace found Edward and Charlotte in a cave on the property. Edward had taken on the responsibility of keeping Charlotte safe, even dressing her as a boy. Now he's trying to take Joseph's place and it's wearing on him.

"_Bonjour, _Edward." My voice startles him out of whatever he'd been so seriously mulling over.

He recovers quickly, giving me a broad smile. "_Bonjour, Maman._ You look very beautiful today." Some of Joseph's mannerisms seem to have rubbed off on Edward, in particular Joseph's penchant for complimenting women.

"_Merci._ Are you on your way to the kitchen for breakfast?" I ask hopefully. I need to get him to eat more.

"_Non,_ I'm on my way to the stable. I have a few things to do. We'll need extra room today for all the horses and carriages." I sigh. That means he probably won't eat until he comes in for lunch. Or in this case, Thanksgiving dinner later in the afternoon.

When we enter the kitchen, Edward doesn't stop, just greets everyone as he rushes out the door. Jeanette's eyes crinkle with worry. "That boy is always in a hurry! And he doesn't eat enough to keep a bird alive much less a growing lad."

"_Oui._ I know. I'm going to have Charlotte take food out to him." I start filling a basket with bread, cheese and fruit. Jeanette adds warm rolls. Cinnamon. The ones Joseph loved so much. And, no surprise, now they're Edward's favorite.

Charlotte comes into the kitchen telling us that all the decorating is done. I hand her the basket of food for Edward and ask if she'll deliver it to him. "He probably won't eat, Maman. He just wants to work all the time." She lifts her hat and coat off a peg, then looks down at the floor.

I can tell she's got something on her mind. "What, Charlotte?"

"He misses Monsieur Joe. Terribly."

"I know," I say softly as I push the curls away from her face and help her with her hat. "Put your mittens on, too. It's cold outside." I watch out the window as she crosses the yard to the stable. Edward always stops whatever he's doing to talk with her. I'm glad I've sent her out. Maybe she'll cheer him up. And get him to eat as well.

I join Jeanette at the table. She pours tea and puts a plate of cinnamon rolls between us. "I must stop eating these, Jeanette." Of course, that doesn't stop me from taking one. "I'm gaining weight from all of your delicious food!"

Jeanette looks down her nose at my thin frame, her jovial face widening into a grin. "Alejandro accused me of the same thing."

"Have you heard from him?" She hasn't said much about Alejandro since he left with the Contessa when she abruptly cut short her visit after the twins' birthday. Alejandro and Jeanette were becoming very close, so she often seems melancholy these days. I believe Jeannette has already lost her heart to him.

"_Non._ But then, he did not write me before. We would just spend time together when he was here. But now…" Her thoughts turn inward, most likely wondering if she will ever see Alejandro again. But the chasm between the Contessa and Erik seems vast. And that means the relationship between Alejandro and Jeanette is impossible.

I have a pretty good idea what happened that day on the road when Erik caught Joseph with the Contessa. And the fact that Joseph was transported back to the future so quickly is not a good sign that he will be returning. He was so much a part of our lives. The consequences of that day continue to cause a ripple throughout the château. Underlying tension still makes everyone avoid speaking of the issue. Yet Joseph's involvement in the work around the estate leaves a noticeable void. To say nothing about Edward, whose despondency is becoming a concern.

It was doubly shocking when I learned that Sue had been sent back also. Jeremy has taken the brunt of the blame on his shoulders, but Ace is also feeling the backlash. Everyone seems more stilted in their conversations and often the room will fall silent when Jeremy walks in. There's still tension between Erik and Jeremy as well, and they've kept their distance from each other.

Jeanette gets up and gathers a bowlful of vegetables to be peeled and cut. "Is there some task I can do while we have tea?" I ask.

She hands me a large basket of green beans. "You can start on these."

As we talk I snap the ends off the green beans and remove the long string, then break them into smaller pieces. The aroma of baking fruit tarts and pies, especially the apple and pumpkin, surrounds us as we work. The warmth from the ovens brightens Jeannette's cheeks into rosy patches. She jumps up and down a few more times, directing the kitchen maids to move pies and desserts to a holding area in the pantry.

Just as she's helping place the turkeys into the ovens for their long, slow roasting, Danielle walks in, carrying a protesting Alexandria. "She wanted to stay with Russ, but he spotted Jeremy and they took off to talk."

I reach out to see if the squirming eight-month old will come to me. Surprisingly Alexandria does, but her hand immediately reaches for the broach at my collar. When she tries to take a bite of it, I laugh and switch her to my other hip while I grab a roll for her to eat instead. "It's good to see you, Danielle. I missed you the last time you were here."

"Yes, grandmère said you were in Paris that day," she replies.

I remember that day well. Ace had taken me into the city to pick up several items we needed around the château. But we also enjoyed a leisurely lunch at one of the exquisite restaurants. Then we spent the day sightseeing. Surprisingly, Ace had never seen some of the museums, so I was his guide.

There's a clatter in the hallway, then Jean-Luc and Ethan run through the door, both boys obviously in a race. Jean-Luc seems to get taller every month, but then he is sixteen. All boys get taller during these years. And I've noticed he's shyly starting to notice the young women lately.

Ethan has grown also, but even with the age difference, they have remained close friends. Jeanette hands them some food and scoots them out of the kitchen. I can hear their laughter in the hallway. I wonder what mischief they're plotting now.

"So how are things going at Maison d'espoir?" I ask.

"We get busier every day. Mina has been extremely successful helping abused women at the shelter in Paris. Word of our sanctuary is spreading and women show up on her doorstep all the time." Danielle picks up the teapot. "More tea?" Jeanette and I nod.

"I visited Marie a few days ago." Jeanette turns to me and explains, "I told you about her. She supervises the kitchen at the Maison. She said that they had to hire two more cooks to keep up with all the new people arriving. But Marie said that many of the older girls there are also being trained to help in the kitchen. In fact, I told her I would be willing to take two of them here as apprentices."

"Yes, she told me how excited the girls were when they found out they would be coming here." Danielle says as she leans over to wipe Alexandra's mouth. The baby's really working at the roll with her four new teeth. "Many of the women have children, so at times we are filled to capacity. But somehow we manage because each month a number of the women choose to go to America to our safe house there."

Jeanette and Danielle continue visiting and catching up on all the news. I want to make a final check of the Great Hall, so I take my leave. As I pass the dining room, a voice calls out. "Antoinette, come join me." It's Ace! I thought he'd sleep later than this, but he's at the breakfast buffet, filling a plate. "Come have breakfast with me."

"I just had tea and rolls with Jeanette. I need to…"

"Just sit with me then. You work too hard." It's an argument we've had more than once. But I cannot sit idly by and watch as everyone works. It's just not in my nature to do so.

But I give in. "Just for you."

We sit near Derek and Sam. Ty and Linc must be on duty. I've noticed the men all seem more diligent and serious since the situation with Joseph. Matt and Daire are at the other end of the table, deep in conversation with their heads together. Julia joins us, and soon everyone's talking about the upcoming holidays. At one point, Julia brings up Charlotte's pet turkey, Thomas. We all laugh, remembering the near debacle last year at the table when everyone thought Joseph was carving Thomas. Happily, all ended well since Joseph had raised other turkeys to take Thomas' place. When the laughter dies down, everyone becomes silent. I wonder if they're thinking of Joseph and all the times he caused havoc—and laughter—around the château.

When Ace finishes his breakfast, he accompanies me to the Great Hall. A warm fire burns invitingly in the hearth, but I'm surprised to find the hall empty. Usually people are seated near the fireplace, chatting. Or at one of the tables playing a game of chess or cards. I survey the room and verify that the tables are perfectly set and decorations all in place. Everything is in readiness for the guests.

I walk over to the window to watch the large fluffy feathers of snow drifting down. All the children are frolicking in the snow. Erik is kneeling down and showing his son how to make a snowball. He launches it at Laura, catching her by surprise. She scoops up some snow and sends one back. Angelica follows Laura's lead and makes a snowball, aiming carefully and hitting Erik squarely in the chest. He clutches his heart dramatically and falls over backwards. Angelica screams and runs over to him, leaning over his face and patting his cheek with her mittened hand. When Erik doesn't move, she gets more anxious and starts pushing on his chest. Erik suddenly comes alive and grabs her, tickling her until she's rippling with laughter. Elizabeth laughs so hard watching them that she falls on her backside. Other children run over and join in the fracas. Then a snowball fight breaks out in full force.

Ace comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I enjoy moments like this, the intimacy of a stolen caress. I lean farther back into his arms as we gaze out the window, watching. I point to Jenna. We both laugh as the dog races around the children, then jumps into the air to bite the snowflakes as they fall. Elizabeth begins twirling in a circle, her arms outstretched and her head thrown back to catch the snowflakes on her tongue.

I sigh, taking in the idyllic scene. Ace whispers in my ear, "A penny for your thoughts."

"A penny?"

"Ok, a centime for your thoughts."

"I was just thinking how my life has changed since coming to live at the château. I am so thankful for this special home, so many caring friends and a loving family."

_The Contessa's Estate_

_Near Burgos, Spain_

_Thanksgiving Day_

_The Contessa's POV:_

"Didn't Senior Joseph return to Spain with you?" Adolfo casually asks. He's leaning against the wooden rail of Esmeralda's stall, offering my mare an apple. He doesn't notice the scowl I send him. But it wouldn't matter if he did. He would just laugh at me. Since his estate borders mine, we have been friends since we were children. We usually call on each other frequently, but I haven't seen him for months. He's been in Madrid, staying with his wife's brother, a Spanish Councilor of State, and he's just returned this past week. His wife and two of his daughters stayed in Madrid for an extended visit, so he gladly accepted my invitation for lunch today. When Esmeralda finishes the apple, he turns his attention back to me. Wiping his hand on a handkerchief, he continues, "We had several enlightening conversations before you left to visit Raoul in Paris Joseph said he'd stop by and talk to my foreman. Instruct him on how to adapt some of the changes to my hacienda."

He offers me his arm and we leisurely walk toward the stable door. "_Si._ I remember him telling me that, also." Most people came to respect Joe while he was here. He'd even started instructing the local farmers on how to increase their yield by rotating their crops each year.

When we step outside, I pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders. The air is crisp and cool, already promising an early winter this year. Dried leaves dance about on the ground, then suddenly they're lifted high in the air by their partners, the wind. I watch, fascinated, until Adolfo interrupts.

"So Joseph decided to remain in France?"

"No." I keep watching the leaves as we walk so he doesn't notice how this subject pains me. "A family matter came up and Joe had to return to America."

He stops abruptly. "America?" He looks at me a bit puzzled. "That's quite a voyage. Will he be returning?"

"I'm not sure." _Will he be returning? _ That's the question I keep asking over and over. I insisted that Jeremy give me the details of where he is being held in America, but he always declined to tell me. Adolfo studies me closely. He must have heard the strain in my voice, so I change the subject quickly. "So Jessenia remains in Madrid. Will she be returning soon? I didn't get a chance to stop by before I left for Paris." Jessenia and I became friends after they were married. It had also been an arranged marriage. But one with a happy ending. I had been present the night Adolfo met Jessenia and remember how he'd fallen instantly in love with her.

"I'll be returning to Madrid in a few weeks." He grins. "Jessenia threatens that if I do not arrive before Christmas she will never forgive me. In all the years we've been married, we have always been together at Christmas."

"_Si,_ you should always be with those you love at Christmas." Adolfo again looks sharply at me. Have I lost my ability to cover my emotions? Or is it just that he knows me so well. He starts to say something, but we have reached the hacienda, and I hastily usher him inside, hoping he will not pursue the matter of Joe.

Amada approaches as we enter and tells us that lunch is ready to be served. I thank her and ask Adolfo if he would like a drink before we eat. _"Si._ Some of that fine wine you brought back from France last year."

In the study, I pour a glass for both of us. Adolfo wanders over to the desk and lifts one of the miniature portraits I had made of my grandchildren. "You have three grandchildren, _si?_"

Adolfo's always loved children. He and Jessenia had eight of their own, and he is now grandpapa to twelve grandchildren. I grin. "Actually I have four now."

His eyebrows stretch to the top of his forehead. "And how did this come about so quickly? Was I misinformed? Did Raoul have twins also?"

"No, one child is special. She is adopted."

He lifts each of the miniatures and studies them, nodding approvingly. "They are fine grandchildren. Perhaps not quite as fine as mine, but…" he looks sideways at me with a mischievous smile, "they will do."

I laugh, forgetting how much I enjoy his sense of humor. We grew up competing at everything. And now, it seems, we are in competition with our grandchildren. "Well, _amigo,_ you may win this contest. I'm not sure if I'll be able to match the prodigious amount of grandchildren that your offspring have produced."

He tips his glass in salute to his victory. With a sly smile, he adds, "So tell me why you really wanted me to visit you. Other than my charming company, of course."

I should not be surprised that he would suspect I have another motive. I shrug. "You remember that I accompanied you to Madrid when your niece was married two years ago."

"You mean Carmina?" I can see him working on where this conversation is leading.

"_Si."_ I take a deep breath. "She married Daniel Sickles. It was a lovely wedding." Adolfo doesn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. I clear my throat. "Daniel Sickles is the U.S. Minister to Spain and…."

"I see," he grins, "you want information about Joseph. And my niece, Carmina, is just the right person to help." Before I can respond to his observation, he blinks in surprise. "_You are in love with Joseph!"_

"_Adolfo!_ You presume too…"

"Ha! Don't play games with me. I knew something was different when you talked about him today."

I allow myself to relax, glad that he knows. Glad that I can now speak freely to him and know he will keep my confidence. "It is not that simple. It does not bother me that Joe is much younger, but he is not of the nobility. Along with my title comes responsibility and this situation is..."

"There is nothing wrong about this." He refills our glasses. "I knew how miserable you were in your marriage to Edmond. What harm can there be in pursuing happiness when you have found someone special?"

"But, my sons won't…"

"They are grown men and have their own families now. You cannot let them tell you how to lead your life." He walks over to me and takes my hand. _"Follow your heart and everyone else be damned!"_

We finish our wine, then Adolfo offers his arm to escort me to the dining room. Amada immediately serves the soup followed by several other courses. I have another bottle of French wine opened for the meal. As we eat, we talk about other subjects, not bringing Joe up again. He regales me with tales of his grandchildren's adventures. But his words that I should follow my heart keep replaying all the while.

As I change into my night clothes and braid my hair, I stare into the mirror, still going over our conversation about Joe. When I climb into my empty bed, sleep doesn't come. Instead, thoughts of Joe fill my mind. Remembering the way he runs his fingers through his hair when he's worried. His easy smile and charm. My heart quickens as I recall the passion and fire in his eyes when he made love to me.

Time has not altered my love for him. Does he feel the same? Suddenly I'm overwhelmed. And alone. Tears sting my eyes, but instead of holding them back like I always do, I hug the pillow to me as if it were Joe in my arms and allow myself to cry.

When the tears let up, I think about what I want to do. Adolfo gave me back the perspective that I had lost. What seemed unthinkable for the last few months now seems possible. I dry my eyes and remind myself who I am. _The Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny. _

I begin making my plans.

* * *

_++The title is a quote from Elizabeth Barrett Browning._


	124. Chapter 124

**A/N: Merriest Christmas to each of you! This chapter is our Christmas gift for you! We wrote this over the past week from many, many stolen hours from our own Christmas preparations….And somehow, through late hours and fatigue, got it done! For us, this was a special chapter. Phanna wrote the first pov, she and I jointly wrote the second, KFC wrote Jeremy's, and I wrote Laura's, with support from Phanna. As always a joint effort, but this came together in a more round-about and magical way than normal.**

**We hope you enjoy our Christmas tale. It has a crisis, but not one where orcs are descending, stormtroopers are attacking, or witches are zapping with wands. Crises come in many different forms. Often they are of conscience and demand that people examine who they are, what they have done, and reach into themselves to change.**

**The Epic Case has certainly contained its share of excitement and derring-do, but ultimately it is a story about Erik's transformation and the people who entered his life in a profound way. Erik always wanted the world to look beyond his scarred face and to accept him. To see the intentions of his heart beyond his often desperate actions. Laura and the people at the château have done that. But has Erik learned that lesson? **_**The lesson of compassion**_**. After all, isn't that what Christ came into the world to teach? **

**By the way, we have posted these last two chapters early to coincide with holidays, but we return to our regular posting schedule on the first weekend of the month, in February. We wish each of you a wonderful new year!**

It's Christmastime at Château Mercier, and Erik is about to find out that even phantoms can be haunted by ghosts.

* * *

**Chapter 124 Ghosts of Christmas, by Phanna, KFC and Phanfan**

_Château Mercier, December 1873_

_The Contessa's POV:_

My thoughts turn to Joe as the carriage travels down the road leading to Château Mercier. The same road where he stopped my carriage four months ago. It was the last time I saw him. The last time he'd held me in his arms. Memories of all our stolen moments together fill my thoughts. My heart aches to see him again.

Snowflakes begin to fall as we turn into the long drive approaching the château. When the carriage pulls up, Erik opens the door. My grandchildren scurry around Laura and run down the stairs.

"_Abuela! Grandmère!" _The children rush for the carriage as I step out. Elizabeth and little Erik jump up and down while they chant 'grandmère.' Angelica stands patiently behind them, but her twinkling eyes and bright smile tells me she's just as excited.

As Erik and Laura greet me, I let my gaze rest on Erik, wondering about his state of mind. I was very pleased when I'd received their letter inviting me to visit. Not only will I be with my family during Christmas, but it also fits perfectly into my plans.

When I left for Spain in September, Erik and I were at odds with each other. Our emotions had been too raw for further discussions about Joe. In fact, after the confrontation in the Great Hall with Jeremy telling us that Joe had been sent back to America, we had deftly sidestepped the issue entirely. Does Erik still cling to his unreasonable anger?

"It is nice to see you, mother. I have missed you." The warmth in Erik's voice tells me he's genuinely glad to see me. Perhaps he will be more receptive now. Or perhaps he just thinks I've forgotten the entire matter. And Joe.

Laura gives me a warm hug. "The children have been waiting all afternoon for your carriage to appear."

Angelica twines her hand into mine and pulls me toward the front door. "We've made you a bunch of presents, _abuela_." It delights me that she's chosen the Spanish word for grandmère. She seems to have an aptitude for languages. Whenever we have time together she will point at objects so that I can tell her the word in Spanish, then Italian and German.

Snow crunches beneath our feet as we walk up the stairs. Even though the sun is bright, the air is frigid, and a layer of snow blankets the shrubs near the door. In the distance, the fields glisten with a crust of ice.

We quickly remove our outer cloaks in the foyer, then the children hurry me into the Great Hall. They lead me to a towering Christmas tree near the windows. The limbs droop beneath gay ornaments hung in cheerful disarray. The children proudly show me the special ornaments they made for me. Excitedly they point to the gifts beneath the tree and tell me they cannot be unwrapped until Christmas morning.

When we're done inspecting the tree and presents, we go to the stone fireplace at the front of the hall where the fire radiates a welcoming warmth. Toys are scattered about on the rug, but the children ignore them. Little Erik climbs into Erik's lap and the two girls climb onto the settee between Laura and me, chattering all the while. It warms my heart to hear their small voices and laughter again.

One of the maids enters with a large tray of tea, a jug of milk and a plate of pastries. As a special treat, Laura allows the children to choose one. While they munch happily, Laura pours tea for us. "How are Raoul and Christine? And little Edmond Raoul?" she asks.

"They are all fine. Christine dotes on the baby, but Raoul insists that the nanny care for him most of the time. Little Edmond is quite handsome with his golden curls and an easy smile."

"Does Raoul enjoy fatherhood?" Erik asks sincerely.

"He's quite proud of his son. At one of their soirées while I was there, Raoul had the nanny bring Edmond out so that his guests could see him." I smile at Erik. "Raoul isn't as comfortable being a father as you are."

"Indeed." I notice Erik cannot resist a smug smile.

Antoinette and Julia arrive along with Charlotte. She joins the children who have wandered back to the Christmas tree to inspect the gifts again. Antoinette and Julia bring Laura up-to-date on their parts in the upcoming festivities for Christmas and the New Year. Ty and Derek stop by to speak to Erik, but don't stay long. Sam and Ace come in to inform us that the pond is frozen over and safe for skating. The children plead with Erik and Laura to go out and play, but Erik says it's too late. I glance toward the window. He's right. It's just past four, but it's nearly dark. With a laugh, Erik promises the snow will still be there tomorrow.

Antoinette talks Ace into joining us and having a hot cup of tea. I notice that Jeremy doesn't make an appearance. I wonder if he will avoid me during my stay. He was not too pleased with my insistent questions before I left the last time.

The nanny comes in to take the children upstairs. While Laura helps her gather up the children and their toys, Erik turns to me. "Would you like to retire to your room to refresh yourself, mother?"

"_Si._ I am tired, but I will join you for dinner." When I leave the Great Hall I look around, hoping to spot Jeremy. I still want answers. In my suite, I lie on the bed trying to rest, but my mind is too busy. Finally I get up and gather my things to take a bath, then head for the bathroom. This one is not as ornate as the one Joe constructed in my hacienda, but I can tell his handiwork. I run my hand over the tile, which is lovely, but so different from the colorful hand-painted Spanish tiles Joe had installed in my bathroom. And he added an arched window which overlooks the mountains in the distance. The scene is breathtaking at sunset.

After a leisurely bath, I dress for dinner and return downstairs. Once again, I look around for Jeremy and catch sight of him as he enters the library. Much to my chagrin, he swiftly closes the door. Did he see me? I sigh in frustration. It would be impolite to intrude. But when he doesn't join us for dinner, I have the distinct feeling he's avoiding me.

For the next several days this evasive behavior continues. If Jeremy is in a room I enter, he quickly exits. If I see him at a distance, he's gone before I can accost him. Yes, he's definitely avoiding me. And my inquiries.

As Christmas approaches, Laura and I fall into a comfortable pattern of having tea together each afternoon. Just as Laura's pouring the tea, Eva rushes into the Great Hall. "Madame," Eva explains, "the nanny sent me down to tell you that the twins have a slight fever. She thought you may want to check on them yourself."

"Yes," she turns to me, "please excuse me."

"Of course, my dear. Let me know if there is anything I can do." She nods and quickly leaves. I'm settling back in the chair with my tea when I see Erik and Jeremy going into the library. I've noticed that oftentimes the men gather there to have discussions. Making up my mind, I set my cup aside and hurry down the hallway.

"Oh, excellent," I announce as I walk into the library. Jeremy and Erik are just about to sit in the chairs near the fireplace. Ace is standing at the sideboard, pouring a drink. They're clearly surprised to see me. "Just the people I need to speak with." I look pointedly at Jeremy. He nods imperceptibly acknowledging my small coup. Erik's expression turns wary.

"Would you like a drink, Contessa?" Ace asks.

"_Si."_ While he pours wine for me, everyone waits tensely, wondering why I am here. As I take the glass, I gaze pointedly at Jeremy. "It is time to answer my questions, which you have so cleverly avoided up to this point. Before I returned to Spain I asked you _several _times for information on where Joe was being held. You always had a convenient explanation that told me nothing at all."

"I've told you everything that I can," Jeremy says. "I've also explained this is a military matter and that I'm not at liberty to speak about it."

"Mother," Erik glances down at his cognac, "everything is not always as it seems."

"I do understand, _mi hijo,_ but there are times when things must be explained. I sense something odd about this situation."

"Contessa," Jeremy says. "I've told you that Joe was sent back to America to…"

"_Si, _you have," I interrupt and turn to address Erik. "Did you know that I have many acquaintances in Madrid?"

Erik's eyes narrow suspiciously. "I would assume so."

"We de Velascos are an old and influential family." I take a sip of wine. "Two years ago, I was a guest at the wedding of Chevalier de Creagh's daughter, Carmina. He is a Spanish Councilor of State."

"Indeed?" Erik says. I notice Jeremy glance nervously toward Ace.

"It was a lovely wedding," I continue. "Did you know who she married?"

"No," Erik stares at me, "but I am almost certain that you are going to tell us."

I smile. "The groom was the United States Minister to Spain, Daniel Sickles." I let that information sink in as I get up and walk over to Ace who is still leaning against the sideboard. "More wine, _por favor."_ As he turns to pour it, I see a hint of a smile, but he wipes it away when he hands me back the glass.

I take a sip and proceed. "Several weeks ago I had the opportunity to dine with Señor and Señora Sickles. In the course of our conversation, I happened to mention some of Joe's work at Château Mercier. I also told them Joe made improvements on my estate and had arranged with other surrounding landowners to improve their estates as well. The couple was most interested and asked many questions. They seemed surprised when I told them all work had been halted because Joe had been 'recalled' to America by the U.S. military."

I scrutinize the men's faces. I can sense they are attempting to hide their trepidation. _Muy bien! _"I told the Sickles how concerned I was because I had not heard from Joe. And since he'd left unexpectedly, I did not even know where he had been taken. When I told Señor Sickles that I plan to travel to America to find Joe, he was very accommodating and told me to get in touch with President Grant. Señor Sickles even scripted a letter of introduction for me to the President."

The men gape at me.

"_Mother…"_

"_Contessa…" _

"_You can't go to America to find Joe!" _ Jeremy blurts out. _"And talk to the President!"_

"I most certainly can," I state matter-of-factly. "I have already booked my passage and sail immediately after the New Year."

The room turns stony silent. Erik glowers, "Are you seriously considering sailing to America merely to find Joe?" His look of astonishment does not surprise me. He's made it clear he believes Joe took advantage of me.

"_Si, mi hijo_. That is exactly what I am going to do."

"_Mon Dieu! Must I always be haunted by this man?"_ Erik takes a large gulp of cognac and studies me like he's never seen me before. "Is there nothing I can say to alter your decision?"

"Nothing."

Erik starts to pace. "Do you understand the consequences of your traveling to America? That would complicate matters beyond belief."

"Erik, when we first talked in Spain, you said there were secrets you could not tell me. But these other men," I wave my hand in the direction of Jeremy and Ace, "seem to have a hold on you that I don't understand. That concerns me greatly. I sense that…"

"There are many things," Jeremy interrupts, "which we are not at liberty to reveal to you. Please accept that and do not interfere further into our business. Your going to America and presenting yourself to the President would not further your cause. Or help you find Joe."

"Really?" I stare commandingly at Jeremy. "And just why would that be? If you are indeed under military orders, wouldn't the President be aware of your mission? Wouldn't he be able to ask the military authorities where Joe is being held?"

Jeremy's jaw clenches as he pauses to consider his reply. Finally he says, "Contessa, we'll consider this matter and tell you what we are at liberty to disclose."

"Very well. But if I have not been given adequate explanation by the first of January, I will be on that ship, bound for America."

As Jeremy bows politely, I notice that sweat has broken out on his brow. Ace escorts me to the door. I look back briefly at Erik. He's staring into thin air, appearing quite dumbfounded.

_Ace's POV:_

As I close the door behind the Contessa, I suppress a chuckle. She's one determined, formidable lady. I'm caught between admiring her and being downright irked at the corner she's painted us into. When I turn around and see Erik's perplexed expression and Jeremy's scowl, I take a deep breath. And the worst may be ahead, since I can think of only one way to resolve this matter and keep the Contessa from getting on that damned ship.

"Unbelievable!" Erik snorts. "Going to America! To find that unscrupulous cur." He begins pacing again. Suddenly he comes to a dead stop and announces, "Surely, you will have to divulge to her where Joe has been taken!"

"No! Never!" Jeremy spits back. "We can't tell her about being from the future!"

"Why not? I know. Antoinette knows," Erik snarls.

"Because both of you have actually gone to the future. You've seen it. Lived there. But the Contessa hasn't, and we certainly can't take her. And if we just tell her, she'll think we're absolutely nuts. She'd never believe us and probably begin to speculate about what we are really up to. She might even go to the French government and tell them we're involved in some secret, nefarious mission. The last thing we want is the French government arresting us for espionage."

"Well, we can't let her go off to America, either," I point out. "When she presents her letter to President Grant, he'll ask the military about our mission. When he finds out they don't know anything about us, that cooks our goose just as well. I'd say she's got us in checkmate."

"Checkmate? What are you implying?" Erik challenges me.

"Well, we're damned if we do tell her we're from the future, and we're damned if we don't," I point out. "It seems to me there's only one solution."

"And what's that?" Jeremy asks.

"Well, bring Joe back from the future and let him continue with his duties. If he's here, she won't have to go to America looking for him. And we'll just say the military decided to send him back. The Contessa will never know that it was from the future. Problem solved."

"That is absolutely unacceptable." Erik's voice rumbles through the room like the growl of a lion. "I don't want that man to ever go near my mother!"

"But Erik," Jeremy pleads, "Ace is right. Bringing him back is the only way for us to resolve this situation so we can continue with our work."

"Never!" Erik sneers and turns on his heel. He storms out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Hell!" Jeremy groans, "Where do we go from here?"

I walk over and pour two stiff drinks. As I hand one to Jeremy, I reply, "Our best bet is to see if we can get Marek to come. He's always had a way with Erik."

Jeremy looks at me and scoffs as he tosses down the drink.

_Christmas Eve_

_Jeremy's POV:_

Swiping a few more sweets from the buffet, I leave the Christmas Eve party and head for the tower. Whoever's up there won't mind a few hours off. I trudge through my room to the secret entrance to the tower stairs, glancing longingly at the bed and wishing Terese was going to be there when I come back.

The cold wind bites when I come out onto the top of the tower. "What the hell are you doing up here, Matt?"

He turns and stares at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd give one of the guys a break, but I guess they got one already. Why aren't you downstairs cozied up with that Moroccan beauty of yours?"

"I will be later. Just coolin' off first," Matt smiles.

"Ah. I see." I give Matt a knowing look. She's still not available.

We stand looking out over the grounds. Just like old times. "Well at least your woman is here."

"Yep."

"So how long do you have to stay a bachelor?"

"A while."

"Bummer."

"Yep." Matt gives me a quizzical look. "Aren't you taking a quick trip home to see Terese?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"No travel right now. Something about maintenance."

"Bummer."

"Yep."

"So I just came up here a little while ago and let a guy off early. Next shift will be here any time. I'm heading down now. Want me to send him up or tell him he's off duty?"

"Tell him he's off til midnight. Then I'm getting drunk and going to bed."

Matt laughs. "Okay."

"Behave yourself."

"Yep."

I stand the three hours alone. Beats a cold empty bed. When midnight rolls around I'm finally ready to crash for the night. The replacement shows up right on time and I head for my room. After downing a bottle of wine in front of the fire just to make sure I sleep, I stumble off to bed and shed my clothes. The sheets are just as cold and the bed just as empty as I dreaded. But sleep is not far away.

Right away the dreams seem to take me. I see Terese's angel-like form and golden hair, then her glistening smile and starry eyes. My breath catches as they pierce me and hold me spellbound. Seeing her glossy lips mouthing words, a hunger overwhelms me. I reach for her, but my hand moves right through her apparition. I push myself up in bed, trying to move toward her, knowing I'm only dreaming. I feel on the verge of waking, but desperately want to stay in this dream. Then she touches me and I ease back down onto my bed. She follows, slowly descending on me until her presence is so close and strong I almost can't breathe for fear she will disappear.

Our eyes lock and I silently beckon her closer, fearful to move. The cloak she is wearing falls from her, then the white silken gown. She touches me again. I let out a long sigh. She seems so real. I feel her warmth on my body, then bare skin on mine. Struggling not to awaken from this dream, I fight the urge to move and wrap my arms around her. It is impossible. I pull her body against me and cling to her lest she disappear. Then her lips find mine and my blood begins to rush. Surprisingly, the more I awaken the more real she becomes. Our kisses deepen and my hands find her every curve. I feel her breath on my face between our kisses. I wrap her closer and my heart pounds wildly as her weight and warmth sink into me.

"Merry Christmas, love," she murmurs in my ear.

With a jolt, I realize I'm awake. Terese _is_ in my arms. "How did you get here?" I manage to choke out through gasps for air.

She runs her hands over my frozen shoulders, trailing her fingers through my hair. "Does it matter?" she teases.

I struggle to find some logic. "I drank a whole bottle of wine trying to put myself to sleep. It really messed with my head. I thought you were an apparition."

"I was," she smiles, eyes dancing.

"What do you mean?" I glance around confused. "When did you get here?"

"Just now," she says. "We're experimenting with new technology we developed at the lab. Remember how we upgraded from travel pods to a crystal light surround? Well now we are even farther advanced and can transport without any visual apparatus. And we're not limited to the transport field."

"You transported right into my room?"

"Uh huh."

I sit up on my elbows. "How did you know it was my room? What if you landed in...someone else's bedroom!"

She laughs quietly. "We don't exactly 'land.' The way it works is we transport to the general vicinity of the château but we have the ability to pause before we've fully 'arrived.' We can look around and see where we are before completing the transport. Move around if need be."

"Like an apparition."

"Yes. So we transported to outside the château. I chose your room and moved inside before completing the transport."

"You were floating around in the air outside, came in through my window and finished 'arriving' while you got in bed with me?"

"Except I wasn't exactly 'floating around outside.' Visibly. There's a fine line between visible and invisible. And one can cross it at will before transport is fully complete."

"But how can you see before you materialize?"

"It's easy when you're coming from another dimension. The trick is to stall the process right on the dimensional interface..."

"Stop. You're hurting my brain." I lay back down on the bed, pulling her to me. "Why wasn't I told about this?"

Her eyes sparkle. "This first time we wanted the element of surprise."

"We?" I glance around warily.

"Don't worry. Nobody's watching. Marek's here too, but he's off on his own mission."

"How am I supposed to ravish you all night while Marek's floating around the château like a ghost, able to see people who can't see him?"

Terese tries not to laugh. "No honey, he knows exactly where he's going and what he's doing. He wouldn't abuse the power."

"That's a pretty darn powerful power."

"Actually, Ace knew about this, but I asked him not to tell you." She looks sweetly into my eyes. "I didn't want you to know I was coming. When does a girl get the chance to appear in her man's room out of thin air, get naked in bed with him when he least expects and ravish him all night?"

I feel a wide grin spread across my face. Pulling her lips to mine, I kiss her hungrily. "I'll give you that one, babe. You're a dream come true."

Suddenly the wind rattles the window so hard the latch slips. I get up and secure it. Swirling gusts have brought a snowy fog over the grounds, and there's no moon tonight. No stars except those in Terese's eyes. Outside the cold wind whips at the pane. "You're sure Marek's minding his own business?" I close the drapes and watch the firelight dance over her golden skin.

"He's very busy with a...visitation...of his own," she says.

"Oh hell...does this have something to do with Erik? What am I going to have to deal with tomorrow? On no sleep?"

"Well, then," she looks up, gleaming, "better ravish me while you can."

_Laura's POV:_

"Maman, what if Pere Noël cannot find our shoes? Will he still leave us gifts?"

I push Angelica's dark curls away from her face and reassure her. "Of course, dear, he's very smart. And your papa and I will leave a note to tell him to look in the Great Hall near the large fireplace."

"_Abuela _helped me choose the fattest carrots and the freshest hay for Pere Noël's donkey." She tilts her head sideways, then adds, "But I thought he may be hungry too, so I left a slice of the _buche de Noël_. What if he doesn't see it?"

I pat her small hand. "I will add that to the note we leave." I glance over at the twins. Thankfully, they're already fast asleep. But Angelica is still wide awake, as usual, and her excitement has only heightened knowing that this is the night Pere Noël leaves gifts for all the good children. "It's time to go to sleep now."

She lays back and I pull the covers up to her chin. Suddenly she bolts upright. "_Maman! What if Jenna eats it?" _ I smile. Usually Jenna stays in the barn during the cold weather, but Angelica pleaded with us to let her stay in the château tonight so that the dog wouldn't scare Pere Noël away. Angelica's not taking any chances. She's hoping one of her gifts will be a special doll she saw in Paris and fell in love with.

"I had Ty secure Jenna in the kitchen so she can't get into the Great Hall." I pull the covers back up to her chin and kiss her chubby cheek. "Goodnight, my dear."

"I'm thirsty. May I have a glass of water?" Another stalling tactic. She has several, but cleverly alternates them.

"You had some water before you put on your nightgown. You can't possibly be thirsty again."

"Your maman is correct, Angelica." Erik's deep voice comes from behind me. "It is now time to go to sleep. If you are still awake when Pere Noël comes by, he may not leave your gifts."

Angelica's eyes widen and her bottom lip quivers at the thought. Erik leans over, kisses her goodnight and says, "Now go to sleep. Morning will be here before you know it. And then think of the fun you will have opening your gifts." She brightens. Erik uses his thumb to wipe the stray tear that escaped during his admonishment. "Your papa loves you, _ma petite._ Come wake us when the sun rises and we will all go downstairs together to see what wonderful gifts are under the tree." She snuggles down under the quilt as Erik tucks her in. We tiptoe out of the children's room, stealing one last look when we close the door.

The fireplace in the sitting room has an inviting fire, but Erik takes my hand and leads me past it, into our bedroom. When we get to the bed, he traces kisses down my neck as he unties my dressing robe. Before I know it, he has shrugged off his robe and swept me into bed. Relentless with his passion, I am carried away in a myriad of sensations until we are both breathless and spent. In languid contentment, I snuggle against his chest and murmur, "Was that my Christmas present, Pere Noël?"

"Indeed," he chuckles as he kisses my forehead, "and mine."

I listen to his pounding heart gradually slow and his breathing become even. Soon Erik is asleep. I envy him. He never has difficulty going to sleep, but for me it is always a challenge. My mind doesn't turn off easily, and now all the preparations for Christmas day spin through my thoughts. I go over everything, making sure nothing has been left out. No present unwrapped. No card containing bonus checks, unsigned. No detail of tomorrow's busy celebration left undone. As I wish for sleep, I listen to the ticking of the wall clock. Finally it strikes twelve. Midnight. Erik is gently snoring, and surely I will soon fall asleep.

Suddenly there's a banging in the next room. Erik is instantly awake. That's the other thing about him. Even when he is deeply asleep, he's sensitive to any sound. He could even hear the children stirring for their middle of the night feedings when they were babies. I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep, but he quickly sits up and pulls on his silk robe. Quietly, he slips out of bed. I open my eyes just enough to watch him go into the sitting room, then I pull on my nightgown and dressing robe. Slipping out of bed, I go over to the door and open it just a crack, peeking out.

The French doors have blown open and powdered snow blows in on Erik as he closes them.

"Closing the doors will not keep me out," says a deep, ominous voice.

Erik spins around and looks anxiously in every direction, trying to find the intruder. "Who is there?"

"A dark phantom, not unlike yourself," comes the startling reply.

"Do not toy with me. You will find me a formidable foe. Reveal yourself," Erik hisses out.

"As you request." Suddenly a specter appears across the room. The shadowy figure seems to hover above the floor, like a silhouette which melts into the darkness that surrounds it.

I hear Erik gasp. My eyes search the face of my husband, and I find there something I have never seen before: _fear._

"What is your business here?" Erik demands. I notice that he slowly moves toward the sideboard where the cognac and wine is stored. What's he doing?

"To reflect yourself back to you," the phantom replies.

"Preposterous," Erik snarls. "You are merely some trickster, masquerading to further your prank." With lightning speed, Erik opens a drawer of the sideboard and pulls out his Punjab lasso, throwing it with deadly accuracy toward the specter's throat. The snakelike rope passes right through the apparition and strikes the wall with a thud.

Erik's mouth drops open as he takes a step back.

"I told you so," the phantom mockingly declares.

"Just what are you?" Erik asks tensely. "Show your face."

"I am exactly what you perceive and what I have already told you. I am a phantom, like yourself. Except that I am entirely made from the ethers where I travel at will. So I have no face."

With a glint in his eye, Erik challenges him. "What is your purpose here tonight?"

"To reflect the phantom that you have been in the past so that you can decide what you wish to be in the future."

"You speak jibberish," Erik snarls.

"Is this jibberish?" The shroud covering the phantom changes shape as an arm reaches out and a hand appears from beneath the folds of his garment. Suddenly a pillar of light appears several feet in front of Erik. The light begins to coalesce into a tableau. A child with a ragged cloth over his head is attacking a man and strangling him. Erik's eyes go wide with horror. Could we be watching what happened to Erik when he escaped from the carnival cage?

The phantom does not speak, but neither does Erik who remains fixated on the images that appear in the pillar of light. Next a shadowy figure in the flies above a stage lets loose a backdrop that falls perilously close to Carlotta. Then the shadowy figure is chasing Buquet in the flies, trapping and strangling him. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle any noise. Are these truly scenes from Erik's life? Or someone's machinations? I have heard about holograms, but I've never seen one. Have they now developed that technology?

The scene changes to a masked man who leaps down on Piangi, but the images goes suddenly dark. Next Erik is on a bridge above the stage. With his arms around Christine, he takes a knife from his boot and slashes the cord holding the chandelier, then stomps on the lever which opens the trapdoor. They plummet down in the midst of fire. Shockingly Erik is shown holding a rope which encircles Raoul's neck. There is no sound emanating from the scenes that play out before our eyes, but I know that Erik is giving Christine his ultimatum. Next Erik and Jeremy are going into an office. I recognize the man they are confronting. It is the man in Paris that I kept from beating his wife.

"Stop! Enough!" Erik yells out. "What is the meaning of this?"

The images disappear into thin air, but the phantom remains, and his hand now points at Erik. "So these scenes disturb you?"

"Yesss," Erik hisses.

"Why is that?"

"These are things I have done that I do not want to remember. They are in my past. I walk a different path now. Why should these be brought back to haunt me?"

"So, you are saying that a man can do things he is not proud of, but if he changes, those should be forgotten? Even forgiven?" The specter asks.

I'm beginning to get the drift here. This phantom has a definite agenda. And apparently access to a hologram. But I do wonder how he manages the spectral appearance. As I study my husband, I can tell he's no longer preoccupied with those matters. His expression tells me he's puzzling over the phantom's words.

"Yes," Erik finally responds, "I do believe that a man should be able to put his past behind him if he sincerely chooses a higher path."

"As you did?" the phantom taunts.

"Yes. Like I did," Erik replies defiantly.

"Just when did you make _that_ decision?" the phantom presses.

Erik pauses, pondering this. "When I met Laura."

"Good women often do that for men." The phantom quips.

I chuckle. Do I even detect that this specter has a mischievous sense of humor?

The specter continues, "So, you believe you should be forgiven, and bygone be bygones?"

Erik gulps. "Yes. I do."

"Well, then, does that apply only to your lordship? Or can it also apply to other men?"

After an uneasy pause, Erik concedes, "I see your point."

"Good! That's all I needed to know." Instantaneously, the phantom disappears before our eyes.

Hurriedly, I go back to bed and burrow under the quilts. As Erik gets into bed, I remain still, faced away from him and pretending to be asleep. He gently pulls me into his arms and whispers in my ear, "I know you're awake. And you were watching."

My eyes pop open. "How did you know?"

"Your feet. They are like ice. You were no doubt standing at the door, eavesdropping. After all, you are every bit as sneaky as I am." As he kisses my forehead, I feel a shudder go through his body. "What do you make of that, Laura?"

"You mean a phantom meeting a phantom?"

"Yes, exactly. And you saw the scenes. Did those…trouble you?"

"Well, they were troubling. But are you asking if they made a difference in how I feel about you?"

"Yes," Erik breathes out as he tightens his arms around me, as if fearful of my response.

"No. They don't. I understand your past and why you did what you did. I also understand you are a changed man." I leave unspoken that I am quite aware the man he was lies not far beneath the surface and appears from time to time. But I also know that only happens when Erik feels he needs to protect his family.

"Good." He kisses me again. "Nonetheless, it does give me food for thought." There is a distinct strain in his voice when he adds, "Perhaps I should be less judgmental toward others who also have a shady past."

"Perhaps that is the better part of wisdom," I agree. " 'Judge not lest ye be judged.'"

"Indeed," he replies sadly. The clock strikes the quarter hour. "Time to get some sleep. Morning comes soon, and the children will be up early to open their presents." He pulls me even closer and rests his chin in the crook of my neck. Within seconds he's snoring softly next to my ear.

I, however, lay awake, trying to still my racing thoughts. I wonder if Erik has ever read Dickens' _Christmas Carol_? I know he doesn't like English literature and tends to read only French novels. So maybe he didn't notice that the phantom was dressed in a shadowy shroud, just like the "Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come." Except Dickens' ghost didn't speak and our visitor was remarkably chatty. And the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come only showed Scrooge events in the future. Our intruder just showed Erik his _past_ deeds. Whoever this eccentric phantom was, one thing is certain: he needs to reread _Christmas Carol_ and brush up on the ghosts.

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Please give us _your_ Christmas gift by reviewing!


	125. Chapter 125

**A/N: Well, a very happy new year to each of you! I hope it is a healthy and good one. I get frequent notices from this website of new readers! We welcome all our new readers and hope to hear from you as you are reading the story! And thank you to the new reader who just posted a very thoughtful and insightful review. **

**As you know, we have been trying to make each chapter reflect the time of year it is posted. But so much was happening when we last visited Erik, this will continue the events of Christmas, 1873. Enjoy!**

From being a solitary man, a phantom, Erik has step-by-step come to love and to trust. But there are still shadows in his soul. Can he finally step out of those?

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**Chapter 125 The Ghosts of Christmas Present, by KFC, Phanfan & Phanna**

C_hristmas, 1873_

_Jeremy's POV: _

Running her fingers through my hair, Terese shines on me like the moon while the wind howls outside. I touch her face and she kisses me again. Slowly my hands travel over her curves, caressing her waist...her belly. Something's different. She's gained a little weight, but I better not mention it.

Her warm hand draws mine over the silken softness and her eyes gleam. The most beautiful smile I've ever seen spreads across her face, and I lose my breath. I am supposed to be ravishing her, but she's got me under her spell. "Your hair is almost as long as mine now," she muses.

"Should I cut it?"

"No...no," she croons, kissing my neck. "I love it."

I'm the one being ravished. I slide my hands over her hips toward her waist again as she moves against me, gleaming into my eyes.

"I can't even breathe when you do that," I manage a ragged whisper.

She trails her fingers through my hair, contemplatively. "I'm thinking of cutting my hair, Jeremy."

She moves again and I give a slight gasp for breath. "What?" Terese. My love. Why in h... I mean heaven...would you cut off your goddess locks?" She just keeps glowing and keeping me in the most...excruciating pleasure. I roll over with her and gaze down at her golden curls spilled over my pillow. "No...don't cut it. I can't bear the thought of losing so much gold." I lock her lips in a deep kiss to silence her goddess blasphemy.

"But little fingers," she murmurs between kisses, "they'll get so tangled."

An electric current jolts through me and I break our lip lock. I stare down at her, my chest heaving. "Little fingers?"

"Tiny little fingers." Happy tears sparkle like diamonds in the corners of her eyes. Overwhelmed, I roll onto my side and gently slide the covers back over her full breasts and rounded belly. Firelight dances over her swelling curves. Gingerly laying my hand over her womb, I let out a breath of awe. "Why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"I just wanted to tell you in person." She draws me into a deep, warm kiss, pressing her belly and breasts into me.

Suddenly a terrible thought strikes. "This means you time traveled with our baby!" I start to roll out of bed in a panic. "My god, Terese, I'm going to get Matt! We have to make sure the baby's okay."

"They're fine, sweetheart," she grasps my shoulder. "I can feel them moving right now."

Another shockwave washes over me. I stare at her. "They?"

Her eyes glint with laughter. Weak with shock I fall back, wrap Terese in my arms and cradle her. She places my hand over the sacred place but I feel only her warmth. As the fire burns low I kiss her belly, caress her lovely new form and whisper to my children. Our intimacy lasts through the night, languid and slow. We drift in and out of sleep, and I wake with my face against her belly.

Stirring from sleep, she winds her fingers through my hair and massages my head. "Good morning papa." I look up into her smiling eyes. "Do you think my shape will ever be the same again?" she wonders aloud.

"You're beautiful," I reach up to kiss her. "I was so drunk when you got here I didn't realize why you were, well, plumper," I add sheepishly.

"Did you think I just overdid it on the Christmas cookies?" she teases.

I bury my face in her hair and laugh. "I've just never slept with a pregnant woman before."

"Well, babe, that wasn't a lot of sleep."

"I've survived on less, for lesser causes." I groan and look at the clock. "I'd better let Matt know you're here, and send him along with a couple of guys to the cottage so Marek can have a formal arrival for the benefit of the servants. How long do you get to stay?"

"Just until Marek has time to do his yearly assessment. And figures out whether Erik is going to have a change of heart about Joe. A few days at most."

"You mentioned a Marek visitation on Erik. I'm bracing for the fallout. Just what did Marek plan?"

"Just scare some sense into Erik. Give him some perspective. Christmas Carol style."

Immediately a scene starts to play out in my mind, and I chuckle. "How in the world did he disguise his accent?"

"Remember those old Darth Vader voice boxes?"

"You're kidding," I burst out laughing. "Well I guess we'll see how it worked. Although I don't want to leave you. Not even to find out what Erik thought of Darth Vader." I go for her belly again, but she pushes me out of bed. In the hallway I meet Matt just coming out of the bathroom freshly showered.

"You're awfully bright this morning, Matt. Get a good night's sleep?"

He throws his towel over his shoulder and gives me a funny look. "You look happier than you should be for missing your woman, and more anxious than you should be if she was here. What's going on?"

"She and Marek showed up last night."

"What? Who went and got them?"

"No one. They've got this new time travel method where they just materialize out of nowhere. Show up anywhere. I guess it's a safer way to travel."

"Well that's good."

"Matt, I want you to check Terese out."

"Is something wrong?"

"I just...she...she's pregnant."

Matt's eyebrows shoot up.

"With twins," I add.

He folds his arms and smiles, appraising me. "Don't worry. I'm sure the Lab docs wouldn't have cleared her for transport if it wasn't safe. But I'll check. Daddy's worried."

"Thanks, and uh...Terese won't be showing herself around the château since the servants don't think of her as my wife. So you and one of the guys will just be picking up Marek at the cottage."

"Ah, so you've got a princess cornered in a tower for a few days," Matt grins.

"You sure are happy this morning. Did your bachelorhood finally end last night?"

"Uh...not exactly." Matt trolls for words. "But I think I won the rest of her heart."

"And you're still a bachelor?"

"She's complicated and...I'm patient. She's got a tough history with men. Lots of wounds. She's healing on more than one level, and I won't be taking any benefits from her before she knows she has my ultimate commitment."

"She doesn't think you're committed?"

"She knows I am. And I don't need a formal wedding to validate it. But all her life she's had people try to use and take advantage of her. Not just physically and emotionally, but everything else she has to offer. So I think one way to heal and honor her would be to give her my vows in front of the people who care about her, before she gives herself to me."

I nod. "When do you think you'll be getting married?'

"She wants it to be in the spring, when there's flowers, and she can walk barefoot."

I smile and slap him on the back.

"And since you're my best friend I've got something to ask you."

"You need a best man? Sure."

"No. I want you to perform the wedding."

_Laura's POV: _

_Somewhere Angelica is crying. Running down the long hallway, I rush from room to room, searching. Panic fills me when I cannot find her! Then I hear her small voice filled with fear calling for her papa. _

_Suddenly I'm in a courtroom. Antoinette is sitting in the witness chair, talking to a tall man in front of her. It's Erik! But when I step closer, I realize it isn't him. This man resembles Erik, but his hair is much lighter and he wears no mask. Confused, I ask Antoinette who he is. She answers simply, "Phillipe de Chagny, of course. Don't you remember, Laura? During the trial I told how he was a patron of the Opera Populaire and would come often to watch the rehearsals. He's Raoul's older brother."_

_Before I can register what she's saying, Angelica races past me toward the tall man. She's calling him 'papa.' I correct her. "No, Angelica, Erik is your…"_

"Laura. Wake up, darling."

Gentle hands tug at me, dragging me out of my dream. I moan, not wanting to wake up just yet. This dream means something and I must figure it out. But a warm kiss on my neck makes me open my eyes. When I see Erik's face, it comes to me. I sit up in bed.

The gypsies told us that Angelica's mother had been a dancer in Paris. Was she one of the dancers at the Opera Populaire? My head begins to spin and I close my eyes. The gypsies told us that they had found Angelica's mother in an abandoned shed, ready to give birth. She had died, but Angelica had lived.

"Laura, are you alright?" Erik asks.

I open my eyes again. Concern is written all over his face. "Oh, Erik. In my dream, Antoinette made me think of something." I tell him about my dream. "Do you think Phillipe is Angelica's father?"

He's quiet for a long time. Finally, he answers, "Although we never met, I often observed Phillipe watching the dancers. Antoinette even voiced her concerns to me. She was always protective toward the ballet rats." He sighs. "It is quite possible that he was seeing one of the dancers."

"And there's no way of knowing if he did." Then a thought occurs to me. "Maybe Antoinette will know."

Once again, he's silent for a few moments. "Perhaps it is not a good idea to dredge up the past." Is he thinking about the images of his own past that he revisited last night? "And, if Phillipe is Angelica's father, more the better." Suddenly he yawns.

"I'm sorry I woke you so early. It's not even dawn."

Erik shakes his head. "Actually, I have been awake the last few hours, pondering, whether, well…." he pulls me close to him, "do you think it was truly a ghost that I saw…and talked to last evening?"

I know about modern technology, but they kept Erik very sequestered and removed from most of it when he was in the future. I suspect there's nothing ethereal about the apparition, just some new bells and whistles STARLab has developed. But if I admit to that, will it help matters? I don't think Erik would take kindly to such a trick directed at him. Maybe it would be better if Erik believes it was a spectral visitation. The ghost certainly made its case well. That people can change. Erik certainly has.

But, I won't lie to Erik, either, so I decide to take the middle road. "To be honest, Erik, I'm not certain what it was." I look deep into his beautiful green eyes. "But you are not the same man. You made mistakes, but you've changed. You said that it was because of me. Because of our love." I lean over and give him a lingering kiss, enjoying the way his hand is teasing the ribbon at the top of my nightgown. "And you know that we can't control who we fall in love with. Not even the Contessa." I hold my breath, hoping I haven't gone too far, too fast.

Erik told me about the Contessa's threat to go to America to find Joe. It didn't take much of a leap to realize that the Contessa has the upper hand in this situation. I admire the Contessa and see where Erik got his shrewdness and courage from.

He stops playing with the ribbon. "Are you taking the Contessa's side?"

"There are no sides in this matter, Erik. I'm just trying to speak the truth. And I can certainly sympathize with her." I place my hand on his chest. "What if someone had told me that I could not love you and had tried to keep us apart?"

"You are a wise woman, my love." He kisses me as his hand moves back to the pink ribbon and unties it. "Reluctantly I have come to the same conclusion. I must allow my mother the freedom to find love. But, _Mon Dieu_, why did it have to be Joe?"

I smile at him and ask, "Does this mean that you agree to let Joe return?"

"Yes, I have decided to concede out of consideration for my mother. I know her marriage to my father was not pleasant. However," his eyes narrow, "be assured, I will have words to say to Joe. He had better not trifle with my mother's affections."

I would love to hear _that _conversation.

Erik undoes the buttons on my nightgown and slips it off. The chill in the air causes goose bumps on my skin. He pulls the covers up, and we spend a special Christmas morning getting warm.

_Erik's POV:_

The joy in Little Erik's eyes as he pushes his wooden train past the Christmas tree and over to me, makes me chuckle. His eyes shine with excitement as he proudly shows me the brightly-colored toy. I never had such things when I was a child. But it gives me such pleasure to see our children play. Elizabeth is close on her brother's heels. She crawls into my lap and shows me her new doll. The doll has a bonnet which intrigues her. After she chatters about her "new friend," she kisses my cheek and scoots out of my lap, headed for Laura.

But Angelica. Tears come to my eyes as I watch her cradle her new doll, dressed in an elegant satin and lace gown. She gently touches each button, each pieces of lace, as if enchanted. This is the doll she saw in the shop window in Paris. She fell in love on the spot and talked of nothing else the entire trip home. Often when I tucked her in at night, she would tell me about the doll and wonder if it had found a happy home. I had sent Ty back to the shop to purchase the doll and kept it in a drawer of my dresser for the past month. Each time I saw it, I anticipated this moment. But it was more than I could have imagined. The smile on Angelica's face when she opened the package and saw the doll! She beamed at me and said, "You see? Now I can give her love. Like you give me!"

I look over at Laura and find her watching me with those deep, understanding eyes. For all the exhaustion of being a father, duties of managing the estate and responsibilities of running Maison d'espoir and the safehouses in Paris and America, and now the added trials of establishing the new college for gifted children, I would change none of it. None of the path that I have tread—sometimes heartbreaking, often harrowing—to reach this moment, this place securely in the hearts of Laura and the children.

After the encounter with the spectre last night, I lay awake for hours, thinking about my life. It occurred to me that whatever deeds one may accomplish, ultimately what truly matters is the love given and received. I remembered back to a time when all that mattered to me was possessing the love of Christine. Losing her felt like the end of the world, but I couldn't know at that moment of despair that it was in fact the beginning of finding myself. My true self. And a path that led me to Laura. I have learned from her that love is not limited. That the more you give, the larger it grows. Endlessly. Completely unlike the selfish love of possession. Possessing people and power. That I now realize, leads only to madness. And destruction.

And, finally, as I lay there, sleepless, I realized that trying to control my mother was a shadow of my old desire to control those I love. To have them bow to my will. I had to face this darker side of my nature and make a choice. Do I hold onto a part of my nature that had developed because of the evils done to me, or do I acknowledge it is there, always hiding like a phantom in the shadows of my soul, but choose not to act on that impulse? Laura taught me that we can choose to rise above our baser nature. How does she say it? _"May I act for the highest good of all." _

Well, I confess, doing something for Joe's "highest good" galls the hell out of me. But I do want the happiness of my mother. I have the right as Comte to exert final say, to intervene and even prevent my mother from getting on that ship. I could order her not to go and she would have to honor that, but it would forever cause ill will between us. Maybe even sever our relationship. No, I must step back from this precipice. I must not exert my will, even though I have the right. Instead I must overcome my darker nature, as difficult as it may be to accept Joe as my mother's lover. Perhaps…even her husband. I cannot deny that the very thought makes my blood boil. Walking this path is bloody hard. Yet here I am, watching my children play as Laura smiles at their antics. No, change does not come easily, but it is worth the pains.

Jeannette comes in and anxiously tells Laura and me that the buffet breakfast is getting cold. We have lost track of the morning, enjoying our children. The nanny chimes in that the children have not had their breakfast yet, either. The children give us kisses and trundle off to their room, carrying toys and chattering excitedly.

As I escort Laura into the dining room, I hear the coach pulling up to the main entrance. We stop in the foyer, wondering who this unexpected visitor could be. To my chagrin, Marek comes bursting through the doorway in his typically loud and irritatingly high-spirited manner.

"What ill-wind blew you here?" I ask him.

"Well! And Merry Christmas t' you, Erik!" He says, slapping my shoulder. I sneer back. He ignores me and turns to Laura, "And how is the beautiful, _and gracious_, lady o' the manor?"

Laura laughs. "Very well! And a Merry Christmas to you! You're just in time for breakfast!"

"Wonderful! Lead the way!"

Jeannette is just bringing freshly cooked eggs and piping hot cinnamon rolls to the buffet table. I motion for Marek to go first. He piles his plate so high, the food mounds in the center. Manners no doubt fitting to the thirteenth century.

When everyone's seated at the table, I ask Marek, "To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"Well, you should know by now, Erik, that I come t' do an annual review and report on the work your Team's doing."

"I thought you did that last year in February. Aren't you a bit early?" I ask, suspicious. His sudden appearance makes me wonder if he had any connection to my ghost.

"Ach! That's true. 'Tis a little early, but I do love visiting the château at Christmas. There always seems t' be exciting things happening here during the holidays. Wouldn't want t' miss any excitement, now would I?"

I glare at him, but he returns my gaze steadily. "Excitement? Just what kind of excitement are you referring to?" I ask offhandedly.

"Well, two Christmases ago, Laura had a bit of a tussle with that jackass in Paris—pardon the expression," he nods at Laura, "and shortly after tha' you all go to a masque ball and end up in a raging, pitched battle! I missed out on all tha', but last year got t' be here for the exciting confrontation with the gypsies. You just never know what's gonna happen here at Christmastime!" He grins at me. A little too slyly.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, Marek, but this year has been very quiet. Not any excitement. Just children opening Christmas presents."

"Do tell. Nothing else, huh?" His eyes glint as he shovels another mouthful of potatoes in. Do I detect something in his expression? Something that says he's goading me? That he knows about the "excitement" of my midnight spectral visitation?

"Well, that depends. Just what would you consider 'exciting?'" I glare accusingly at him.

"Good lord!" He laughs. "How would I know wha' might happen? Ya think I'm a magician? That I have a crystal ball?" He cups his hands over an imaginary ball. "Tha' I can conjure up things?"

_Conjure up things?_ Is he making a clever reference to the scenes of my life that the ghost created before my eyes? Was that some trick created in the future? Some magic produced by modern wizardry? I study Marek who seems totally preoccupied with shoveling food into his mouth. Handily avoiding my gaze. But, if it was Marek, how did he learn about some of the events which were displayed? Events I have never admitted to anyone. Laura strikes up a conversation about the Christmas party we are having this evening at Maison d'espoir. Marek seems particularly interested in all the details. And he always seems to avoid my gaze. Maybe he has a guilty conscience. But if he was the ghost, somehow, some day, I will find out. Then I will have my retribution. And I will be sure to make it very, very "exciting."

_December 26, 1873_

_Contessa's POV:_

"Alejandro, do you have time to join me for a talk?"

"Of course, Contessa."

The library is unoccupied so we go there to talk. Alejandro quietly closes the door behind us. It has been almost a week since I have spoken with Erik, Jeremy and Ace about my trip to America. I have had no response, so I need to discuss it with Alejandro and put my plan into action. "Did you enjoy your visit with your daughter and her family in Paris?" I ask.

"_Si._ She was pleased I could spend a few days with them. She said it gives Robert and her time to relax since the children turn all their attention to me when I am there."

"How are all of your grandchildren? You have five now, _si?_"

Alejandra laughs. _"Si,_ and I'm afraid they are driving their parents quite mad at times. Especially my oldest grandson."

I sit on one of the chairs near the warmth of the fire. Alejandro walks over to the sideboard to pour a drink. "A glass of wine, Contessa?"

"_Por favor." _As he hands it to me, I ask, "When did you return? I didn't see you until this morning."

"I got back late yesterday afternoon. However, I spent the rest of the day with Jeanette." He grins over the rim of his glass and announces, "I proposed to her last night and she accepted."

"That is wonderful, Alejandro! Have you set a wedding date?

"Well, Jeanette wants to wait until summer. She has mixed feelings about leaving Danielle and Ethan to move to Spain with me. But I assured her that they were welcome in our home anytime they wanted to come. And, of course, we often travel to the château for visits."

"I am so happy for you. It has been a long time since Marita died."

"_Si,_ almost ten years. I have not told my children about Jeanette. It may also take some time to prepare them for my upcoming marriage." He shakes his head. "They do not always take easily to changes in their lives."

I remember his children well and he is right. I don't believe they will be pleased with sharing his affection. Especially with a new wife. "It seems like our lives have many parallels, Alejandro. One of them being our children's beliefs about what is proper for us."

"So the men have not made a decision about Señor Joe returning? I had hoped that the matter would be resolved by now."

"No, they have not spoken to me. I wish you to accompany me to America. In the meantime, go into Paris and make reservations at the hotel for the first of January. Then buy train tickets to Calais for the next day. Our ship sails on the third."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Contessa? You son will be very angry."

"I have made up my mind, Alejandro. I will not back down from this. Not even for Erik."

After he leaves, I sit and stare at the fire, wondering if it is a foolish mission to travel all the way to America to look for Joe. Perhaps I only imagined that he cares as deeply as I do for him. Perhaps he is not being detained by the military and is using this as an excuse not to see me again. Perhaps…

"Excuse me, Contessa. May a have a word with you?" Jeremy is standing at the door.

"Of course, please come in."

His expression is grim. I steel myself for what he is going to say. He glances at the empty glass in my hand. "Would you like me to refill your glass?"

"_Si."_ He pours a drink for himself also. When he hands me my wine, he sits in the chair Alejandro vacated just moments ago. "So have you come to tell me of your decision?"

"Yes." He clears his throat. "The decision has been made to have Joe return." I digest this surprising news. I thought that the delay had meant their decision was not favorable. When I don't respond, he continues, "We will need to send a message to America… "

I stop him to ask, "Was Erik part of this decision?"

"Yes. He agreed to Joe coming back. Contessa, it will take time before Joe gets here. I'll send someone into Paris right away to book passage at the earliest possible date, but it may not sail for several weeks. He will take a message to our superiors and explain the situation. I'm sure the extenuating circumstances will allow Joe to return."

"You may use the ticket I have already purchased to send your message. The ship sails the third of January."

"Very well, but it will still require a little time to make arrangements to get Joe released. Then, the return trip takes a…."

"Ships sail frequently," I interrupt. "By my calculations, Joe should be here by the end of January." I gaze steadily at Jeremy. "If he is not, I will be on the first ship that sails for America in February."

"That's an awfully tight schedule, Contessa."

"_Si."_ We glare at each other, but I make no further comment.

After a few, uneasy moments, he replies, "I understand."

Clearly they do not want me traveling to America. They are hiding something. I decide to push my advantage. "Good. Then I will be leaving for Paris after the first of the year to take up residence at the Hotel de Crillon for the month of January. I will expect a message confirming Joe's arrival by the end of the month."

Jeremy gets up and returns his empty glass to the sideboard, then says, "You have made yourself perfectly clear, Contessa. Be assured that you will be hearing from me. _Before_ your deadline." With a bow, he takes his leave.

I sink back into the chair and stare at the fire once more. Despite his assurance, I still have grave misgivings. I empty my wine glass. Just how will this all turn out? I wonder….


	126. Chapter 126

**A/N: Hello to all of our readers around the world from Phanna! I'm one of the writers on the Epic Case and want to take this opportunity to tell you how much the writing team enjoys your comments and reviews of each chapter. In fact, they are our reward for our hard work.**

**I hope you'll enjoy this newest chapter and leave a review for us. So, grab a cup of coffee or tea, get comfy, then settle in and let the chapter transport you to Château Mercier to find out what our favorite Phantom is up to.**

The spring sun is valiantly trying to melt the snow here in New England where I live. But in 1874 France it is still deep winter. While the Contessa waits in Paris for news about Joe, Erik plays his own waiting game.

* * *

**Chapter 81, Love Has No Other Desire But to Fulfill Itself, by Phanna**

_Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving. –The Prophet, on Love, by Kahlil Gibran_

_Late January, 1874_

_Château Mercier_

_Joe's POV:_

Matt and Jeremy are waiting by their horses at the edge of the clearing when I transport in. I'm standing in six inches of snow, and the air's so damn cold it feels like pin pricks on my face and arms. When they transported me out of the lab, I vaguely remember someone mumbling about grabbing a coat before I stepped into the transporter, but I ignored it, only thinking about seeing Nita again. As I jog over to Matt and Jeremy, I clap my arms across my chest and rub my arms, trying to warm them up.

"Here." Matt smiles a greeting and shoves my long coat at me. "Your teeth are chattering."

"Thanks." I notice Jeremy doesn't welcome me. He still looks as pissed as the day I left. "So, how come I'm back?" I'd bet a year's pay that Nita had something to do with my return. "They just told me that you'd brief me when I got here."

"The Contessa," Jeremy says dryly, "came up with a convincing argument to have you brought back."

"Yeah," Matt laughs, "in other words, she outmaneuvered everyone."

Yep, like I suspected. Nita had her own plan.

Matt ignores Jeremy's scowl and rattles on, "The Contessa used her political clout. She showed up here in December and had a ticket on a steamship to America. Come hell or high water, she was on her way to find you." Matt shakes his head, obviously impressed. "She even had a letter of introduction to the President." He reaches over and slaps me on the back. "President Grant."

"Enough, Matt!" Jeremy grinds out. "Let's head for the gamekeeper's cottage. Erik wants to have a talk with you, Joe, and I need to fill you in before we get there." We mount up and take the path to the cottage. As we ride, Jeremy begins to fill me in. "You have boundaries this time. You'll remain at the château and continue your work here. You will not be going to Spain anytime in the near future."

"I see." My gut tightens. The entire ride to the cottage, Jeremy tells me my duties and lays down the law. They plan to keep a tight rein on me. I'm still mulling over how I'll manage to see Nita as we arrive at the cottage.

"Look, Joe," Jeremy says as we're dismounting, "I know how hard it's going to be, but you've got to tow the line. Erik's relented somewhat, but we can't afford to have him go ballistic again and refuse to work with us. When you talk to him, use your common sense and don't agitate things. You know how important this mission is. And next time, there will be no leniency."

"Yeah, I get it." Loud and clear. Okay, so I'll have to play their game, their way.

"Good! You've only got two years on your obligation here, Joe. A lot can happen in that time." Jeremy glances over at Matt. "We've agreed to stay out of your relationship with the Contessa."

"Really? But if I can't go to Spain, how…"

Matt speaks up, "The Contessa is always showing up here for a visit."

"Right," I blurt out sarcastically, "and you think Erik will just ignore any relationship the Contessa and I have?"

"I think," Matt says, "if you don't flaunt it in front of him, he might be willing to overlook it. Marek talked to him, and Erik said he's going to give you a chance. Besides, you could always meet the Contessa in Paris."

"Paris?" What does that mean? Then the light bulb goes on. "I see." So Nita and I have to sneak around like kids who can't get caught or they're in trouble. My hackles rise. I don't want a clandestine relationship with Nita. But I need to keep my cool until I can figure out how to handle this. "So you'd let me go into Paris?" I ask Jeremy.

"Don't see why not. Especially if you have business there. You were always going to the city to pick up things for the château. And, by the way, the Contessa is still threatening to leave for America if you aren't back by the beginning of February. I'm sending you into Paris right after your little talk with Erik so she knows you're here. She's taken a suite at the Hotel de Crillon. We'll meet you here at the cottage with the carriage at 1800 tomorrow to take you to the château. We told the staff you had a family emergency when you left. We'll let them know everything's okay now, and you'll be returning tomorrow evening."

That means I'll have a day with Nita! "Thanks, Jeremy."

As we walk toward the cottage, the door opens and Ace steps out. He tells Jeremy, "There's a slight change of plans. Erik still wants to talk to Joe, but alone."

My gut clenches, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. Learned a lot lately about how to stop inserting my foot in my mouth. Jeremy glances at me, then quips, "Just remember, Erik never goes anywhere without his Punjab lasso." The three of them snicker.

"Glad you guys are getting a kick out of this!" I snort.

Steeling myself, I open the cottage door and go inside. The room's barely warmer than outside. Not even a fire going. My breath forms little puffs in the cold air. I look around for Erik, but don't see him. The hair on the back of my neck prickles when he steps out from a shadowy corner. His face is stony above his black cape, and the rigid set of his jaw tells me he's still thinking about our last encounter. I get a feeling this isn't going to be pleasant.

He walks over to me, but doesn't say anything. I can play this game, too. We stand for several silent minutes, staring at each other. Suddenly he throws one arm up, sending his cape over his shoulder. I take a step back, waiting for the lasso to fly at me. But it doesn't. I see a spark of…what is that in his eyes? Victory? Disdain? When he speaks his voice is a growl, threatening. "You would be wise to heed my words. I will not permit a simple dalliance on your part with the Contessa." Before I can react, he's in front of me, snatching my shirt and yanking me within inches of his face. His teeth are bared, his eyes narrowed and lethal as he hisses, "If you exploit or harm her in any manner, I give you my word that I will not stop until I have tracked you down. There will be no escape. Nor will you survive."

My blood hammers through my veins. I know he's as serious as a heart attack, but I can't act like a sniveling weasel, cowering in fear. My mouth goes dry, but I draw myself up and say, "I understand how you feel, Erik."

His piercing eyes bore into mine, unrelenting for long, drawn-out moments. Hellfire burns deep in his eyes and my fate hangs in the balance. Finally he spits out, "For your sake, you better." Then he releases my shirt and shoves me away.

But I don't retreat. This needs to be resolved here and now. I take a deep breath, hoping I don't die for what I'm about to say. "I care about the Contessa."

Erik sneers. "Like you cared about all the women I saw you pursue in the short time I was in the future?"

I always knew that my womanizing would one day bite me in the ass. Matt used to tell me that all the time. I plunge in, trying to explain. "Erik, I know you believe I have a casual way toward women, but it's different in our century."

"Indeed? But you are no longer in your century."

He's right. My time in the nineteenth century has taught me plenty. The women here are treated with more reverence, more respect. And Erik had always felt uncomfortable about the relationships between men and women in the future. "Well, I have to admit that your century has different ways."

"Then why did you treat Antoinette in such a manner?" his eyes blaze, "I saw you taking advantage of her. When she rebuked your advances, you put her aside."

"No, that's not what happened." I run my hand through my hair, thinking how messed up things can get when people make assumptions. Since he's not trying to kill me, I push forward. "As much as I loved Antoinette, she loved Ace. All I wanted was for her to be happy, so I let her go." He doesn't say anything, so I continue, "Looks like Ace and she are pretty happy."

He snarls and takes a step toward me. "How can you stand there and tell me you loved Antoinette and then quickly forget that as soon as you met the Contessa?"

I move back, keeping a safe distance between us. "It wasn't like that with the Contessa! You make it sound tawdry. Look Erik. We all make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. I have. Antoinette taught me a lot about love and what to expect. It's more than just the feeling you get in your gut when you see an attractive woman. Sure, there has to be a physical attraction between the both of you, but that's not the only thing that matters." Erik's glowering at me again and moves closer, off to my side. Probably the physical attraction comment didn't settle well.

I keep talking. Just hope I don't push him over the edge with something I say, but I've got to make him understand. "When I first met the Contessa, I escorted her around the château. You saw how interested she was in the improvements we were putting in place here. I showed her everything and answered all of her questions. She's one smart lady!" Erik snorts and walks around behind me. I turn and face him, realizing that we're warily circling each other. Or rather, he's circling, and I'm warily keeping a distance. "We spent a lot of time together here and then in Spain. We became friends." Something dawns on me. "It didn't take you very long to fall in love with Laura. I remember. I was there!"

"That is none of your affair!" His teeth are bared again.

"I know, but can't you see the parallel?" I ask quickly. At his black scowl, I figure the better part of wisdom is to change the subject. "I had a lot of time to think while I was in the brig. I know I did a bunch of lousy things in my past. But I'm different now. One night I even had a dream that you visited me! That was some dream! It was like you were actually there, in my cell with me! You accused me of the same things you're accusing me of now!"

Suddenly he halts. Stops moving in that relentless circle. "Indeed?" His piercing eyes study me, but I can tell he's mulling over what I said.

"In that dream," I continue, "I also admitted to you how much I care about the Contessa. And, Erik, like it or not, she cares about me, too. Or why would she do what she did to bring me back? Is that such a bad thing? For two people to care about each other?"

Once again he glowers at me, holding me frozen for a nerve-wracking stretch of time. Did I push him over the edge with that one? I watch his hand, ready just in case he grabs for his Punjab lasso. When he moves abruptly, I raise my arms in defense, but he turns away and walks to the oak table. I wait, prepared, not sure what he's going to do next. Without looking at me, he growls out, "If you are telling the truth, then I will bide my time and see for myself. But remember the warning I gave you and do nothing to provoke my wrath." He throws open the trapdoor in the floor, "Tell the others I have returned to the château," and disappears.

I spend a few minutes mulling over what just transpired between us. So he's willing to wait and see if I'm telling the truth. For an instant I wonder if it's some kind of trick he plans to play on me. But, on the other hand, I'm not so sure, especially if Nita's involved. Something's changed about Erik. And I sure as hell know I've changed. I finally have my head screwed on straight and know what's important to me.

Everyone looks a bit surprised when I walk outside. Guess they figured I'd come out a little worse for wear. Or not at all. I gotta admit I felt my chances were pretty slim when I went in. But at least I know where I stand now with Erik. And it's up to me to make sure I don't screw up.

I relay Erik's message and mount my horse. "I'll be here at 1800 tomorrow."

"You damn well better be!" Jeremy snarls as he and Ace mount and take off for the château.

Matt pulls his horse alongside mine. He grins, fishing for info. "So, the conversation went okay?"

"Yeah." But that's all he's gonna get out of me. What happened and what was said stays between Erik and me. When we get to the road, Matt rides back to the château, and I turn onto the road to Paris.

I yank the collar of my coat up around my neck and ears, wishing I had my warm wool scarf. Damn, it's cold, and it's snowing again. That's gonna slow me down. I sure as hell don't want to freeze out here, so I dig in my pocket for gloves and find only one. Must have lost the other somewhere. I pull it on the hand that holds the reins and jam the other hand in my pocket. I urge my horse as fast as I dare. Don't want us stuck out here because I pushed him too hard.

I let my mind wander to Nita as I pass the area where I last kissed her. Where Erik found us. But nothing can erase the memory of her kiss. That memory kept me company the entire time I've been away.

At last I hit the outskirts of Paris. It doesn't take me long to find the Hotel de Crillon. Matt gave me her room number. I'm so cold now that I can't stop shivering and have to pry the reins out of my frozen glove. I try to shake some of the crusted snow from my coat, but some clings stubbornly to the fabric. I pay extra at the livery stable to make sure my horse is properly cared for, including an extra scoop of oats. Heads turn when I enter the hotel. I must look like the abominable snowman! I hurry through the lobby and up the stairs. My heart pounds as I stop in front of Nita's door and raise my hand to knock

_Hotel de Crillon, Paris_

_The Contessa's POV:_

I gaze out the tall window of my suite and watch snowflakes fall lazily onto the already snow-covered Place de la Concorde. My eyes are drawn to the spot directly in front of the hotel where King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were tragically guillotined almost a hundred years ago. The window doesn't keep the cold air from radiating into the room, but I don't like to draw the heavy draperies. They block out the light. I pull the soft cashmere shawl tighter around my shoulders. Restlessly, I turn from the window and survey the room, looking for something to occupy myself and distract me from my thoughts. I'm not used to the inactivity and confinement of a hotel suite, but the inclement weather keeps me from taking a walk. I would arrange for a carriage ride, but I travel nowhere without Alejandro, and two days ago I sent him to visit his daughter and her family again before we leave France.

I amble over to the Louis XV desk stacked with books and dig out the one I tried to read last night when sleep would not come. Sitting on the settee in front of the fireplace, I open the book to the page where I left off. When I realize I'm reading the same paragraph for the third time, I set it aside, irritated. My mind will not be still. It whirls with all my thoughts until I feel I could go quite mad.

It is the end of the month, and I still have not received a message from Jeremy. I have no choice now but to implement my plan and sail to America in a few days. My anger flares at the thought that Jeremy merely told me they would bring Joe back in order to delay my departure. When Alejandra returns tomorrow evening, I will have him purchase our tickets and make arrangements for our journey.

Unsettled, I get up and pace, my concerns tumbling around in my mind about Jeremy, the voyage to America. And Joe. Distractedly, I walk into the richly appointed bedchamber and glance around. Everything is decorated in gold and ghastly shades of pink. Two colors I abhor. Renard calls this the Marie Antoinette Bedchamber. He often spouts unsolicited facts, but I presume it is part of his duties as concierge to my suite. I tolerate his idiosyncrasies since his service to me is unparalleled. He has an efficient air and quick wit, always anticipating my needs. Often before I need them. As for this bedchamber, it is flamboyantly furnished after the fashions and tastes of the doomed queen. Too large and impersonal for my tastes, not at all like my bedroom at my hacienda.

I close my eyes and envision my room in Spain. The doors open wide to warm breezes and my veranda which overlooks the inner courtyard. I can see the cool blues and lush greens of the curtains and tiles. The same blues and greens of the pool where Joe and I spent long, sultry nights together. I hastily push those images aside. I miss my beloved home where I am surrounded by familiar objects. But first I have an arduous journey ahead of me. How long will it be before I can return to my hacienda?

As I walk back into the sitting room, I hear a tap on the door. Hoping to hear news of Joe, I hurry across the plush Aubusson carpet and open the door. Renard smiles broadly at me, making his thin moustache curl even more on the ends, and motions for the server with him to push a luncheon cart into the room. "Buenas tardes, Contessa."

"Bonjour, Monsieur." I return his smile.

"I took the liberty of allowing our renowned chef to decide upon your luncheon today." Renard will sometimes do this when I have not ordered a meal. With a flourish he lifts the various lids, announcing each dish, "Saumon Fumé, Soupe à l'Oignon, Poulet au Portor, Crépe au Fromage de Chévre and fresh fruit. The fruit arrived only this morning from our greenhouse outside Paris."

"It looks most appetizing, Renard. Please extend my appreciation to the chef."

He bows and follows the retreating server to the door. "If there is anything else I can do for you, Contessa, you need but ring."

"Merci, Renard. I thank you for your service." He bows and shuts the door softly behind him. I glance at the large array of food set out on the table. I have only been in the formal dining room of the hotel a few times during the past month. Usually I order my meals delivered to the room. I sit down, intending to eat, but even the delicious onion soup does not tempt me today. I feel out of sorts and on edge. I place the cover back on the dish and get up from the table, deciding on a stroll outside even though the snow is falling quite heavily now. I will stay close to the hotel and take just a short walk. Perhaps that will alleviate some of my restlessness. I gather my wool cloak and start for the door.

Just as I reach it, someone knocks. It is too soon for Renard to send someone to clear the dishes away. Perhaps Alejandro has returned early. He isn't due back until tomorrow evening though. Has something happened? Anxiously, I open the door. My heart stops.

For several seconds Joe and I just stand there. I gaze deeply into his eyes and hear myself gasp, "Joe!"

Suddenly I'm in his arms and he's breathing 'Nita' into my ear. His deep voice sounds like manna from heaven. My frustration and fears seem to release from deep within me and I start to weep. He sweeps me into the suite, shutting the door behind us and throwing the latch, solidly separating us from the outside world.

"Shh, everything's going to be alright. I'm here now." His warm breath and reassurances against my hair make me feel safe. My face presses against his neck, and I take in the familiar scent of him. His coat is covered in snow, but I ignore the cold against my skin. With infinite patience he holds me securely in the circle of his arms. I feel him trembling, echoing my own feelings. He continues to comfort me as I weep. When my tears have run their course, he asks, "Does this mean that you missed me?"

I cannot keep a laugh from escaping. "Si, that is what it means." His eyes sparkle with mirth as he hands me his handkerchief. As I wipe my tears, I study him. His hair is caked with bits of snow and his lips tinged blue. Then I notice he's still trembling. "Ay dios mio! You are half frozen!" I grab his hand and lead him to the settee in front of the fire. "Sit and warm yourself."

As he throws off his coat, he gives me a faint smile through chattering teeth. "Thought I'd turn into an icicle before I got here."

I hurry into the bedroom and grab a blanket off the bed. I sit close to him and tuck it around both of us. He wraps his arms around me, seeking the warmth of my body. Then I remember the hot tea on my luncheon tray. But when I touch the teapot, I find it's already lukewarm. I ring the bell and within moments Renard is at the door. "Please prepare a hot bath immediately in front of the fire in the bedchamber. Then bring a large pot of," I look over at Joe and remember that he doesn't like tea, "coffee. Also have the chef prepare another tray of food right away."

Renard surreptitiously glances toward Joe and nods. He's about to leave when Joe speaks up, "Add a bottle of whiskey, too."

Within minutes I hear servants moving about in the bedroom. When they are gone, I lead Joe into the bedroom. Wisps of steam rise from the tub. The servants have stoked the fire until the flames are blazing and heat pours into the room. Joe stops in front of the bed. "There's another way to warm me up, Nita." He smiles lasciviously.

A shiver of pleasure courses through me. His eyes smolder with passion as he reaches out to cup my face with his hands. They are ice cold! "First a hot bath. Then we will consider what to do next," I say sternly, but secretly I am anxious for him to take me in his arms and make love to me. As I assist him out of his clothing, I cannot help but notice the way his muscles move along his broad shoulders. Surely he must hear my heart pounding and see my pulse racing as I watch him lower himself into the hot water. I turn away, attempting to recover my composure.

Next to the screen that has been set up for privacy, a small bench holds several thick towels. I blink in surprise. There is also a man's dressing robe! Giving silent thanks to Renard, I busy myself hanging the towels and robe closer to the fire to warm them. Suddenly, Joe grabs my hand. "Stop fidgeting and sit here with me. I want to just look at you. I can hardly believe I'm here. It's been so long since we've been together."

I sit next to the tub and murmur, "It has been too long. I thought I would go insane at times, not knowing what was happening to you. And if I would ever see you again."

"You have no idea how hard I tried to find a way to return. But it seemed hopeless. Then out of the blue, Horatio told me that I was going to be sent back." Before I can ask who Horatio is, he draws me closer. "I missed you so much." His voice is husky.

"I missed you, too." Not caring a whit if my gown gets wet, I slide my arms around his neck and lean forward to kiss him. Long and languidly.

Joe moans, then gently pushes me away, grumbling in frustration, "Someone's knocking at the door."

Reluctantly I get up and straighten my day dress. I pull the bedroom door closed and hurry to find Renard with a cart filled with covered dishes. He is alone. I realize he's protecting our privacy. He clears away the other dishes and resets the table, then takes his leave, saying he will not disturb us unless I ring.

I gather the coffee and whiskey on a tray and find Joe lounging back in the tub. His skin has a rosy glow to it from the heated water. He watches as I set the coffee next to the tub and pour a cup for him. "Add some of the whiskey, please," he asks.

I watch him take several sips of the hot brew before I venture a question. "So when did you return from America?"

"Just this morning." He drains the cup, then sets it on the tray. "Matt and Jeremy, uh, picked me up. I didn't know you were here in Paris until I got to the château. I headed straight here as soon as I could. Should've grabbed some warmer things, but I was too impatient to see you."

"Si, you must take better care of yourself. But I am glad that you are here with me."

I offer more of the coffee and whiskey, but he shakes his head. "No, the bath and the first one pretty well did the trick." He sits up in the tub. "I only have until tomorrow afternoon with you. Then I've got to return to the château."

"So quickly?"

"Yes. Jeremy said if you didn't hear from him by the end of the January, you were setting sail for America to find me." He grins. "In fact, he was really pis…, er, upset," his grin broadens, "I don't think he expected you to get the upper hand. I'm glad you had a plan to resolve this. I sure as hell didn't get anywhere with mine."

It's reassuring to learn that Jeremy has been upset. It was an unpredictable game I played, but my intuition tells me that Joe being returned was just another strategic move on their part in the broader scheme of their machinations. "Were you in jail the entire time?"

"You mean the brig? Nah." He reaches over and grabs a towel, then stands up and steps out of the tub. I watch him dry off, the fire silhouetting his body. He's lost weight since I last saw him. He pulls the robe on, but doesn't tie it, all the while talking. "I served my time and then was assigned to Horatio. He's my ex-commander. Now he's one of the big shots in the Navy." He walks over to me and takes me in his arms. "Now about that bed and warming me up…"

I have so much I want to say and ask him, but he forestalls that when he begins kissing me. It doesn't take long before my clothing has been put aside. His fingers gently search and remove my hairpins. When he has taken them out, he runs his hands through my hair, causing it to tumble down past my hips. My hair has always fascinated him. He lifts it aside to kiss my neck, my shoulder and then my breasts. "Beautiful, so beautiful," Joe murmurs against the sensitive skin. His hand slides beneath my hair gently gliding over my back and hips. Suddenly he entwines his fingers in my hair and pulls me fully against him. I gasp, then he is lifting and carrying me across the room. I protest when his kisses stop as he lays me on the bed. He laughs, deep and husky, but in less than a moment he is beside me, the warmth of his mouth again on mine. The blazing fire on the hearth is but a flicker compared to the fire which blazes between us.

He touches and kisses me with his hands and lips, leaving me trembling and weak. Unrelenting in his ardor, he introduces me to pleasures I did not know. When I cannot bear the exquisite torture any longer, I whisper my need, "Joe….I…" Moaning, he lifts me to him and takes us to the pinnacle, to la petite mort.

Joe enfolds me in the comfort of his arms as we slowly drift back and the pounding of our hearts begins to slow. I am floating on a cloud of contentment when he reaches out and turns my face to meet his gaze. "I love you, Nita."

I have known for a long time that I am in love with Joe, but have always held back telling him. Then he was gone and I could not. I was afraid we would never have the opportunity to speak these words to each other. Without hesitation, I reply, "I love you, too, mi amor."

He kisses me tenderly. When he lifts his lips from mine, he is grinning. He rises up on his elbow, looking down on me. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

"Do?" I smooth a stray lock of hair back from his forehead, running my fingers through his thick hair as I have so often seen him do.

"Yes. Usually when two people are in love they get married."

"Oh, Joe." I place my hand over his still-pounding heart. "I love you so, but we have to be practical."

"I know I don't have anything to offer you right now except me…"

"No, that is not what I meant. I've already married a man who had everything to offer: a noble family, prestige, wealth. But it was not a happy marriage. Perhaps one day we will talk and I will tell you more."

"I'm always ready to listen whenever you want to tell me." He traces my lips with his finger.

"Gracias, mi amor. You have always been so easy to talk to. So, you see, such things are not important to me. Your love is all that I need, Joe." I reach up and kiss him. "But there are other considerations."

He sighs. "I know what you're saying. But my obligation to the team is up in less than two years. I'll be free to make my own choices as long as I follow their rules until then."

Rules? I tense. "Did Erik make those rules?"

"Nah. At least not all of them." Unconsciously he runs his fingers through his hair. "Erik and I had a chat today before I came here. You know, I can actually see where he's coming from. He brought up a lot of things I'm not proud of about my past." He looks at me sheepishly. "I have to admit I was a bit of a womanizer." This does not surprise me. I hide my smile as he continues, "Even though I've changed, Erik doesn't see it. He's concerned that I'll take advantage of you."

"And did you convince him that you would not?"

"I tried, but he's not buying it yet. I told him how much I cared about you and said that I thought you felt the same. Then I asked him if it was wrong for two people who cared about each other to be together."

I hold my breath. "What was his reaction?"

"He surprised me. Told me he'd wait and watch to see if I was telling the truth. I'm thinking that over time maybe he'll see how much I love you."

Could it be possible that Erik has changed his mind about Joe? I see a glimmer of hope. "That sounds promising."

He lifts my hand and kisses the palm, generating small tendrils of pleasure. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

His words touch my soul. And the deepest part of my heart. And then I remember my discussion with Adolfo and how he had told me to follow my heart. "That is what I want, too. And one way or another, Joe, I promise we will somehow find a way."

The fire has burned low, so I move closer to him, seeking the heat from his body. He pulls the covers over us as we both drift off to sleep. I awaken to soft caresses on my shoulder and Joe's soft voice in my ear. "You were sleeping so soundly I didn't think I'd ever get you to wake up. I'm hungry."

I yawn and stretch, then let my hand fall on Joe's bare chest. His skin is warm now. I glance at the clock and see that we've only been sleeping an hour. "There's a whole table full of food in the sitting room."

"Yeah, I know. But that's not what I'm hungry for." Unabashedly, he chuckles.

I laugh and pull him against me so I can kiss him. His hand begins to explore my body and mine his, rekindling the flames of our passion. This time our lovemaking is unhurried and in the languid aftermath, we drift into an exhausted, but satisfied, sleep.

The room is dark when we awaken, the fire now just glowing embers. Joe tends the fire while I slip on my dressing gown and walk into the sitting room. I stop to gaze out the tall window at the myriad of lights stretched out along the Place de la Concorde. Joe comes and stands behind me, circling my waist with his arms. He draws me back against his strong chest. "Beautiful, aren't they?" I ask.

"Very lovely," he says as he kisses the curve of my neck.

I glance at our reflections in the glass of the window and realize he's looking at my décolleté. In the reflection, our eyes meet as his hands softly caress my neck and then glide slowly downward, inflaming my passion. With fascination, I watch as he moves even lower, his fingers along my stomach and hips.

"I'm hungry," he murmurs against my neck. When he sees me arch my eyebrow in the reflection, he chuckles. "This time I need food first! But I promise that we will continue this." With a final kiss on my shoulder, the rogue pulls me away from the window and seats me at the table. Thankfully Renard left so much food, we won't need more until morning. That gives us the rest of the evening and all night, undisturbed. As we uncover the dishes, I keep glancing toward the tall window, imagining how…

"Can you pass me the chicken?" he asks.

"I am afraid the food has turned cold. Do you want me to have Renard bring more?"

"Nah. This is fine." Reaching for the chicken, he says, "I like cold chicken anyway." He grins at me as he lifts practically the whole chicken and places it on his plate.

"Do you want some of the Saumon Fumé?" I ask as I take a small piece of the smoked salmon.

"No, thanks. This'll hold me. The French sure do know how to cook," he says as he takes another bite.

I take a sip of the Spanish wine Renard left. It's an excellent local wine which comes from the Montecillo winery in the Rioja Alta region of Spain, and served often in my hacienda. It makes me think of Sue and how she would ask about the vineyards and the process of winemaking. "Did Sue come back with you from America?"

"No." He looks away. "She decided to stay there. She's stationed close to our parents. They'll love having her near."

"What do you mean by 'stationed?'"

A flicker of panic crosses his face. "Nothing. I'm just used to talking in military terms."

I sense he's covering something up. "So what happened to Sue?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "There was a family emergency. And she…"

"I am no fool. That was simply a story they used to explain why you and Sue were suddenly whisked away to America!" Then my temper flares over what they did to Joe. And Sue. "They had no business sending you away like that!"

"But in all fairness, they did. I was given a direct order and didn't follow it. It was my fault. But I won't repeat that mistake."

"So why did they have to send Sue back as well?" Then a thought occurs to me. "Are you telling me Sue is in the military, and they put her in the brig, too?"

"Uh, well, uh, that is…no, not in the brig!" He runs his hand through his hair. A telltale sign he's uncomfortable. I think he's lying to me. I just stare at him, waiting for him to tell me the truth. "Look, Nita, Sue's fine. I saw her right before I left, and she was on the way to visit our parents. She even forgave me for dragging her into this mess."

"I can tell you are avoiding my questions. Not just on this subject, but you do the same thing about others as well. And there are so many things that do not make sense. There is something about the Americans that strikes me as odd. They are very secretive. Erik even has secrets about the time he spent in America. And you seem to be in the possession of knowledge that is very unusual. What is this all about?"

He falls back in the chair and groans. "I knew this was going to be hard, but damn, you are one persistent woman." He starts to run his hand through his hair again, but notices I'm watching and stops. "I gotta break that habit. You already know the Americans are in France for a purpose, and not to spy." He gets up and walks to the window. "My hands are tied, and I can't tell you any more! I have to walk the straight and narrow. Jeremy already warned me that if I don't and they send me back again, it will be for good."

I do not want anything to jeopardize our future, so I will drop this subject with Joe. But I will bide my time. Somehow I will uncover what these Americans are all about. For now I focus on the mere hours we have left before Joe must return to the château, and I must return to Spain.

Joe asks what has happened since he left and insists that I give him the details of how I managed the letter of introduction to the President in America. He seems particularly amused at that. And even though I ask many questions about his time in America, he is adept at giving me answers that tell me nothing.

During the night we do not get much sleep. At one point Joe announces that he is once again hungry. That he is in the mood for a picnic. I laugh as he spreads a cloth in the middle of the dreadful pink quilt, then disappears into the sitting room and reappears with a large tray. He sets it on the cloth with a flourish of 'tah-dah's,' making me laugh even harder. We feast from the plate of cheeses, croissants and fruit, then finish off the last bottle of wine as he relates every funny story he can think of. Then he demands I do the same. My sides ache from laughter, but I will never forget this night. It is etched in my memory as the most joyous occasion in my life.

In the morning, it's nearly eleven before we wake and I ring the bell to summon Renard to bring food. He serves us in his usual proficient manner, then leaves. As Joe drinks his coffee, I enjoy a cup of thick and creamy chocolat chaud. I try not to keep glancing at the clock, but I know we only have a few more hours until he must leave. Because the weather outside is still frigid, I tell him I want to hire a carriage to take him back to the château.

He agrees, then leans back in the chair drinking his second cup of coffee. "Do you know what I would really like right now?" he asks.

"Si," I smile at him, "or perhaps I could guess."

"Not this time!" He chuckles. He closes his eyes and sniffs the air. "I would really love to have one of Jeanette's hot cinnamon rolls that she bakes for me."

I nearly choke on my chocolat chaud.

"Are you alright?"

"Si." Joe often talks about Jeanette's cooking. How ironic that she will be in Spain with Alejandro in a few months, and if all goes as I plan, Joe will be joining me in Spain in two years when his duty is done at the château. "But I must tell you that you better continue to 'walk the straight and narrow.' In time perhaps you will consider living in Spain."

He looks at me, puzzled. "Of course, I plan on living in Spain as soon as I'm free. What does that have to do with a cinnamon roll?"

"At Christmastime Alejandro asked Jeanette to marry him. And she accepted!"

He laughs. "Good for Jeanette. I could tell she was crazy about him. Glad she's doing something about it. And that means I'll have a steady supply of cinnamon rolls."

We discuss our plans for the next few months and decide that I will return to France before Easter. I will spend time first with Raoul and Christine. Since they are accustomed to my visiting old friends, it should be easy to spend the day, and possibly a night, at the Hotel de Crillon with Joe. After that, I will visit the château. It will be our first test in front of Erik. We both admit that makes us a little nervous.

When Renard comes to clear the table, I ask him to arrange for a carriage to Château Mercier. I also give him a small shopping list while Joe is in the other room. Because of the inclement weather, Joe plans to leave midafternoon. We make passionate love one more time, knowing that it will be weeks before we see each other again.

Finally it is time for him to leave. He takes me in his arms and asks, "Ride with me to the château, Nita."

"I cannot, Joe." I caress his face, admitting my fears to him. "I wouldn't be able to say goodbye to you on the road. And I believe it is too soon to test Erik. Give him, give all of us, more time before that happens."

"As always, you're right." He kisses me deeply and then turns to leave.

"Wait." I gather up the package Renard bought. "You will need these."

He opens the package which contains a warm hat, gloves and a thick cashmere scarf. He gives me another lingering kiss, reluctant to say adieu. With a grin, he says, "Thank you, my darling. I will think of them as your hands touching me when I wear them."

Sadly, I watch as he walks down the corridor. He turns to look back, lingering a moment, then rounds the corner and is gone. The room doesn't seem so confining now, knowing it will just be a matter of time before I see him again. I pour a cup of tea and go to the window, hoping to get a glimpse of him. Once again my thoughts race through my mind. But now they are quite different. This time I make plans for the future. For our future.


	127. Chapter 127

**A/N: Well! Spring and weddings are in the air! To all our fans in England, congratulations on a truly classy and happy wedding! Catherine's dress was classic, yet modest, which one style guru said may begin a new trend. Not a bad idea, that! And William's behavior was warm, open and caring to everyone, from the wedding guests (he broke custom and went to the church early to be able to speak to the close friends and family before the ceremony), to the warm, loving words he spoke to his bride when she took her place by his side at the altar. His smile reminded me constantly of Diana's, and she can be very proud of her son and the example she set for him. Hopefully, William's role in British and world affairs will continue to follow her compassionate lead.**

At Château Mercier, spring has arrived, with sunshine and blossoming flowers and love is mostly definitely in the air. A perfect time for a wedding.

* * *

**Chapter 127 Spring has Sprung, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Château Mercier_

_Spring, Saturday, 1874_

_Terese's POV:_

The world coalesces around me. I discover I'm on a hill between the cottage and château. It's a gorgeous spring day, and I've arrived just beneath one of the grand oak trees. The sound of children laughing comes from behind me, so I turn around, and since I'm still invisible, spy on the scene below.

Little Erik has grabbed a ball from his sister and is running as fast as his little legs can carry him toward his father. Elizabeth is in hot pursuit and catches up with him before he gets to his father's open arms. She grabs the ball from her brother and runs back toward Laura who is sitting about thirty feet from Erik, both of them serving as human goal posts in a game of toddler football. Little Erik catches up with his sister and deftly snatches the ball out of her arms, then turns and goes into a dead run toward his father again. Angelica is coaching her brother and sister from the sidelines. Both parents are laughing so hard, they can barely get out their words of encouragement.

This time Erik leans forward and snatches Little Erik into his arms. The boy squeals, "Touchdown, Papa!" Erik lets out a laugh as they tumble to the ground together.

As I slip out of the shadows of the tree and head for the château, Angelica's head turns, tracking me. "Is Auntie Terese coming for the wedding, Papa?" she asks Erik.

"No, not that I have been told. Why do you ask?" Erik replies, as he looks around the meadow, suspicious.

"Oh, I just thought that she might."

As I walk down the long driveway to the château, Angelica continues to steal glances my way. So, she can see me! Could that mean she has psychic abilities and can see beyond the three dimensions? After all, I have not fully materialized yet from time travel. I wanted to be here for the wedding, but with my noticeable pregnancy...well, Jeremy and I felt that would be a tad difficult to explain. In the nineteenth century, they would wonder who my husband was, and our marriage has never been announced formally here. Yes, very difficult to explain.

I sneak in the side door to the basement and go to the hidden underground complex. No one is in the office area, but then I always send my updates for Jeremy early in the morning. I go up the stone stairwell to the third floor and enter Jeremy's room. He's not here, either, as I expected. It's early afternoon, and he's no doubt busy with his duties. I gaze longingly at his bed. I know how comfy it is, and I'm exhausted. I seem to get that way a lot lately. Even take occasional naps, and I think right about now, that is exactly what I need. I fully materialize and crawl under the covers. The busy sounds of people in the stable and courtyard below drift up through the open window. The fragrance of blooming roses and lilacs are carried in on the wind. Contentedly, I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.

"Wake up." I feel a nudge, but burrow farther under the quilt. "Wake up, Goldilocks," the persistent voice repeats. I don't move, hoping it will go away. Suddenly a huge, wet kiss lands on my mouth, and my eyes pop open.

"Jeremy!"

"Who did you think it was? Papa Bear?"

"Well, that's not far from the truth, since you're going to be a papa, my big bear of a man. And very soon."

"HOW SOON?" His eyes go wide with panic.

I pull back the quilt and expose my balloon-sized stomach. His eyes go even wider as he gives out a low whistle. "I see now why women are so connected to the moon. That's as round as any full moon I've seen." He leans down and kisses my stomach, then places his ear against it, listening.

"Are they saying hi?" I ask him jokingly.

"Yep, and they're saying to get them out of there!" He looks up at me and adds, "I'll bet it's a bit cramped."

"Well it isn't like they don't get their exercise. Sometimes it feels like they're doing gymnastics, and my stomach has all these little feet and elbows and hands bopping all over the place."

"Wow! That I gotta see!"

"Oh, don't worry, it'll happen before I leave." I grin and he plants another huge kiss on me.

"Just how long will you be here?"

"A couple days. Just to see the wedding. My delivery date is within a couple weeks and I prefer our children be born in the future. In fact, that's one of the reasons I came now. I have something to discuss with you."

"What's that?" he tilts his head questioningly.

"We have to decide which future our children will be born in."

"What do you mean 'which future'?"

"Well, Jeremy," I sit up and rest my back against the headboard and take his hand, "remember what I told you about my father?"

"Yes, that he was the one who nurtured your love of the sky and space. He's the one who inspired you to become a quantum physicist and join the time travel team."

"That's right! I was following his footsteps. He was on the original team that developed time travel. So when I was a girl, he would share his stories about the trips people were taking into the past, especially about Marek. His trips were always hair-raising adventures. And, it wasn't planned that he'd fall in love with a woman from the fourteenth century and want to live there, but when you love someone, that seems to change everything."

"Boy don't I know that! Erik and Laura! Russ and Danielle. Ace and Antoinette. Now Matt and Daire."

"To say nothing about us, huh? We fell in love between our time trips and have a marriage that's definitely timeless!" I pick up his hand and kiss it gently. "But, actually, my father's love of my mother also has happened across time."

"I don't understand. Your mother was born in the future and didn't you say she died when you were born? How would that have anything to do with time travel?"

"My mother was the love of my father's life. As much as he loved me, I could always sense his deep emptiness at her not being there. Every holiday, every joyous occasion-he would get tears in his eyes and say that she should be here to enjoy it with us. Then, as I told you, one day, he disappeared. Left no warning or notes. No one knew where he went. But I always suspected that he went back in time for her. I always felt he wanted to go back and warn the doctors about the hemorrhage that occurred when I was born so they would take precautions and save her. I always thought that was why there was never any trace of him in the world. Because he was no longer in our world. That was another reason why I worked so hard to join the time travel project. I wanted to find him. And Jeremy, I have!"

"What?" He grins. "Where?"

"The new time travel technology is far more sophisticated. As you know, we can arrive anywhere without using those mechanical pods. And when we arrive, we're like specters and can move about until we decide to materialize. Well, I discovered another feature of this system when I traveled back from my last visit here. You see, I was thinking about my father as the time travel engaged to take me back. But I didn't go to the future we come from, Jeremy. I landed in a different future. In the future which belongs to this new timeline. The one being created with the teams that are working to change the course of history. I arrived in that future."

His mouth drops open, and he stares at me in disbelief. After gathering his wits, he asks, "How do you know that?"

"I know it because the world is so different. So beautiful. So peaceful. And, my father was there! I actually arrived just outside his home. He was on his patio, reading a book. When I arrived and allowed myself to be seen, he just stared at me in shock. Even though he hadn't seen me since he left when I was seven years old, he recognized me!"

"Incredible! But I thought that a person can't exist in two bodies in the same time period."

"Well, I wasn't alive in that timeline. My father explained that I died when I was ten years old. A car crash."

"And your mother? Did he find her?"

"Yes, Jeremy, my father found her. He succeeded in arriving just before my birth. And by the way, he found out what happens when a person goes to a timeline where they already exist. Instead of one of them dying as we had feared, what actually happens is that the souls simply join in the one body. So, he had all the memories of his lives in both timelines! He got there in time to give the doctors the information they needed to save my mother's life. And she didn't die in the car crash. I was in a friend's car that day. Neither of my parents were with us. My mother is still alive. I met her!" I have to stop as my throat closes with emotion. Jeremy reaches up and wipes away my tears.

"But I still don't understand, Terese, how did you end up there instead of our timeline?"

"My father and I discussed this at great length. We are quite certain that both he and I ended up in that timeline because of our intention. Our desire to go there. He was thinking that he wanted to be with my mother, and I was thinking I wished I could find him. That mental and emotional intention, at the same instant we were traveling through time, is what directed us there. It appears that such strong intention can override and direct time travel."

"So why didn't your father ever return to you to let you know?"

"Because there is no time travel in that future. My father said that when he arrived, he sought out STARLab, but it didn't exist. That's when he found out that time travel doesn't exist in the future of this new timeline that you and Erik and all our teams are creating. He didn't know why or when the decision had been made. All he could find out was that time travel was forbidden. So there was no STARLab for him to go to, and no way for him to be sent back."

"Then how did you get back?"

"I got back because the new time travel system doesn't require pods! And because of Merlin! When I didn't arrive back at STARLab, Merlin went bugnuts!" I chuckle. "He felt I'd been lost in time somewhere, which had never happened before. At least as far as they knew. Since my father had traveled back in secret one night, no one saw him leave. Anyway, Merlin pulled out all the stops. Barely slept for days while he tried different permutations of the system. Then, one day, I was having a chat with my Dad when suddenly I was snatched away and found myself back at STARLab."

"That must have been a shock!" Jeremy breathes out.

"Yes, both for me and STARLab! When Merlin came down from his high horse of retrieving me successfully, a big meeting was called with all the top scientists, political leaders and brass. Even Horatio was there. They wanted to know everything about where I'd been and how I'd gotten there."

"I'll bet they wanted to know all about the future, too."

"Oh yeah! They grilled me. I told them our teams succeed in changing this destructive course we're on. I told them about all the social and environmental programs that had been put in place. And that war has been ended. World War I and World War II never happened. Or any wars since then." More tears come to my eyes. "So Jeremy, the work you've done, that is being done here at the château and will continue to be done at Maison d'espoir and in the university Erik will found, all plant seeds and educate a generation that becomes politically active and makes different decisions. All the different teams we sent back will contribute in their own ways, and they will succeed!"

"I'll bet everyone at STARLab was relieved to hear that!"

"They were. And I know now when it was decided to eliminate time travel! They had a conference all night long, Jeremy. Asked me so many questions. I was there, witnessed them making the decision. They decided to end time travel two years from now. All the people who are needed to change the course of mankind will be sent back by then. And all those who are on the teams here will have to make a decision to stay in the nineteenth century or go back to the future. Then STARLab will be destroyed to keep it permanently out of the hands of the PTB. Time travel will be made illegal, punishable by death."

"So I won't be able to come back here like Marek has been doing and check in from time to time?"

"No, and he won't either after two years. He'll have to stay back there with Lady Claire." I chuckle again. "I wonder how he'll survive without his high-octane coffee?"

"But at least we know it will work." Jeremy says with a ragged breath. "Everything we're doing will work out." Then he looks deeply into my eyes. "But what did you mean when you said we have to decide which future our children will be born in?"

"Well, I argued that we be given a third choice, Jeremy. I argued that since I had already been to the other timeline in the future and my father and mother are there, that you and I and our children be allowed to go to that timeline instead."

"I see," he lets out a long, dubious sigh. "So you want to go there to be with your father and mother?"

"Yes. We've missed sharing so many years with each other. He was so happy, looking forward to being a grandpa to our twins! We talked about it a lot! It would break his heart to lose me again. To lose all of us." I place my palm on his cheek and gaze pleadingly into his eyes. "I would love for you and me to raise our children in that world! A world of clean blue waters and skies. A world without hunger or disease or unwanted children. A world where prejudice or hatred is not allowed to influence our laws or politics. But, Jeremy, you'd be forever cut off from your original family. What do you feel about all this?"

_The next afternoon_

_Matt and Daire's Wedding_

_Terese's POV:_

"I look like I'm wearing a tent!" I wail as I look at my reflection in the mirror.

Jeremy walks up behind me and slides his arms around my rotund middle. His eyes crinkle with amusement, but he wisely refrains from making a wisecrack. Instead he merely says, "I'm just glad Antoinette's so handy with fabric and thread. We can't have you wandering outside this room in blue jeans and a maternity top. After all, someone may see you."

I lean back against him. "I wish I could be with everybody at the wedding. I love the words you've prepared to say before they exchange their vows. And I'd love to hear Matt and Daire's vows," I sigh, "but I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with watching from the grove."

Jeremy kisses the top of my head. "Well, we agreed it would be too hard to explain to the château's staff how you got like this." He grins wickedly at me in the mirror as his hands gently massage my stomach. "They'd think you're a fallen woman, an unwed mother!" I laugh. He's right. After all, only the closest people here know that Jeremy and I exchanged our own marriage vows. Going over to the wardrobe, he takes out the long cape that Antoinette also brought me and places it around my shoulders. When he opens the door to the hidden staircase, he reaches out and says, "Let me take your arm."

"You don't need to treat me like a porcelain doll, you know!"

"That dress and cloak are so long, you could trip. We just can't take the chance."

I look down and realize I can't even see my feet. I decide he's got a point and let him hold my arm as we go down the stairs, carefully. Very carefully. The stone stairwell is damp and chilly, causing goosebumps on my arms. When we exit the side door, I'm grateful to find that the sun is bright and warm. It's a perfect day for a wedding. I'm so happy that Matt found someone to share his life with. And Daire seems to be the perfect match for him.

Jeremy and I wind around the back paths, trying to avoid being seen. We arrive at a small wooded grove on a hill above the rise where the wedding is to be held. I stand behind the huge trunk of an old oak, perfect cover for me to watch the ceremony without being seen. But I'm glad for the cape since the sun doesn't penetrate the branches, and it's a tad chilly here.

Jeremy leans over and gives me a lingering kiss, full of promise for later. As he walks away, I study him. He's so handsome in his nineteenth century suit, waistcoat and cravat. I especially like his hair long and tied back. But I'm glad it will be soon now that he leaves the nineteenth century to be with me.

Many have already gathered for the wedding, and the children are playing happily in anticipation. As if sensing my presence, Angelica turns and looks up the hill, toward me. Reflexively, I step back into the shadow of the tree, hoping she will ignore my presence. She sends a smile in my direction, then rejoins her brother and sister in a game of tag.

I spot Russ and Ace standing with Joe and Derek, all laughing at something Ace just said. Danielle and Antoinette are keeping an eye on the children, not allowing them to stray too far. Jeremy mentioned that Russ and Danielle are expecting their second child in late summer. I smile when I see that her pregnancy is beginning to show. Charlotte is chattering away to Meg, occasionally turning to Percy to include him. I haven't seen Meg in a while, and she's grown into a very lovely young woman.

Rajan is talking with Julia. I study the tall, dark Moroccan. Jeremy told me that Rajan unexpectedly offered to stand in as Daire's family since they both come from the same people and tradition. He presented her with gifts of exotic fabrics and Moroccan dance wear. I suspect Matt will have a very exotic wedding night.

Several of the older girls are trying to get Edward to notice them as they gather fresh flowers in their baskets. He seems quite unaware of their attention as he stops to speak with Jean-Luc and Ethan. Jeanette is unsuccessfully trying to tuck a stray wisp of hair back under her bonnet as she visits with the boys. Once again, I smell the fragrant flowers of spring drifting on the breeze. Lilac and hyacinth. Lilly of the valley.

When Erik and Laura arrive, it seems to announce the beginning of the ceremony. Jeremy and Julia walk up the short rise and stop at the crest, then turn to face the gathering. Matt has asked Jeremy to speak a few words before the vows are exchanged, and Julia is serving as bridesmaid for Daire.

Everyone turns and watches as Matt and Daire appear and walk toward Jeremy and Julia. Matt leans over and whispers to Daire, bringing a smile to her lips. Her long, dark hair is unbound and falls down her back. A gentle breeze catches some of her tresses and lifts them. Her flowing gown is exquisite, like nothing I have ever seen before. She is attired Moroccan-style in honor of her heritage. The sun catches the reds and golds of the shimmering fabric, turning her gown into liquid fire.

Stopping in front of Jeremy and Julia, the couple faces each other, their hands entwined. The legal ceremony at the magistrate's office was held in Paris yesterday, so this is a gathering of their friends to witness their personal exchange of vows. But first Jeremy is to speak of the long friendship between Matt and him. This morning Jeremy turned thoughtful when he told me what he was going to say. That's when I realized how hard it will be for him to leave these people. They've become close friends. No, more than friends. They're like family. Jeremy will be leaving part of himself here. After all, they have shared an adventure not like any other in this world. Suddenly the wind shifts and carries his voice to me. Jeremy's words of advice on life and love contain his usual wise insights sprinkled generously with his contagious humor. Laughter breaks out several times.

When Jeremy finishes, Matt and Daire exchange their vows of love and promises of a lifetime together. After they place rings on each other's fingers, Matt takes her into his arms and she melts against him in a long, passionate kiss. Jeremy surreptitiously glances my way, his eyes filled with warm memories of our own wedding vows. Even though he can't see it, I return his longing gaze.

Suddenly everyone is gathering around Matt and Daire, giving hugs and best wishes. Jeremy steals away and joins me in the grove.

"It was beautiful, Jeremy," I smile and kiss him soundly.

"I'm happy for Matt," Jeremy replies. "Everyone's going to the gazebo that's been set up for the wedding dinner. I'm expected there to give the toast, so let me take you back to my room now."

"You don't trust me to make it up the stairs by myself?" I grin devilishly.

"Ah, but you're not making it up the stairs by yourself. You're taking two others with you, and I intend to make sure you all get there just fine."

Again we take the long path through the forest and manage to avoid being detected. I find the climb up the stairwell somewhat challenging and am glad Jeremy insisted on coming with me. I really needed his supporting arm. Safely back in his room, he fusses over me, helping me out of the cape and cumbersome nineteenth century dress. When I yawn, he picks me up and carries me over to the rocking chair by the window. As he places a blanket over my lap, he says, "You can watch the wedding party at the gazebo from here. I wish you could join us."

"I do, too, but I'm just content to be here. But don't forget to bring a plate of food and a really big piece of wedding cake back for the three of us." I pat my tummy and grin. "We'll all be hungry by then."

_Jeremy's POV:_

I watch with amazement as Terese is finishing off the second piece of wedding cake. "I'm glad I filled up at the party," I comment, grinning, "clearly there aren't going to be any leftovers." My eyes pointedly gaze at several empty plates, including one with only a smudge of frosting to indicate a piece of cake had been there mere minutes ago.

The forkful of cake stops just inches from Terese's mouth. "Uh, did you want some cake?" she asks, embarrassed.

"No! That's fine! I've enjoyed just watching you pack it in!"

"Well, I am eating for three, you know." She grins sheepishly.

"I can tell." I reach over and pat her tummy. "Take good care of my little ones."

"A pleasure!" she says as she crams in another mouthful.

Having Terese here is like a dream. And I know it won't last much longer. She'll be gone tomorrow. So, every minute I'm with her, I soak up her beautiful smile, reach over and touch her tummy or stroke her hair, and now even watching her eat is a joy. Terese finally finishes eating and joins me on the bed. We lean against the headboard and I put my arm around her. Just as I'm placing my hand on her pumpkin-sized stomach, I feel a kick. Then another and another. For ten minutes I watch with wonder as our children get their exercise to work off their sugar-high. Once I place my hand over one of the moving bumps and press down lightly. To my surprise, it pushes back.

Terese grins at me, "I told you so!"

"Amazing!" That's the only word I can get out at the miracle of her body and the creation going on inside.

Finally the little ones calm down, and the movements stop as they fall into sleep. We get into our nightclothes and crawl into the inviting bed. Terese rests her head on my shoulder as we gaze out the windows at the sun setting behind the trees. She wants to know all about the wedding and dinner. I want to hear about her trip to the new future that will be created in this timeline. Despite my passion for her, all we can do is kiss and caress. She is too close to delivery, and we certainly don't want to do anything to bring that on prematurely. We don't want our children born in the nineteenth century, and I doubt Matt would take kindly to being interrupted during his honeymoon to deliver twins.

It's only about nine-thirty when Terese's eyes begin to droop and close. She's asleep within minutes, but I can't sleep. All I want to do is watch her, soak up her beautiful face, breathe in her the fragrance of her golden hair. And admire the rather large bump in the quilt that represents our lifelong bond and commitment to each other. I begin to think about our future with the children. What will it bring? What memories will we look back on when our hair has turned white?

Suddenly the bell goes off. _CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!_

Terese's eyes pop open and she bolts up in bed. "My God! What was that?" She looks around the room, trying to find the source of the abrasive sound.

I groan. "That's the alarm bell."

"Alarm? Is the château on fire?" She asks, reaching for the quilt like she's ready to jump out of bed.

I reach down and place my hand on hers to stop her. "No, not that kind of fire!" I try to calm her down. "That's the signal from the guard tower. Three bells means Erik's up to something..."

_CLANG!_ Again the bell sounds. I was waiting for the second set to sound. "Damn! That means he's heading out on his horse." I lean down and kiss Terese on the forehead. "Sorry! Gotta go!" I jump out of bed and scramble across the room and get my clothes out of the wardrobe.

"You gotta be kidding!" Terese sits up and watches as I pull on my pants and throw on my shirt. "Are you saying three bells refers to Erik? As opposed to what? The British? And then one bell? What's that mean? One if by land, two if by sea? _Jeremy! What's going on?_"

As I'm frantically buttoning up all the damn buttons on the shirt, I explain, "Well, this isn't the twenty-first century, you know. We don't have cell-phones and intercoms. So, we set up a bell system. The tower watchman rings the bell when something's up. Three bells means Erik's up to something." I sit on the edge of the bed and cram on my socks and shoes. "The next set of bells tells me what he's doing. One bell means he's getting on his horse to go somewhere. Beyond that, I don't have a clue. I just know I have to get to my horse ASAP and follow him! God only knows what he's up to now!" Leaning over, I give Terese a quick kiss. "Don't wait up for me!"

I grab my holster and gun. In a dead run, I go into the hidden stairwell and take two steps at a time, getting to the bottom in record time. I head toward the stables, keeping to the shadows so Erik won't spot me. When I get to the stable door, I look in. Sure enough, Erik has almost finished saddling Noir. When he mounts, he goes out the back of the stable and stays in the cover of trees, trying not to be seen by the men on the watchtower. I saddle my horse in double-time and follow him at a distance.

At the edge of the estate, Erik takes the road into the village. I'm thankful for a warm spring night and the half moon which gives enough light for me to keep him in my sights, but not enough for him to spot me. At least I keep praying he doesn't spot me and give me the slip.

When we reach the village, he takes the back pathway to the inn and tethers his horse to a water pump handle. Light shines through the windows of the inn. The bar is still open and the sounds of voices laughing and carousing can be heard a block away. The overhang of the roof casts deep shadows on the outside wall of the inn. Erik flattens himself against the wall and melts into the shadows, making himself nearly invisible in this black cloak.

Dismounting, I tether my horse to a tree. I crouch and move quietly behind a stone wall, getting as close to the inn as possible. When I reach the end of the wall, I stop and peer around. Erik hasn't moved. He's listening intently to the drunken voices that waft through the open window. Then I see it and my heart sinks into my stomach. He reaches into his cloak and takes out the Punjab lasso. That can only mean one thing! And it just ruined my day.

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_Please let us know if you are still enjoying this story and leave us your review!_


	128. Chapter 128

**A/N: Well, I confess. This is a shorter chapter than usual, but I am truly swamped with the demands of getting my book into publication. But it wasn't fair to leave all of you wondering what Erik was up to, so I managed to write this first part of a day in the life of our very mercurial Phantom. This long and very eventful day will require at least a couple more chapters as we follow him through the harrowing events that happen in the wake of his ever-unpredictable actions.**

Erik is lurking in the shadows with his Punjab lasso, and Jeremy stands by, expecting all hell to break loose.

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**Chapter 128 A Day in the Life of a Phantom, Part 1, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Spring, Saturday, 1874, just before midnight_

_Village near Chateau Mercier_

_Jeremy's POV:_

Royally pissed, I watch Erik skulking outside the village's tavern. Crouching behind the stone wall that surrounds the village church, I draw my gun. Just my luck that he's decided to make a midnight ride the same night that Terese is here. I could strangle him when I think about having to leave her tonight. Holding her warm, soft body and round belly was the best thing that's happened to me in ages. I'm startled by a loud thunk behind me and spin around with my gun aimed. Two large, round eyes stare down from the tree. I curse under my breath and the owl hoots back at me. That's when I notice that I'm on the side of the church with the graveyard. Cold tombstones loom up all around like specters watching me. Gives me the willies.

I turn back to watch the troublesome specter in black that I followed here. That Punjab lasso he's got in his hands tells me there's gonna be trouble. Who the hell's he after? I go through the long list of possible candidates. God! I hope Joe's not in that tavern. This is his off-duty night. Did he come to the village for some time out? Is Erik planning to solve his "Joe problem" for once and for all?

Or could it be Raoul that he's after? But that doesn't make sense. This is too far from Raoul's estate. Besides, he wouldn't be caught dead in a lowly tavern.

Then there's the PTB's men who ambushed us. But as far as I know, they've all been found and eliminated by Sir Percy's men...or ours.

So who else? I rack my brain. Maybe there's someone from Erik's past at the opera house that he's heard is looking for him. But how would he know? Erik is definitely not sneaking out without my knowledge. My alarm system works too well. Does he have spies somewhere? Did someone threaten Erik with blackmail? Maybe someone who can identify him and connect him to the Phantom. After all, he did cause the fire. Then there's that little matter of allegedly murdering Buquet and Piangi. He hasn't been cleared of those in this time period. Yep. We gotta keep him from ever being connected to the Phantom of the Opera, and he knows it.

I listen carefully, but from this distance, the drunken voices coming out of the tavern are garbled. Can't tell what they're saying, but clearly Erik can. He seems to react to something he overhears by moving closer to the window. I take a quick glance at my watch. A little past midnight. The tavern keeper doesn't close for another hour, so we may be in for a wait if Erik's prey doesn't leave until then. As I watch Erik, I'm impressed by his total stillness and ability to meld into the shadows and be invisible. Several times men come out of the tavern and walk down the street to their homes, never noticing the lurking figure.

After almost a half hour, the tavern doors open again and a burly man comes out, his voice booming a farewell to someone inside. The gaslight outside the tavern casts light on his face for a moment, and I recognize him! He's the dangerous husband of the woman we're harboring at Maison d'espoir. I was called in the first time he came and demanded that his wife be turned over to him. I explained she didn't want to go with him and had Derek and Ty escort him off the property. We've heard he's staying in the local inn and threatening to kidnap his wife when she steps off our property. Now that all her injuries from his beatings have healed, she'll be sent to America with the next group in a couple weeks. But this man has found out that we send many of the abused women to America and threatens to follow her wherever she goes, then kill her when he catches up with her. There's the possibility that he's not only a threat to her, but also to the other women at our safe house there. Looks like Erik's decided to take this problem into his own hands. Literally.

I remember the man we visited a couple years ago in Paris who had struck Laura when she interceded as he was beating his wife. Erik claimed he was just going to have a talk with him, but the man kept egging Erik on, stupidly spouting some things about Laura. Then he actually had the nerve to tell Erik he should beat Laura to keep her in her place. That's when things careened out of control. First the fight, then the man drew his gun on Erik. I shot him at the same time Erik used his lasso. I chuckle, remembering our debate afterwards about who killed the guy. For once I won that argument since Erik had promised Laura not to harm the man. Well...what she doesn't know, won't hurt her. I always suspected she guessed the truth, though.

I watch as the man walks past Erik, not even seeing him. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks and pivots around. Erik must have said something, but his voice is too low for me to hear.

The man just stands there, peering into the shadows where Erik is standing. I come out from behind the wall and move as quietly toward the man as I can. Luckily his back is to me, and he doesn't see me.

Angrily he responds to something Erik said. "You have no business interfering between me and my wife. I can do with her what I want!"

I can't hear Erik's reply, but the man snarls back, "No matter, I will follow her to the ends of the earth!"

In a flash his hand takes a knife from his belt, and he throws it at Erik. At the same instant, the Punjab lasso flies at his neck, encircling it. As the man grasps at the lasso, Erik pounces, pulling the ends and sending blood in every direction.

The man crumples to the ground just as I reach Erik. "Good God, Erik, you can't be the avenger of every woman who has a crazy husband."

"No, only the ones who threaten those in my care!" he snarls back.

Suddenly I see blood on the ground by Erik's shoe. "He got you! Where?"

"My leg. It is of no consequence."

I pull his cloak back and assess the injury. Sure enough, there's a gash through his trousers on the side of his thigh. "Hell! We've got to get you back and have Matt check it out." Then I glare at Erik. "And he's going to be really good and pissed since this is his wedding night."

At that realization, Erik has the decency to wince. "I had not thought about that."

"Obviously. And I'll bet you didn't think about how Laura's going to react to this escapade, either, did you?"

"Well, I did not anticipate a man who had been drinking all evening would be able to move that quickly. Or throw a knife."

"Take off your cravat," I order urgently. Erik tears it from his neck and hands it over. I kneel down and wrap it several times around his leg and tie it tightly. "That's the best we can do for now. Let's get out of here! Pronto!"

I help Erik mount Noir and he takes off toward the road. I race back to my horse and spur him to catch up with Erik.

On the way back to the château I debate whether to stop for Matt or send one of the men to bring him after I get Erik home. I glance over at Erik's leg. The cravat only slowed the bleeding, and I can tell his trouser leg is now saturated. Nope, we can't waste any time getting this fixed. Reluctantly, I head for the waterfall where Matt and Daire are spending their honeymoon. He'll probably go ballistic on me, but I can sympathize. Looks like I won't be getting back to Therese tonight, either.

When we're about a hundred yards from their tent, I pull alongside Erik and tell him, "Wait here while I get Matt." He doesn't say anything, but I see him grimace. Good, he should be feeling damn guilty.

I don't want Matt to shoot first, then ask questions, so I call out as I approach, "Matt! Sorry man, but I have an emergency."

There's a long, long pause, then he answers testily, "Someone better be dying, Jeremy!"

"Well, it may turn out that way, if you don't fix him up."

The flap of the tent jerks aside and Matt steps out. He's pulled on his pants, but hasn't bothered to fasten them. "Who the hell…?" He looks over my shoulder and spots Erik, leaning forward over his horse's neck and looking the worse for wear. "Hell, Jeremy!" He takes a deep breath. "What happened?"

I give him the condensed version as we walk over to Erik. He quickly examines Erik's wound, then rebinds it with the cravat. "I need my medical bag." He glares at me. "And I didn't bring it with me since it's my wedding night!"

"Sorry." I give him my best apologetic look.

"Well, I can't leave Daire out here. Get Erik back to the château. I'll explain everything to her, and we'll meet you in the infirmary right away."

He takes off for the tent, and we head for the château. At the stable, I help Erik ease down off the horse. I can tell his leg hurts, so I put his arm around my shoulder and support him up the steps, through the kitchen and down the hallway. I would have taken him directly into the infirmary, but Matt locks the outside door at night. I've no sooner helped Erik onto the examining table when I hear a whish of skirts behind me.

I look around. _Laura!_ My gut clenches.

She rushes over to Erik and gasps when she sees the bloody cravat tied around his leg. "My God! What happened?"

"It was nothing, Laura." Erik says through grit teeth. "Just an accident."

"An accident?" She stares at him, half in shock. "What kind of accident?"

Without missing a beat, he replies, "A hunting accident. You see, Jeremy and I were tracking down that wolf that keeps coming around and taking some of the sheep."

I'm glad Laura is watching Erik's face. I'm sure mine just registered surprise. So, he must have been concocting this tale all the way home.

I manage to get my expression under control before she turns to me. Her eyebrow shoots up. Damn, did she learn that from Erik? She looks me directly in the eye and asks, "It seems a little late at night for hunting."

"Well, we did have to wait around quite a while before we caught sight of the wolf," I lie.

The look in her eyes tells me she's not buying any of this. Suspiciously, she asks, "So, did you kill him?"

"No," I reply.

"Yes," Erik says at the same time.

Oops! I start backpeddling. "Well, I mean we didn't kill him right off. We only injured him." I glance at Erik. His face is etched in stone. I finish lamely, "But he did finally die."

"Hmm. Yes. I see." Laura's eyes narrow as she glares at both of us. "Was this a two-legged wolf by any chance?"

Before we have to answer, Matt and Daire arrive, their clothing tossed on and their hair disheveled and wild, but not nearly as wild as the look they give Erik. I wouldn't be in his shoes right now for anything.

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	129. Chapter 129

**A/N: To all our readers in Canada, a belated, happy Canada Day! And, to all our readers in the U.S., an early happy 4th! And...for EVERYONE, I hope you are having a wonderful weekend and finding time to relax and just enjoy the sunshine!**

Well, Erik's day has begun rather eventfully, and Laura has a gut feeling it's going to be a very, very long day. Something tells me...she's right.

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**Chapter 129 A Day in the Life of a Phantom, Part 2, by Phanfan and Phanna**

_Spring, Sunday, 1874_

_Matt's POV:_

When Daire and I rush into the infirmary, we find Laura standing with her arms folded, glaring at Jeremy and Erik. "Hmm. Yes. I see," she says. "Was this a two-legged wolf by any chance?"

Leaning against my examination table, Erik has on his poker face, but Jeremy flinches. He clearly hasn't developed yet the I'm-innocent-or-clueless look that husbands learn from experience. Wisely, neither of them responds.

I say good evening to Laura, then turn to Erik and add, "or should I say, good middle of the night." Erik has the decency to grimace. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon."

"I regret causing this...interruption," Erik replies sheepishly.

"Interruption! You interrupted my wedding night!" I glare from Erik to Jeremy. Jeremy shifts uncomfortably. I have Erik sit on the table, but as I remove the cravat that binds his wound, I smirk, "And what is this I hear about wolves?" There's dead silence as Daire returns with a basin of water, a towel and a knife, then rushes off to get my surgical tools. Laura and I help Erik remove his cloak and suit coat. I have him lie back on the table and use the knife to cut Erik's trouser leg. When I pull away the material, it sticks to the dried blood. I yank it off with a quick, clean movement. Erik jerks in pain. Trying not to grin, I dip the towel in the water and place it over the wound, staunching the new flow of blood.

"That looks like a nasty knife cut, Erik," I comment off-handedly. "Are wolves carrying knives these days?"

His facade falling away, Erik gives Laura a guilty look. The jig is definitely up. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. And I don't mind taking my pound of flesh, if only figuratively.

Daire returns with the modern medicines and supplies that I keep in my office under lock and key. I use the antiseptic to clean and prepare the wound. Erik moans under his breath at the pain. For once that doesn't bother me.

"Erik, I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that it's not a major injury. The bad news," I add with some perverse pleasure, "is that this sliced a bit to the side. Butterfly bandages aren't going to work. I'll need to stitch it."

He frowns suspiciously. "If you must," he says through grit teeth.

Daire has the needle threaded and hands it to me. As I stick the needle in, he yells, "Don't you have anything to dull the pain?"

"Oh! Sorry, Erik, forgot about that." Standing at the head of the table, Laura gives me a shocked look. Jeremy rolls his eyes at me as I pick up the spray anesthesia bottle. I spray the wound and again stick the needle in. "Can you feel that?" I ask. Erik shakes his head, but his eyes narrow with warning.

I'm halfway through stitching when Ty comes barreling into the room looking like he dressed on the run. He stops when he sees Daire and me. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

"Erik required my medical skills," I reply acidly.

Ty turns to Jeremy. "The guard on duty rang me. Gave me the code for medical emergency. What's going on?"

"I need for you to get Derek and a shovel and go to the village. There's a body outside the tavern and a handy graveyard across the way. If you get to the body before anybody else, bury it. Just make sure no one sees you. If it's already been discovered, hang around and do a little spying. Find out everything you can about what they think happened. Get going! Now! And ride as damn fast as you can."

As Ty races out, Laura gives Erik a smoldering look. I'm sure glad about now that I'm going back to bed with Daire, and Erik gets to deal with Laura.

I finish up the stitching, apply lots of antiseptic and bandage the leg. "Erik, you should be able to use this leg, but you'll need a cane for a few days. Just take it easy. I'll come back around noon to check on it." I glare at Jeremy and add, "And there better not be any more emergencies until then!"

Unexpectedly Daire speaks up, "Jeremy, was this about the man who kept threatening to kidnap and beat his wife?"

Jeremy glances from Erik to Laura, then replies, "Yes, but he won't be a problem any more."

"Good. I know what it's like to be beaten-nearly to death." She looks Erik in the eye and adds, "As for me, I'm glad you did it. Now his wife can live without that threat hanging over her."

Erik gives Daire a formal nod of his head as he slowly, and very gingerly, sits up on the table. When he tries to stand, the leg gives way. Jeremy catches him and says, "Matt and I better help you up to your room."

Erik puts his arms across our shoulders, and we support him upstairs and into his bed. I help Laura get his clothes off and check his bandage and blood pressure. It's just a little elevated, but nothing to be worried about. Then I see Laura's face and Jeremy and I make a hasty retreat.

Daire is waiting for me with a kiss and a promise in her eyes that our honeymoon is just warming up.

_Laura's POV:_

Matt and Jeremy have barely closed the door when Erik says, "Would you let me explain?"

I remove his mask and wring out a cloth in the basin by the bed. He watches me, warily, and waits for me to gather my thoughts. No doubt he expects to hear my disappointment, even anger at what he's done. I do not approve of killing to resolve problems, but I understand why he did it. The woman was truly terrified of her husband and sending her to America was no assurance that she and her child would be safe. Besides, the other women traveling with her were also in potential danger. And I know Erik. He takes very seriously his responsibility for the women and children in his charge. From all I had heard about this man, he was truly dangerous. I decide that I'll have to give this a lot of thought before I discuss it with Erik.

As I gently sponge his forehead and face, I reply, "Not now. This can wait until later. You need to rest and let your body begin to heal." I lean over and kiss him tenderly. He moans a sigh of relief, and I go around to the other side of the bed and snuggle in, next to him. Within minutes he's asleep, but I lay awake, going over what has happened. The last thing I remember is the clock chiming four.

The sound of giggles wakes me up. The light of daybreak is coming through the windows and three little heads peek over the bed at us. "Good mornin', mama," little Erik says.

"Shhhh," I say, placing my finger across my lips, "your father needs to sleep." As I scoot carefully out of bed, Erik doesn't wake up or even move, he's so deeply into sleep. I put on my dressing gown and take the children back to their room. The nanny is just arriving, and after we dress the children, I ask her to take them to breakfast downstairs and out for a morning walk. I explain that his horse threw him, so the Comte will need to rest this morning. I ask her to have our breakfast sent to our bedroom at eight. Again I join Erik in bed and try to get a little more sleep. I have a feeling it will be a long and tough day ahead for all of us.

A knock on the door wakes me up. "Breakfast, Erik!" I say softly and nudge him awake. He sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard, and puts on his mask. I go over and open the door, only to find one of the servants with a cart, and Jeremy looking ominous. The servant places the cart next to the bed and gives Erik a nervous glance. He excuses himself and leaves quickly. As soon as he closes the door, I ask Jeremy, "Well, what's the verdict? Is the man safely buried or do we have problems?"

"We have problems," Jeremy replies.

_Why am I not surprised?_ I sigh, preparing myself.

"I am certain no one saw me," Erik blurts out.

"Well, I certainly hope not," Jeremy says with a dour look. "But by the time our men got to the village, the body had been discovered and carted into the tavern. Ty and Derek listened outside at the window. The gendarmes had been called and they were asking a lot of questions. Several of the man's buddies said that he'd been angry about his wife hanging out at Maison d'espoir and that the people there were wrongly keeping her from him. The buddies were already suggesting someone from there might have killed him." Jeremy glares at Erik, furious. "I guess the good news is that when the gendarmes go to the Maison nobody there will know anything about it. And the guard at the Maison said that no one left the grounds last night."

"So," Erik says calmly, "it will end there."

I don't say anything, but a knot in the pit of my stomach won't go away.

"I sure as hell hope so," Jeremy replies. "So what's our cover story about your injury?"

"I've already told the nanny," I interject, "that Erik was thrown from his horse last evening."

Jeremy gives me a startled look, but Erik's mouth curls up at the edges with a pleased smirk at my lie.

"Well, that'll work just fine," Jeremy says. "It explains his limp. We'll just have to make sure no one outside our little group finds out it's a knife wound. I'll keep you both advised of any further news. I've ordered Ty to stay at the Maison all day and notify us if gendarmes show up."

When Jeremy leaves, Erik gives me a quizzical look and asks, "Have some of my bad habits rubbed off on you, Madame Mercier?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say with a chuckle. "But at least it's more believable than wolves."

I serve Erik his breakfast in bed and have just settled down to eat mine when there's another knock at the door. Exasperated, I get up and go over and open it. Surprisingly, it's Antoinette, and she seems very agitated. "I heard Erik is in bed," she says. "His horse threw him?" One of her eyebrows arches in disbelief.

"Yes, but he'll be okay," I assure her.

"Well, then, can I come in? I have a pressing problem...if it would not be too inconvenient."

"Uh, no. Of course not." I step aside, and she comes bustling through the door and hurries over to the bed.

For a moment she studies Erik, but he keeps his face totally unreadable. "I hope that you are not in great pain from _the fall_."

"Some discomfort, but it will pass." Erik half smiles in return. "I understand there's a problem?"

"_Oui_, Meg just arrived back from her visit to Paris," she begins as she suspiciously eyes the quilt covering Erik's legs. "There appears to be quite a stir in the village this morning. The church bells are tolling for a man who was killed last night. From what I hear, it was that evil man who has been threatening one of the women taking refuge at the Maison."

"You don't say," Erik replies nonchalantly.

"_Oui_, quite true. And I say good riddance!" Antoinette's eyes narrow as she studies Erik. "But that is not the reason for my visit. I had other news that was far more distressing."

"Indeed?" Erik says, somewhat perplexed.

"Yes, the chaperone I sent to Paris to watch over Meg had very disturbing news. Sir Percy escorted them to dinner and the opera last evening. Afterwards as they were waiting for their carriage to take them back to the hotel, one of Sir Percy's men, a short toad of a man, kept the chaperone's attention preoccupied while Sir Percy whisked Meg away in his carriage!"

"Indeed!" Erik sits up taller in bed.

"And they were gone all night!" Antoinette's voice rises to a high, anxious pitch. "They returned only at dawn, and the chaperone brought her immediately back to the château. Meg went straight to her room and won't answer my questions."

"Really!" Erik's uncovered eyebrow dips low and menacing.

I need to calm everyone down. _Quickly._ "Antoinette, surely Sir Percy would not compromise Meg. I have observed that he cares about her. Maybe they were just having a romantic evening together...talking..." I look from Antoinette over to Erik. Neither one is buying it.

"It does not matter if they were only talking!" Antoinette says frantically. "Meg's reputation is ruined if this is spread about! You can just imagine the gossip! And quite frankly, I don't think they were just talking. Meg returned with her hair disheveled and her clothing stained with dirt! Mon Dieu! Where did he take her? To some rustic rendezvous?"

"Sooo!" Erik hisses out, his eyes flaming with sparks. "I have warned Sir Percy! Meg's honor must be avenged!"

I stare at my husband-_the Phantom. Oh my god! Not again!_

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	130. Chapter 130

**A/N: Well the summer heat has finally arrived, even here in the Pacific northwest! I hope each of you is enjoying some summer sun and fun-a breather from the cares of the world. We all need that from time to time. And...a special thanks with a blooming red summer rose to each of you who posts your reviews, even during this time of vacations! We so appreciate your sharing your thoughts!**

For Laura and Jeremy, this is turning into a long day as they deal with the fallout of Erik's Phantom side emerging again from the recesses of his always unpredictable soul.

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**Chapter 130 Part 3 of A Day in the Life of a Phantom by Phanfan and Phanna**

_A Phantomish Sunday, Spring 1874_

_Laura's POV:_

_"Sooo!" Erik hisses out, his eyes flaming with sparks. "I have warned Sir Percy! Meg's honor must be avenged!"_

_I stare at my husband-the Phantom. Oh my god! Not again!_

"Antoinette, tell Jeremy I want to see him immediately!" Erik orders.

Antoinette gives a nod of her head in vindication and smiles slyly, "It will be my pleasure."

I watch as she hurries out of the room, intent on her mission. Looking back at my husband, I blink. What now? He just killed a man. Probably in self-defense. Hopefully, in self-defense. Surely he isn't intending on doing anything foolish like...well, like challenging Sir Percy to a duel to protect Meg's honor? I know that Erik is very good with a pistol, but no doubt, so is Sir Percy. I shudder at the thought.

Whatever made me think that Erik could leave behind his Phantom side? The hidden side he masks. Studying my husband, I sigh. Maybe it goes deeper than the mask. Maybe it's even deeper than living beneath the opera house and being an outcast. Even now, when he has a family and high position in society, he acts impulsively-dramatically, even rashly. I know him to be a loving husband and devoted father, but this other side of him is always there, lurking-wild and untamed. And it comes to the surface when I least expect it.

I think back on Matt and Daire's wedding day and the lovely dinner. All of it's joy and promise. I can hardly believe that was only a little over twelve hours ago. So much has happened since then. Will today's events change our world? Will it be Erik's undoing? Or the Team's?

I walk over to my husband and gaze down at his beloved face. His eyes are closed. Is he resting, conserving his energy? Or just plotting his next misdeed? Well, whatever happens, I will stay by his side. For better or worse, _Mrs. Phantom_.

When Jeremy knocks, Erik barks out, "Enter."

As Jeremy walks in, he grimaces at me before turning to Erik and asking, "Whatcha need?"

Erik pulls himself up in bed and impatiently throws the quilt off his legs. "I need you to send someone into Paris and tell Sir Percy I want to see him immediately!"

Jeremy squints down at Erik. "What's going on now?"

"Antoinette was just here and informed me that Meg spent the night with Sir Percy!"

"Spent the night with him? That doesn't sound like Meg."

"Nonetheless, Antoinette said that Meg's chaperone was kept occupied while Sir Percy took off with Meg in his carriage."

"Oh." Jeremy rubs his chin. "I see."

Just as Jeremy opens his mouth to say something else, Erik interrupts. "I will not permit him to take advantage of a young innocent! He will answer to me for his conduct." Erik's eyebrows furrow as he moves his legs over the side of the bed and stands. When he puts his weight on his leg, he groans. Reluctantly, he sits back down, but continues his rant. "He will not be allowed to ruin Meg's reputation. I will see to that!"

Jeremy nods resignedly. "I'll send Derek and Sam in to Paris and get him."

"And have him brought to me as soon as he gets here. I would not want that good-for-nothing scoundrel to disappear before I get my hands on him."

"I'll make sure they know what to do. Is Meg still with him?"

For a moment Erik looks surprised, then his jaw tightens. "No. She's safely ensconced here in the château."

"Good. At least I don't have to deal with that." Without further comment, Jeremy strides out of the room.

I follow Jeremy into the hallway and stop him. "What a mess. You know the Contessa's on her way and should arrive this afternoon. Is there any chance we can get through this business with Sir Percy before she arrives?"

"Sure hope so. What the hell was Percy thinking? He should know better. He's been around Antoinette long enough to know she's a mother hen!"

"Yes," I chuckle, "a mother hen sparking with anger. Mix that with a phantom with a short fuse and you get dynamite that could go off at any time."

Jeremy shakes his head. "This has been one hell of a weekend what with Matt and Daire's wedding, and Terese being here for a secret visit, then me having to chase after Erik because he chose last night to off a bad guy. I guess you can take Erik out of the Opera house, but not the Phantom out of Erik." He grins, adding, "Well, one good thing. There's not much else that can happen. Right?"

I stare back at Jeremy, but don't reply. It's not noon yet and the day is still young.

_Jeremy's POV:_

Just as I reach out to shut the hidden panel to my bedroom, the napkin holding the hot bread begins to slide out of my arms. I juggle the two piled-high plates and try to grab the napkin, but the bread spills all over the floor. I let out a sailor's curse.

"Jer, you know you aren't going to be able to cuss like that in front of the children." Terese smiles sweetly over at me from the cozy chair near the bed. When I growl at her, she sets her book aside, pushes herself slowly to her feet and comes over to help. "Here, let me take this." She reaches out and, instead of taking one of the heavy plates that I'm balancing, grabs one of the huge chicken legs and takes a dainty bite.

"Cute," I quip, "but I could use some real help." She laughs and offers to take the plates, but I shake my head. "Nah, I got these." I can't resist teasing her. "But can you bend over and pick up the bread on the floor?"

She gives me a dirty look and places her hands on her pregnant-wide hips. I can't help it and start laughing. She looks so damn sexy standing there with her rounded belly. Hell, she can't even see her feet at this point.

"What's so funny? My rotund figure or the fact that you're trying to starve me?"

"Starve you? Good grief woman, I've never seen anyone put away as much food as you do now."

She grins and pats her tummy. "Remember. I'm eating for three!'

I walk over and kiss her neck. "I'm sorry I was late bringing lunch up. Erik has me dancing attendance on him. I'm just about ready to borrow a Punjab lasso and use it on his neck."

Patting my hand in sympathy, Terese motions me to sit and eat while I tell her what's going on. I suddenly realize I'm starved. Haven't eaten much today. Haven't had time. I grab a piece of chicken and talk between bites. "Besides having us chase Percy down in Paris, Erik's driving us all nuts. Matt came by to check on him a little while ago and Erik wanted to get up and get dressed. Matt told him to stay in bed and give his wound a chance to heal."

"And I have a feeling Erik won that battle." Terese licks a dollop of butter off a finger.

I chuckle. "Yeah, and Matt was good and pissed. Told Erik not to waste his time if he wasn't going to follow his directions." I watch as Terese cleans her plate. Where is she putting all this food?

"So, what's Erik up to now?" she asks.

"He's in the Great Hall with the kids and Laura. The Contessa's supposed to be here anytime now. I was hoping that Derek and Sam would already have brought Percy here and we'd have that little problem dealt with."

"I didn't know the Contessa was coming in today."

"She's been in Paris visiting with Raoul and Christine and sent a message yesterday that she'd be here this afternoon. With everything that's going on, I forgot to mention it to you." I watch as she dips the last bit of bread into the gravy and plops it in her mouth. "And that reminded me of something else I had to do this morning. Ace and I cornered Joe and warned him he'd better be on his best behavior since this is the first time the Contessa has visited since the truce between him and Erik. That's all I need—for Joe to get Erik even more riled up."

"You work too hard. I can't wait until your transfer is complete and you return to the future to be with us." She slowly runs her hand across her belly. Then she smiles seductively. "You need to relax more."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, now that I've had a fine meal, I wouldn't mind taking a nap. On the bed. With you."

That's one offer I can't refuse. I take her hand and lead her over to the bed. I hold back my urgent desires and carefully, slowly remove her clothes. Mine come off a lot faster, and I slip into bed next to her delicious body. I tell her how much I love her as I kiss the side of her face and down her throat. My lips have just tasted the soft skin at the tops of her swollen breasts when all hell breaks loose. The alarm bell goes completely bugnuts with frantic clanging.

"Damn!" I jump out of bed, tugging my clothes on as quickly as I can find them.

Terese looks dazed. "What does all that racket mean?" She adds with a chuckle, "Are we being invaded?"

"Don't know yet," I say in all seriousness, "but I need to find out." As I pull on my pants I go over to the window and look out. What's going on now? I spot a convoy of three carriages traveling up the driveway toward the château. And behind them, a contingent of gendarmes. _Oh holy hell!_ As I draw on my boots, I get a good look at the crest on the side of the first carriage. It's the de Chagny crest. Raoul's to be exact. Raoul and Christine must have come along with the Contessa. Just what we need! An audience when the gendarmes grill us with their questions. I groan out loud.

"What is it?" Terese asks, sitting up and pulling the blanket around her.

"Looks like we have some uninvited guests." I go over and kiss her. "I may be awhile."

"You know I thought this would be a quiet little weekend with my husband. After all, what could go wrong at a wedding?" She shakes her head. "It's okay, Jeremy. I'm not going anywhere! I'll be...waiting.

"Damn right. Don't you go_ anywhere_!" At the door I glance back over my shoulder. She's so beautiful. Still reminds me of Goldilocks. And I'm definitely feeling like a bear!

At the foot of the stairs, Ace heads me off. "The tower guard just told me we have some gendarmes coming up the driveway. And very likely the Contessa with Raoul and Christine."

"Yeah! I know. I saw them out the window. Where's Erik?"

"He's in the Great Hall with Laura and the kids. The tower guard said that the gendarmes came from the direction of Maison d'espoir. They wouldn't have learned anything there. So, that makes me wonder why they're stopping here."

"Let's hope it's because Erik and Laura own the Maison."

"You don't think that they suspect..." Ace frowns.

"I sure as hell hope not," I growl back. "Get all our men armed and ready. Just in case."

As Ace takes off, I head into the Great Hall where Erik's settled on the big settee in front of the fireplace. He and Antoinette are laughing over Little Erik's attempt to do a somersault. Laura's sitting on the rug with Charlotte, Angelica and Elizabeth who are playing with dolls. Damn! I have no choice but to barge in.

"Erik, Laura. We've got visitors." From the looks they give me, they're not surprised, but they were expecting the Contessa-not the rest of the crowd that's going to descend on them in just moments. "Raoul and Christine are with the Contessa." As Laura stands and brushes her skirt off, I drop the bomb. "And there's a bunch of gendarmes right behind."

Laura gasps. Antoinette glances questioningly at Erik. His expression turns stony, but he shifts uneasily. Laura looks pointedly at Erik's wounded leg, her mind already working on the problem. Within seconds, she tells Erik, "I think the better part of wisdom is to not let them know you've been injured so, uh, recently. And you do walk with a noticeable limp. Don't you think it would be best to receive our company here?" She looks over at me for confirmation. I nod in agreement.

Erik's uncovered eyebrow dips low as he considers the logistics. "Yes, I think that might be the best strategy." Turning to Antoinette, he asks, "Will you assist Jeremy greet our guests?" Then with a glare, he tells me, "And have the gendarmes wait in foyer until after we have spoken with our family, and they have gone off to their rooms."

"Certainly!" I reply.

Antoinette is already heading for the foyer. I follow, thinking about the possible outcomes, not the least of which-Will this work? Will we be able to keep Erik seated the entire time? What if the gendarmes discover his injury and put two and two together?

In the foyer several maids are taking hats and cloaks. Antoinette warmly welcomes the Contessa and Raoul, then gives Christine a hug. "What a delightful surprise! How was your journey?"

As Antoinette and Christine chat, the Contessa asks me, disconcerted, "Where are Erik and Laura?"

"Oh, they're in the Great Hall with the children. They're waiting for you in there."

Raoul gives the Contessa an indignant frown and comments, "He does not even have the social grace to greet us properly!" With a huff, he tells the nanny to bring his son, and he escorts the Contessa into the Great Hall, leaving Antoinette to bring Christine. As the maids show the de Chagny servants to their rooms, I turn to our other guests.

A tall, thin man dressed in an immaculate uniform steps forward and introduces himself. "I am Lieutenant Trombeau, Monsieur."

"Jeremy Nichols. What can I do for you Lieutenant?"

"I would like to speak to the Comte de Chagny."

"As you can see, the Comte's family has just arrived. Please wait here until he has finished greeting his family. They should be going to their rooms in just a little while."

The Lieutenant eyes me up and down with disdain. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Arrogant snob. I'd love to punch his lights out. But now's not the best time. He tips his nose up with an air of self-importance. "I cannot wait. I have urgent matters to attend to." With a demanding tone, he adds, "I am authorized to…"

Oh yeah, this guy is definitely getting on my one remaining-and very touchy-nerve. I interrupt him. "Of course, Lieutenant. Wait here a minute while I inform the Comte that you're here."

"No, Monsieur. I insist on seeing him. Now!"

I debate the matter with him for several minutes, buying some time, but finally run out of ideas and reasons to stall. So, I head for the Great Hall with the determined Lieutenant at my heals.

I was hoping the Contessa, Raoul and Christine would have trundled off to their rooms before I had to bring the gendarmes in to talk with Erik. No such luck. As we cross the length of the Great Hall, I can tell everyone's still here. The Contessa is on the settee next to Erik, listening to her grandchildren's excited chatter. Christine's talking with Laura and Antoinette, and Raoul stands off to the side, glancing back at the foyer full of gendarmes, like he's dying to know why they're here. I've got a gut feeling he'll find out soon enough. Way too soon as far as I'm concerned.

I halt the Lieutenant a discreet distance from the family. Clearing my throat, I announce, "Comte, I'm sorry to bother you. This is Lieutenant Trombeau. He says he has some business." With pointed skepticism, I add, "He says it can't wait." I do a good job of appearing ignorant about his business. But then I've had a lot of practice covering Erik's trail. It's making me a downright accomplished actor.

Erik gives the Lieutenant an indignant look, perfectly playing the part of the nobleman whose home has been intruded upon. Laura's face registers a calm indifference. As for the Contessa, she studies her son thoughtfully.

The Lieutenant curtly explains why he's here-that he's investigating the murder of a man who was killed in the village last night. Raoul suspiciously glares at Erik. I sure hope he keeps his damn mouth shut. Out the corner of my eye, I notice the Contessa gives Raoul an inconspicuous, but warning, look. He seems to get her message and walks over to the window. Although he gazes out, he clearly listens with great interest to everything being said.

Leaning back in the settee with lordly indifference, Erik replies, "Well, Lieutenant, I am sorry that you have wasted your time here. I have not heard of any suspicious people on or around our properties." With a sarcastic grin, he adds, "And it is hard for me to believe that any of my neighbors would be a _murderer._" I notice Laura swallows hard.

With a rising sense of alarm, I watch the Lieutenant pointedly study Erik. "Well, the murder weapon was a garrote of some type. Most unusual weapon. Indeed, in my experience I have heard of only one man who used such a device. And I heard he wore a mask to cover half his face." He pauses for a few seconds as if deliberately adding to the drama and tension. "I note that you also wear a half mask." His hand touches the hilt of his sword. "Have you ever heard of such a man, Comte de Chagny?" He smiles slyly. "Or is that _Monsieur Phantom_?"

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	131. Chapter 131

**A/N: What a delight to receive some first-time reviews! Thank you so much! So wonderful to hear from fans and know that you are enjoying The Epic Case. ****This is being posted on Monday instead of our usual first Sunday of the month as a holiday posting. Today is Labor Day in the U.S. and the last three-day weekend of the summer. I hope everyone is having a wonderful, relaxing, and no-doubt well-deserved, day of rest. We hope this chapter will be an enjoyable addition to your day.**

Erik's day is turning out to be a very long and unexpected one. Will the Phantom finally come back to haunt _him_?

* * *

**Chapter 131 Part 4, A Day in the Life of a Phantom by Phanfan and Phanna**

_A very Phantomish Sunday, Spring 1874_

_Jeremy's POV:_

_"Or is that Monsieur Phantom?"_

Christine gasps. Loudly. All eyes turn to her except the Lieutenant's. He continues to stare at Erik, trying to detect some reaction. But Erik's a master of disguises. And right now he masks not only one side of his face, but also his emotions. There's not so much as a twitch.

Failing to get the reaction he hoped for, the Lieutenant zeros in on Christine. "So that disturbs you, Madame de Chagny...or wasn't your previous name Christine Daaé?"

"Yes," she chokes out as her eyes dart to Erik, then to Raoul, "it was."

"You have met the man known as the Phantom of the Opera, correct?" His lips curl up in a sneer like he's succeeded in cornering his prey. The tension in the room is so thick even the children sit frozen with eyes wide, staring at the adults.

She croaks out a strangled, "Yes."

Laura goes pale, and Raoul turns from the window he's been staring out and walks over to his wife, protectively placing his arm around her waist. Antoinette gazes fearfully at Erik. It occurs to me that she was also there. In fact, she was his friend and could also be implicated.

"How fortunate," the Lieutenant says with a reptilian grin. "And didn't your husband also have a notorious debacle with the Phantom?"

Raoul bristles and nods his head in acknowledgement. The look in his eyes worries the hell out of me. Is he going to take this opportunity to get even with Erik?

The Lieutenant notices, too. "So," he continues, "we have two people present who can unequivocally identify the Phantom-a notorious criminal wanted for causing the fire in the Opera Populaire." He looks at Erik and snarls, "And murdering Piangi. Exactly the type of devil who would use a garrote on an innocent man outside a tavern at midnight."

Erik returns the Lieutenant's gaze with steady disdain, but as he is about to reply, the Contessa jumps to her feet and places herself between the Lieutenant and Erik. "Just what are you implying, Lieutenant Trombeau?" she demands. "You say an innocent man was killed outside a tavern. In my experience innocent men do not frequent taverns at midnight. Just who was this man that was killed?"

"A lowly millworker, Contessa, someone beneath your notice."

"You are implying that my son, the Comte," her chin goes up and she motions with great dignity to Erik as she says with an incredulous tone, "would get out of his wife's bed and leave his château in the middle of the night to kill such a lowly millworker? Absurd! What could possibly be his motive for doing such a thing?"

"Perhaps it was personal. The Maison d'espoir is on his property and the millworker was the husband of one of the women who resides there. It was well-known in the village that the millworker had been trying to see her and bring her back to his home. But the Comte's men always prevented it."

Glaring at the Lieutenant, she puts her hands on her hips and states indignantly, "The Comte's men prevented it? Have you spoken with the millworker's wife? Is that what she said?"

The Lieutenant takes a step back, his arrogance slipping a bit. "No, we haven't spoken with her."

"Indeed! So you imply that the Comte, my son, improperly kept a poor, innocent millworker from his wife and would even commit murder in the bargain. Then on the flimsy similarity of a mask, you accuse him of being the infamous Phantom of the Opera! If such allegations are false, you are guilty of slandering the Comte, and trust me, I, the Contessa de Velasco y de Chagny, will pursue that with the _highest authorities in France, many of whom are my friends."_

The Lieutenant gulps, but doesn't back down. "We went to the Maison to speak with the millworker's wife, Madame, but were unable to."

"Why not?" the Contessa demands archly.

"It appears that when she learned her husband had been killed, she took her child and belongings and snuck out of the Maison this morning. No one knows where she went."

I glare at the Lieutenant. I'm thinking it's more likely no one would tell this arrogant piece of work where she went. All the residents at the Maison are a pretty close-knit group.

"Her behavior seems more than a little suspicious," he continues. "Perhaps she fled to avoid being connected to her husband's death."

Suddenly from behind the Contessa comes a lion's growl, "No! The poor lady had nothing to do with her husband's death!" Erik just couldn't keep out the fray. But damn him! Is he going to blow everything out of some misplaced sense of gallantry?

"And just how would you know?" the Lieutenant demands, sensing an opening.

Antoinette suddenly finds her voice, too. "We all knew the poor woman. She was terrified of her husband. He had beaten her to an inch of her life just before she arrived at the Maison. We all know she never left the estate for fear he would catch her. He had bragged in the village he would even kill her if he ever got the chance." Holding her arms close to her sides, her fists clenched, Antoinette adds, "Why would the poor woman not want to leave and get far away from these terrible events? No doubt she went back to her family."

"Do you know where they live?" the Lieutenant demands.

"Non," Antoinette replies, her chin held high with the attitude that you couldn't drag it out of her if she did know.

"Or perhaps she has gone to a secret hiding place." The Lieutenant glares at Erik and adds with an acid snarl, "A rendezvous where the Comte can later meet up with her,"

Erik starts to get up, his eyes blazing with fury, but Laura hurries over and stops right in front of him. She leans down, placing her hands on his shoulders and blocking him from standing. "Please. Don't let his lies disturb you." Then to cover her meaning, she adds for the benefit of the Lieutenant, "We don't want to upset the children."

The Lieutenant bows his head to Laura and sneers, "And I certainly don't want to cause upset...to the children." Then he abruptly faces Christine and Raoul, adding, "But sometimes that cannot be avoided. Since both of you have admitted in the presence of these fine people that you have met the Phantom, you certainly can identify him. So, Madame de Chagny," he grins viciously at Christine, "is the Comte one and the same as the Phantom of the Opera?"

Christine's eyes are so wide, she's got the deer-in-the-headlight look. She opens her mouth, but only a squeak comes out.

"Pardon, Madame," the Lieutenant replies. "I didn't quite understand that."

Christine takes a deep breath and desperately looks over at Erik. He's holding his breath and there's a distinct tinge of panic in his eyes. Laura's face has gone ghostly white. And I'm rapidly sorting through all my options if she says the fateful words-yes he is.

After a short eternity, Christine whispers out, "No, Monsieur, the Phantom of the Opera and the Comte are not the same man."

Everyone breathes again. But the Lieutenant is not going to let it go that easily. He settles his glare on Raoul. "And, you, Vicomte, do you agree?"

So, it finally comes down to Raoul. The moment of vindication for Raoul, if he wants to settle all accounts with Erik and turn him in. If Erik is convicted of murder, he'll face the guillotine. But, since Erik has a son, the title of Comte will not revert to Raoul. And, then, there's Laura's "promise" to rescind Raoul's interest in the estate if he betrays his brother. I can see the gears grinding in Raoul's head. He glances at the Contessa who's still standing there with her hands on her hips. Oh, yeah, that's right. He'd also have to face the wrath of his mother. Come to think of it, revenge wouldn't be all that sweet for Raoul.

With flare befitting an opera, Raoul gazes at Erik and announces firmly, "I most certainly agree with my wife that the Phantom of the Opera and the Comte are not the same man." A grateful smile flickers on Erik's mouth.

Disgusted, the Lieutenant splutters out, "So, I see that the blood here is thicker than water. Most admirable that the Phantom has such a loyal family. However, I have another witness who can identify him and doesn't have such compunctions." He motions to his men standing at the entrance to the Great Hall. I notice that Ace has brought several of our men, and they stand on alert nearby. One of the gendarmes walks confidently across the length of the Great Hall toward us. This is beginning to look grim.

The gendarme comes to a stop next to the Lieutenant who bares his teeth in an ominous smile. "This is Officer Betit. He was one of the gendarmes who was stationed at the Opera Populaire that fateful night when the Phantom brought down the chandelier and nearly burned down the opera house." The Lieutenant directs his pointed glare back on Erik and adds, "After killing Piangi, of course."

Everyone watches, spellbound, even the children who don't move a muscle. Suddenly Christine and Raoul's baby lets out a yowl that would do a banshee proud. Red-faced, the nanny apologizes and whisks the child out of the room with the sounds of wailing slowly fading as they go up the stairs. Laura asks their nanny to take Little Erik, Elizabeth and Angelica to their room to play. Obviously relieved, the nanny herds them across the Great Hall, but at the doorway Angelica looks back at Erik with tears running down her cheeks. A pained look crosses his eyes.

The Lieutenant coughs, bringing all attention back on himself as he asks the officer, "Did you get a clear look at the Phantom of the Opera on the night of the fire?"

"Yes, a very clear look. I was stationed at the side of the stage and even saw his face when he was unmasked." The officer shudders. "I will never forget...that face."

"So, is that man here, in this room?" The Lieutenant presses.

"Yes..." the Officer begins.

"Well! My dear friends!" a voice booms out. "To what do I owe the honor of being invited to this delightful gathering?" All heads jerk toward the entrance. There, in all his finery stands Sir Percy. Antoinette scowls at him, puffing up like a mother hen, and Erik curses under his breath. I don't catch the words, but it's probably something like I'm thinking right now-things just got worse. Percy swaggers toward us, his lace cuff covering the hand that rests on the hilt of his sword. So, does Erik get to have a sword fight before he's hauled off to prison?

With a flourish Percy halts in front of the group and asks, "To what do we owe the honor of the presence of our noble gendarmes?"

The Lieutenant clears his throat and nervously eyes Percy. "This is none of your affair, Sir Blakeney. Perhaps it would be best if you came another time to visit your friends."

Percy makes a sweeping gesture at Erik and replies, "No! I am here at the invitation of the Comte. It would be discourteous to leave before we have completed our business." Then he grins dangerously at the Lieutenant. "And I wouldn't want to miss all the excitement! So, I repeat. Why are you here, Lieutenant Trombeau?" Then he says to the officer, "And you, Officer Betit. I haven't had the, uh, pleasure of your crossing my path for some time."

The Lieutenant scowls. "A millworker was murdered last night in the village. A garrote was used. The Comte is suspected in the matter since the Phantom of the Opera was known to use a Punjab lasso, and we believe the Comte to be that villain."

"Really?" Percy shakes his head at Erik. "_Tsk. Tsk._ The trials and tribulations of being a Comte."

A threatening glint sparks in Erik's eyes. I'm trying to figure out how Erik will do in a sword fight with his injured leg. A distinct disadvantage against Percy. I gotta short-circuit that somehow.

"But life does tend to have its unexpected difficulties. When the Communards rebelled and took over Paris a couple years ago, that was one of life's unexpected events." Eyeing the two men, Percy adds, "Or would that be unexpected _opportunities_?"

The two men exchange worried glances. "What are you insinuating, Sir Blakeney?" the Lieutenant asks.

"We all know that the magnificent Tuileries mansion of the Emperor and Empress was burned to the ground in the final week of fighting by the Communards. Such a loss. All the exquisite artwork collected by the kings and queens of France over the centuries. Even many superb artifacts that Napoleon brought back from his, um..." Percy swirls his hand in the air sending the lace cuffs in a dance around his wrist before he adds, "...travels around Europe."

"Interesting history lesson, Sir Blakeney, but what does that have to do with our business today?" the Lieutenant asks snidely.

"Oh! I believe I was just making the point at how unexpectedly events can unfold. LIke the burning of the Tuileries and destruction of all those fabulous pieces of art and furnishings." Percy smiles cunningly at the two men, then picks an imaginary piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket. "Although it would seem that some of those priceless items miraculously survived the flames! I have seen several of the pieces myself. Some of my noble friends have purchased artwork which bears a surprising resemblance to the famous ones that once hung in the Tuileries. I have even heard rumors that these objects might have been removed by government gendarmes who then lit the fire to cover the theft."

"What does this have to do with us?" The Lieutenant blubbers.

"With you? Why nothing, of course. I've made no connection between this rumor and you, your officer and men." Percy grins broadly, "But my friends could identify the men who sold them the artwork. The people of France have been enraged by the desecration of a national monument and its treasures. I wonder what punishment would befall those who were found guilty of such nefarious deeds."

Alarmed, the Lieutenant and Officer Betit walk a few feet away and put their heads together. They have a whispered, heated conversation. I strain to hear what they're saying, but can't. Erik studies Sir Percy with a mixture of surprise and admiration, while Laura hides a smile. The Contessa is barely containing her delight over this turn of events. Raoul shakes his head as he gives Erik a sideways glance.

The Lieutenant turns back to Percy and says, "Such rumors could lead to false allegations against innocent men. Are you certain your friends can identify these gendarmes?" I hear the controlled panic in his voice.

Percy grins victoriously. "It is possible to mistake the identity of people after the passage of time. My friends may not be able to identify these gendarmes." He pointedly looks at Erik. "Just as it would be impossible after so many years to identify the Phantom of the Opera. Memories do get confused, don't they, Officer Betit?"

"Oh, yes! Very confused," Betit squeaks out. Then, clearing his throat, he adds, "Upon reflection, I am very unclear about my memories of the Phantom."

"However, you are very clear that _you would not be able to identify Comte Mercier with the Phantom,_ isn't that correct?" Percy presses.

"Oh yes, very certain of that," Betit answers, vigorously nodding his head up and down.

"Well then, Lieutenant," Laura speaks up, "I believe your business here is concluded."

I motion to Ace. He quickly crosses the Great Hall. "Please see the Lieutenant and his men out. All the way to the edge of the estate."

"With pleasure," Ace replies.

As he shows the gendarmes out, Raoul steps forward. "It's been a harrowing day. Reminds me of old times," he says with a combination of a grimace and a grin. "Christine and I will rest in our room until dinner." Christine smiles in relief as he escorts her away.

"I, too, think I have had all the excitement I wish for this day,_ mi hijo_," the Contessa says as she leans down and kisses Erik on the cheek. "I believe I'll take a walk on your beautiful estate before dinner. I recall you have a lovely pond here." Giving Laura a hug, she hastily departs. I remember following Joe one night. As I recall, he liked that pond, too.

Laura leans down and throws her arms around Erik and places her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her waist and they just hold each other for a few minutes, not saying anything. Percy looks away to give them privacy, while Antoinette stares a hole in his back. Her voice breaking slightly, Laura finally says, "Thank God it's over. I think I need to go up to the children. They were very worried, and they need to know that their father will be all right." Erik gives her a kiss, and when she's gone, I point over at the sideboard with its array of wine and liquor.

Erik nods and I go over and pour him a cognac. "Would you like something to drink, Sir Percy? Antoinette?" Antoinette shakes her head, but Percy asks for wine. I deliver the drinks to the two men and place myself strategically between them to waylay any possible sword fights.

Erik notices and says, "No, Jeremy, your services will not be needed. Don't you have a guest you should be attending to?"

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"No. This matter is between Sir Percy and me."

I look over at Percy, then at Antoinette who's still as mad as a wet hen. Maybe Erik doesn't need my protection, but I'm not so sure about Percy. However, Erik's right. I do have a guest I should be attending to. And Percy just saved Erik's hide, so I figure the sword fight is off the table. At least for today.

I excuse myself and head for the kitchen. Gotta raid some food for Terese. Must be almost two hours since she ate. As I'm loading up a basket with goodies, I'm already anticipating a few hours alone with her. But Erik sure as hell better be on his best behavior. If that bells rings again, I might borrow the Punjab lasso.

_Erik's POV:_

I take a deep draught of the cognac. It burns down my throat, but sends a welcoming warmth through my body. The past hour has been a bit chilly for a spring afternoon. I lean back against the cushions of the settee. My leg is throbbing, and I have a headache. For once I wish Matt were here, but he is otherwise occupied. Maybe Laura has some pill or tonic to help me. For now, the cognac will just have to do. And, there is this other matter which must be attended to.

Without further adieu, Antoinette dives in. "Sir Blakeney, you have grievously offended me and the honor of my daughter. You absconded with her last night! Stole her from the guidance and supervision of her chaperone. Then did not return her until the early hours of this morning! I thought you were a gentleman, or I would never have let her go into Paris to spend an evening in your company." She stops her tirade to take a deep breath, then continues the onslaught. "You should be ashamed of yourself for ruining her reputation! After last night, what man will consider marrying her?"

"Well, me, of course!" He replies offhandedly.

Antoinette freezes. Gawks into his face as she tries to digest Percy's declaration. Finally she gathers her wits and her voice. "What are you implying?"

"It means exactly what I said." Percy waves his hand in the air, sending that damned lace ruffle twirling about. "I am hereby, formally requesting the hand of your daughter, Meg Giry, in marriage."

Antoinette grabs her heart with one hand and braces herself against a chair with the other. Percy quickly goes over and helps her sit down. "Do you require smelling salts, Madame?"

She appears dazed. "Non. I believe I will be quite fine. I just need to sit for a moment and catch my breath." She glances over at me with an expression of confused joy. After all, mere moments ago, she was ready to kill Percy, and now he's likely to become her son-in-law.

Percy addresses me with a formal bow. "I proposed to Meg last night and she accepted. I confess that in the ardor of the occasion we sat in the conservatory of my home, talking about our future together. I promise, on my honor, that nothing more compromising occurred. Meg also said that she wished for me to ask you, Comte, for permission for her to marry since you have been her guardian and protector in place of her father."

These words catch me totally off-guard. "Because of the great service you have done for me this day, I will take your word, Sir Percy, as to the events of last night I have observed that you are a man of your word. All of them. And if Meg wishes to marry you and Antoinette concurs, you have my blessings."

With tears in her eyes, Antoinette says, "I will go and let Meg know that this matter has been resolved." Percy helps her up out of her chair and steadies her as she wobbles a bit. Getting her feet under her, she curtsies to Percy and hurries out the Great Hall.

When she is out of sight, I state with sardonic bluntness, "Despite the great service you have rendered me today-for which I am grateful-you are still an unrepentant rogue."

Percy throws back his head and laughs, then raises his glass to me. "Well then, a toast to all us rogues! Does it not take one to know one?"

"Indeed!" I raise my glass and take a sip. "But I want to keep you on notice that you are to give up this charade of yours, stop getting into these dangerous situations and adventures and settle down to the duties of a proper gentleman and husband."

"Just as you have done?" he says with a sly grin.

"What do you mean?" I challenge him, testily.

"From what I can tell, once the Phantom, always the Phantom."

I break out into a laugh and we toast to that and drain our glasses.

Just then Meg comes running into the Great Hall and rushes into Percy's arms. She hurries him away, supposedly for a walk in the gardens, but no doubt they will find a properly secluded place.

I pick up my cane and use it to help me stand. My leg is stiff from sitting in one position for so long and painful when I put weight on it. Slowly I make my way up the stairs. Suddenly I am exhausted and just want to rest. As soon as I reach my bed, I collapse onto it and am asleep instantly.

When I awake, I find that my suit has been removed and I am tucked into my bed. Laura is in her dressing gown, sitting in the rocker near me. She hears me stir and looks up from the book she is reading. "So, you are finally awake! That was some nap. You had quite a day. It's almost midnight."

"Midnight?" My mask has been removed-sits on the table next to me, staring back vacantly. I lift my hand to my forehead and rub it. The headache has decreased considerably. "That means I must have been asleep for nearly eight hours. What has been happening while I've been asleep?"

"Not much. With the _Phantom_ asleep and not getting into any more trouble, it's been downright calm." She smiles that pixie smile. "It gave us all a rest."

"But didn't you hear Raoul and Christine? They said that the Phantom of the Opera and I were not the same person. Do you not agree?"

"No, not at all. Just finally admitting the truth. No matter what you do in your duties as a Comte, protecting the people at Maison d'espoir or setting up a university or teaching music-or as a devoted father to your children and son to your mother-or as a loving and passionate husband to your wife, I now realize that forever, just beneath the surface there will always lurk, ready to come of out the shadows, the Phantom of the Opera."

"Well, that's my Laura." I smile broadly and reach out my hand. "Now come to me."

**THE END**

Yes, you read that correctly. This is the ending of The Epic Case of the Phantom of the Opera! Well...sort of. In the Epic Case's never-ending tradition, there will be several epilogues posted. These will revisit our Phantom, Laura and beloved characters farther into the future. Also in accord with our tradition of posting on holidays, the first will be posted on Sunday, October 30 (for Halloween) and the next on Saturday, December 24, for Christmas, so keep your alerts in place to receive notice of these epilogues.

We want to thank each and every one of you who have read The Epic Case over the five years since it began on August 7, 2006. We give a red rose from Eric for each of you who has posted a review and especially give our heartfelt thanks to those who have been regular reviewers for many years! We truly value each and every comment and hope that the hundreds of fans who have read and enjoyed this story but never posted, may now take this opportunity to give us your thoughts-after all, it is the only pay we receive for the literally thousands of hours we have put into writing this epic story.

And the Epic Case has truly been epic! With 131 chapters and almost 890,000 words! I checked the Phantom of the Opera, M-rated list and verified that it is, indeed, the longest Phantom story posted there. But it was also the fans of this story who encouraged me to write a book, which has been in the works for over four years and is now complete and in the process of publication.

The novel, however, is not a repeat of the Epic Case, but a much deeper and more intense telling of Erik's personal story. It is based on the original Leroux version of the Phantom of the Opera. That story only tells about the final tragic months of the Phantom's life. In only a few, sketchy paragraphs does Leroux mention Erik's past life, and we never find out what made Erik the brilliant genius with so many abilities, or feel the personal tragedies that led to his becoming the recluse and outcast.

So, the premise of my novel is-what if Erik had truly lived as Leroux declared? What if it was Erik's remains that were uncovered in the basement of the Garnier just after the turn of the century? Leroux said the newspapers claimed the person was a victim of the Communards, but Leroux wrote that Christine buried him there. So, what is the truth? What is Erik's real story and how did he come to be buried there, alone, beneath the Garnier?

My novel is set in the near future. A wealthy computer genius develops time travel and his wife finds proof which discloses that Erik had truly lived. But when Erik is brought to the future, carefully laid plans go awry. Erik is charged with the murders which Leroux described. Kathryn Copeland is retained to defend him and she is engulfed by a netherworld of intrigue as she tries to uncover the truth about Erik's life. Since Erik trusts no one, she must deal with the many masks he wears, and time is running out for everyone.

One of the readers of the book, wrote this comment:

"This novel quickly draws the reader in and doesn't let go. Filled with suspense and fascinating characters, this page-turner will lead you through a gamut of emotions, even shock you at times. You can't help but turn the pages quicker and quicker to find out what happens next."

When the epilogues post, I will let you know how the publication process is going, as well as when a website for the book will be opened. If you would like information and updates about the book sent directly to you, please PM me and send your email.


	132. Chapter 132

**A/N: Well, as promised, our first epilogue as our "trick or treat" for all our readers, especially those who live where Halloween is being celebrated today. Hope you are having a phantomish time today!**

Many years have passed, and lives have changed. Or have they?

* * *

**Chapter 132 Somewhere in Time, by Phanna and Phanfan**

*Eighteen years later*

Spain

June 21, 1892

Joe's POV:

A low rumble of thunder drags me awake. I roll on my side and try to go back to sleep, but another long rumble vibrates the glass jars on Nita's dressing table. Storm's getting close. Rubbing my eyes, I glance toward the balcony doors. In the east, the faint glow of the morning sky is visible, but the sky to the west is inky black. Hope the storm doesn't mess up my plans for later today. Right about now I could sure use a tv—or better yet, a computer—to get a weather report. But that's a lifetime away. Or maybe two or three, I chuckle.

I fold my arms behind my head and enjoy the breeze blowing through the open doors. It's a welcome relief from the heat of the last two days. Then I hear the first raindrops. Within seconds the sky lets loose and heavy rain beats on the courtyard tiles like a solo drummer showing off. Kinda reminds me of when I smuggled that MP3 player with me the first Christmas we got here. Damn, has that really been twenty years ago? Lots of things have happened since then.

The curtains begin to whip back and forth, so I jump up to see if the rain's coming in. It's not. In fact the rain's coming straight down, so I lean against the doorframe and watch the show. The air feels cool on my bare skin. I'm not surprised to see a thin cloud of fog ripple across the courtyard like a snake weaving its way through tall grass. Streaks of lightning zigzag through the sky, lighting up the courtyard while thunder shakes the ground. I glance over my shoulder at the bed. Nita's still sound asleep. I always tease her that she can sleep through anything. But she's always quick to remind me that wasn't the case until I began sleeping with her. I smile as she reaches out to my side of the bed, still sound asleep.

Turning back, I continue to watch the rain spill from the dark sky. I hope it turns into a slower, steadier rain before it quits. That'll help the waterways and wells. We've had a dry spring so far, and it's nice when Mother Nature helps out. Not that we really have to worry. The work of our team and all the other teams sent back before STARLab closed down in 1876 has paid off. We've been instrumental in setting up businesses strategically placed around the world that have initiated environmentally friendly technology. Hydropower is already the main source of energy for the newly developing electrical systems, although we're also introducing solar panels and wind turbines. Why I even plan to...

Soft arms move slowly around my waist, cutting off all thought, as lips kiss my shoulder. "What in the world are you doing, Joe?" Nita's voice is husky with sleep.

I cover her hands with mine. "Just watchin' the rain."

Her warm breath tickles my bare shoulder when she says, "Si, it is soothing. I've always enjoyed the sound of rain."

She snuggles closer, and we stand there watching the show. When she yawns, I take her hand and say, "Come on back to bed. Sounds like you're still tired."

I pull the covers over us and gather her into my arms. But I can't go back asleep, since my thoughts keep wandering. I realize Nita isn't asleep either when she whispers, "Happy anniversary, mi amor."

I grin down at her. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart. Hard to believe it's been fifteen years."

"Fifteen happy years."

"Well, except maybe for the first year when Erik kept visiting us to make sure I wasn't some desperado just trying to marry you for your money!"

"Well, you know Erik. He still likes to put on his Phantom persona every once in a while." She turns reflective. "I am glad I was there that time the gendarmes came to accuse him of being the Phantom. I had suspected that before, but that's when Erik finally opened up to me about that part of his life. It helped me understand him-and why he can sometimes be so impulsive and intimidating."

"Intimidating? Yeah, and then some. It took what-almost three years?-to convince him that I was in love with you. Remember, when we went to him to tell him we were getting married—whether he liked it or not?" She nods and her soft hair tickles my chest. "Well, I never told you this before, but my heart was in my throat that day. I expected him to go for my jugular—or worse, use his Punjab lasso again! My God! And he's fast! He can pull that out and throw it before you can even blink. Remember how I had Ace and Matt go with us? They were there to stop him from offing me."

Her laughter is warm and husky, one of my favorite sounds. She pats my chest and says, "I was confident that everything was going to be fine. Laura told me that Erik knew we loved each other and had actually wondered why we hadn't come to him sooner about getting married."

"What?" I croak out. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Well, Laura didn't confide in me until after that meeting." Again she pats my chest. Over the years I've figured out that it's her way of calming me down. If patting doesn't work, she invariably turns to more feminine wiles.

"Great." I push my advantage, already anticipating how this will end. "But it sure would've been nice to know that it was a 'go' before I said anything to him."

As I grumble some more, Nita listens, all the while patting my chest. When my grumbling tapers off, she slides her hand suggestively along my bare skin. "It is still early, and I don't think anyone is up and about yet."

Yep, my sweet wife is so predictable! But then I catch a quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth and wonder if she doesn't have me figured out as well. I unbutton her nightgown and pull her to me. When we get out of bed sometime later, the sky is lighter and the rain has slowed to a steady drumbeat. We take a leisurely shower together.

After we dress, we head to the dining room. Nita greets the roomful of people with a cheerful, "Buenos dias." Who would have thought twenty years ago that I would be in the middle of such a scene? Friends and a surprisingly close-knit family. Of course, I had that growing up in Texas with my own parents and siblings, but not quite like this. Here we have family staying with us all the time. Is it because everyone has huge houses? Nah, I think it's more than that. It's because everyone truly cares. Hell, even Raoul and Christine and their three kids usually spend a month or two each year with us.

A tall, lanky young man sees us enter and quickly steps away from an attractive maid to greet Nita. "Bonjour grandmère." Damn. Erik's son is the spitting image of him except for his dark eyes. Those he got from Laura. "And happy anniversary," he adds, leaning down to give Nita a kiss on the forehead. Then he grins at me. "And you, too, Joe."

"Thanks, EJ," I reply. Years ago, he'd announced that no one should use 'little' Erik anymore. But then it got confusing when both he and Erik were in the same room. So, I started calling him EJ, and it just sorta stuck.

"By the way, letters were delivered this morning, and there were two from Father-I put yours in the library. In mine, he said mother and he have decided to remain in the United States until next year. They want Angelica and me to be there for the holidays, especially Christmas. He said we were to take the steamship by early September. Something about crossing the Atlantic before winter and icebergs become a problem. He always says the damndest things!"

I just grin and shake my head in agreement. Erik's children haven't been brought into the loop about the future-or that their own mother was born in the next century-so the lesson of the Titanic has not yet been learned.

"Anyway, Father also asked me to travel to Barcelona and stop at the de Chagny fish farm," EJ continues.

"I thought you were going to check on the new hydro damn to make sure it's running smoothly," I rib him.

"Yeah, I'll do that first, but then I'm stuck taking this detour to check out fish."

I eye him with amusement. He's never been keen about that venture. "Well, EJ, aquaculture—or fish farming as you like to call it—has been a great success! It's feeding thousands of people at minimal cost and improving everyone's health as Matt and Daire always point out. And the positive impact on the environment is well worth the…"

"Whoa," EJ holds up his hand in defense, "I didn't mean to get you started, Joe. I know this creating fish farms around the world is near and dear to my father. He keeps spouting something about a 'green piece' of something, and 'save the whales.'"

Nita smiles indulgently at EJ. "It is just that your father is passionate about this project. Just as you are passionate about yours."

"Touché, grandmère. Anyway, father has asked me to stop at the fish farm," he says, giving me a wicked grin, "and meet with the manager. Apparently, he's excited about negotiating a deal for the by-products of the farm to be recycled into fertilizer. Father wrote a whole page explaining how this will also benefit farmers and greenhouses." He rolls his eyes.

Nita's eyes soften, and she lays her hand on her grandson's arm. "I am so proud of you. And everything our family is doing. I know it will benefit many generations to come."

I gently squeeze her arm, cautioning her about revealing any of the secrets she knows. "Before you go, EJ," I say, casually changing the subject, "I have several letters I would like you to take back to France if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"And I also have a few," Nita adds. "By the way, are you going to stop at Sir Percy's estate outside of Paris?"

"I would never hear the end of it if I didn't! I also got a letter from Antoinette saying that Meg and Percy just had another little boy."

"Oh dear," Nita shakes her head, "I know that they were hoping this child would be a girl."

I grin at them. "Good grief, that's number eight! One more child and they'll have a baseball team!" Nita pinches me, and EJ throws his head back and laughs at my joke. Even though baseball's an American sport, I've taught all the kids how to play.

"I have two parcels for Meg if you don't mind delivering those," Nita says, "and now I want to write them a letter before you leave. I also have a letter for Antoinette. Will she be staying with Meg for a few more weeks?"

"Yes," EJ replies. "In fact Charlotte even took time off from teaching at the Maison to go with Antoinette. They plan to stay for two months, so Charlotte took her three kids. Antoinette's in heaven, having her grandchildren with her. But a couple evenings after they left, Ace and Charlotte's husband were already complaining to me about how they didn't like to be separated that long."

Yep, I can imagine Ace not wanting Antoinette to go, but with Erik and Laura in the United States on a working vacation, that leaves Ace in charge of the château, so he can't leave.

EJ excuses himself and heads off-in search of that maid, I suspect. Nita's quiet as she puts a churro on her plate and drizzles honey over it. I grab three of the cinnamon rolls, glad that Jeanette taught the staff to make them. They're still my favorite. I fix two cups of café con leche for us. We sit at the end of the table where Russ and Danielle are in a discussion with the youngest of their four daughters. Nicolette's fourteen and the only daughter not yet married. As we sit down, Russ gives her a kiss on the cheek, then says, "We'll discuss this matter later."

"All right, papa." Nicolette excuses herself and hurries out of the dining room.

Danielle shakes her head and sighs. "You know, she's so restless. She's anxious to get back to work with her herbs and medicines."

"That is an unusual interest for one so young," Nita comments as she takes a sip of her café. "Usually young women her age are preoccupied with their social life."

Danielle laughs. "Not Nicolette. From the moment she could talk she loved working with my herbal medicines. Alexandria did, too. And Matt and Daire were kind enough to tutor both of the girls. Now that Alexandria is head of the medical staff at the Maison, Nicolette wants to spend every minute she can with her sister."

"So I gather she wants to return to France?" I ask.

"Yes," Russ says, "but I told her we can't return yet. Jeanette's still so depressed over Alejandro's death that we worry about her." Danielle nods, her eyes filled with concern. Russ takes Danielle's hand and gently squeezes it in reassurance.

Nita turns sad at the mention of Alejandro. It's been over a year since he died, but the wound is still deep. Alejandro's death had been so unexpected. When he and Jeanette married and moved back to Spain, Nita gave them a parcel of her land and had a house built as a wedding present.

One night Alejandro had gone outside to get some wood. When he didn't return, Jeanette went looking for him and found him collapsed on the ground. Russ and Danielle were visiting, but there was nothing Danielle could do. She said it had probably been a stroke and that he'd died instantly. It was a hard blow for Jeanette—they had over sixteen years together. But it also hit Nita really hard. Alejandro had been with her for more than forty years.

Russ clears his throat. "We were hoping that Jeanette would return to France with us. Ethan and Marielle are coming here next week with the children. Maybe they can help talk her into going back. But Jeanette keeps saying she's not going anywhere, that she's too old to move again."

"I can sympathize with her," Nita says, "that's why I hope you will seriously consider my offer." Nita talked to Russ and Danielle several weeks ago when it became clear that Jeanette would probably never leave Spain. We offered to build another house for them near Jeanette. Nita told them about an empty building that could be converted into a school for the local children and possibly a clinic as well. I'm pretty sure they're giving it some serious thought. Danielle has always been close to her grandmother, and I know she doesn't want to leave her.

When we finish breakfast we go to the library. Nita grabs the stack of letters and settles in her favorite chair near the window. I sit at the desk and open the account book, intending to catch up on paperwork. But I can't concentrate-keep thinking about what's happened since I signed up to come to the nineteenth century. Maybe it's because today is our anniversary and that makes me think back on this path my life has taken. Horatio was pretty convincing when he'd approached me about joining the team. Of course, it wasn't until I came on board that he told me I had the option to actually go back in time. Wild horses couldn't have changed my mind then, but I was pretty cocky about the whole thing. Boy, have I learned a thing or two since then. And did a lot of growing up.

The team's mission to come back and make changes in the environment was pretty daunting at first. But gradually, after twenty years of hard work, I see just how successful the overall plan is going. Many more teams were sent back before STARLab was shut down permanently. Jeremy was heavily involved in choosing the teams and training them before they were sent back. Marek helped up 'til the end, too. Then he transported home to Claire and their children one last time, declaring that he was tired of hopping from century to century anyway. Personally, I think he enjoyed every minute of it, especially when he could yank Erik's chain.

Jeremy came back one last time before STARLab was shut down to pack up the equipment we wouldn't be using anymore. He'd proudly shown us pictures of the twins-his son and daughter-then surprised us when he said that Marek had been there for their births. Literally. We all hooted with laughter as Jeremy related how Marek snuck into the delivery room, declaring he'd always been there to help Claire and that he was there to help get Jeremy through it. Marek had the entire medical staff in a tizzy, so Jeremy had to kick him out.

"Do you want me to read Erik's letter?" Nita asks, interrupting my reflections.

"Of course." I lean back in the chair and plop my feet up on the desk, listening to Nita's sweet voice as she reads the thick letter she's holding.

"Since my last letter to you, Laura and I have leased an estate in Hyannis, a community near Cape Cod in Massachusetts. It seemed prudent since so many of our activities center in New England.

"This location also serves my purpose. Hyannis is near many of the seaports where the whaling industry abounds. It is my hope to discourage this gruesome killing of such magnificent creatures. New Bedford nearby is the hub of the whaling industry. I've found out that over 400 whaling ships port there. But sadly, until hydropower and solar panels are widespread, the oil from whales is cheap and widely used. In the meantime, I try in my own way to oppose this abominable practice."

I shudder, just imagining what Erik's "own way" might be.

"Jean-Luc is still quite obsessed with visiting as many of the music colleges and universities as possible. The majority of them are within a short train ride from here, so Jean-Luc keeps our social calendar full. He insists on taking Laura, Elizabeth and myself to a concert by the Boston Symphony Orchestra each week and prattles on about each performance. Secretly I agree-the orchestra is indeed impressive. In fact, as I pointed out to Laura when we were alone, it is far superior to the orchestra at the Opera Populaire. However, I could not resist provoking Jean-Luc on the way home in the carriage last night by exclaiming that the Opera Populaire's orchestra was also quite good. He did not say a word, just looked down his nose at me and shook his head. I do enjoy teasing the boy.

"Laura likes to correct me, pointing out that he is no longer a boy since he is thirty-two now. She keeps reminding him that it is time to find a wife and settle down. His response is always the same-he does not have the time and wants to concentrate on his music. He seems determined to take all his experiences in America back to France and pass them on to his students at Mercier University.

"On another note, you will be pleased that Laura and Elizabeth have made arrangements to travel to Rochester, New York, to see Mademoiselle Susan B. Anthony again. You may recall that when she toured Europe, she visited Château Mercier to tour Maison d'espoir. Laura was already trying to establish a suffrage movement in France, and so the two spent many hours sharing information-and tactics, I surmise! They are definitely kindred spirits. Well, their friendship over the years has continued through correspondence, and Elizabeth has become just as fervent. I intend to accompany them to Rochester. Then we are traveling to New York City where we have made reservations at the Coney Island Hotel. We plan to see some of the local sights and return to Boston on a steamship.

"As I told you in my previous letter, our first stop when we arrived in Boston was at the Home of Hope, the orphanage and home for women we established here so many years ago. They have expanded the home several times, but are always filled to capacity. I met with the directors to go over plans to acquire other buildings in some of the outer communities of the city. Laura has been invaluable with all the legal tangles and contracts.

"As for Elizabeth, she is never idle. She attends lectures at the universities and has visited every museum and cultural center in the area. She has also met a gentleman, but adamantly declares that he is merely a friend. I have asked around and found out that he comes from a reputable Irish family. Elizabeth introduced him to us and he seems an agreeable young man, but I remain skeptical. Elizabeth told me they enjoy debating political issues, then laughed and said he has a wry sense of humor not unlike mine."

Nita waves the pages in the air. "He ends by sending his regards to everyone." Nita folds the letter and sets it on the table beside her chair. "It sounds like their trip to America is going well." She grins slyly over at me. "I remember one time I had planned a voyage to America." She's obviously tweaking me about the time I spent in the brig—in the future. They wouldn't tell her where I was, and she forced their hand, threatening to go to America to find me. Hell, she even got a letter of introduction to President Ulysses S. Grant! I chuckle just thinking about that. Would have caused all kinds of ripples in everyone's plan.

"I didn't think you were interested in travel to America. You declined when Erik and Laura asked if we wanted to accompany them this time," I point out.

"That is true. I really have no interest in traveling. I'm getting too old for such things."

I laugh. "That'll be the day-you getting too old to do what you want." In my eyes, she's still as lovely as the day I met her. And she's one of the most stubborn women I have ever met. I know all too well now where Erik got that trait. I glance out the window. It's time to put my plan in motion. I walk over and open the door to the courtyard. The scent of flowers comes in on the breeze. Nita comes to stand beside me. I ask her, "Would you like to go riding this morning?"

"Si. It has turned out to be a beautiful day. And it does not seem as hot."

We change into riding clothes, and head out to the stables. As we pass the upper pasture lush with green grass, we stop at the railing and peer across the field. Before Nita can call out, we hear a whinny and Esmeralda starts toward us. Nita retired her several years ago and put the Andalusian mare out to pasture. Now Esmeralda leads the life of luxury, with all the gentle care she needs. We visit her frequently, always bringing her a favorite treat like dried apples. Her soft nose rubs against Nita's shoulder in greeting. Soon she's slowly chewing the apples quite content. We give her a last pat and then continue down the path.

On the hill in the distance is the vineyard and the winery, and below a long row of greenhouses cover the open field adjacent to acres of fruit and nut trees. The greenhouses allow us to have fresh vegetables and food, even during the winter months. This practice has spread throughout northern Spain, and what people don't use, they sell in the cities. It's a win-win situation. We encourage other large landowners to come and visit our set up and work with them to plan their own. Château Mercier and Maison d'espoir are other prime examples of the greenhouse technology, and it is spreading in France.

Señor Alvarez already has our horses ready when we reach the stables. Nita spies the pack horse and arches her dark eyebrow at me in question. I grin and say, "Yep, we're taking a trip to the cabin and will be staying a couple days."

"But did you…"

"Yep, did that." She's usually the one to make sure we have enough food and supplies with us and always packs way more than we use, but I had one of the men go yesterday and stock the cabin.

"Does everyone know…"

"Yep, made sure of that, too." Our foreman, Russ, EJ, all the staff know right where we'll be. And I've already warned them that unless it's an emergency, do not disturb us.

"What about…"

"Sweetheart. I have made all the arrangements. I didn't forget anything." I grin at her. "You taught me well! You do want to go, don't you?"

She throws her arms around my neck, and I hold her tight to me, feeling so damn lucky she's mine. "Si. Of course I do. And think of all that time we'll have…," she purrs seductively, "…alone."

Since there are people all around, I have no choice but to hold her close for a few minutes to cover up that part of me which has already figured out what she means. She grins at me mischievously. Finally, I let her go, and we walk over to the horses.

Nita stops at Constanza's side, murmuring in the mare's ear. The beautiful black Andalusian nods her head as if agreeing with what Nita has just told her. She pats Constanza's neck and thick mane. I comment, "Esmeralda should be proud of her."

"Si, I like to think that Constanza is a special gift from her. She has Esmeralda's temperament." I help Nita onto the mare, then mount Leoncio, my stallion, making sure my rifle's securely tucked near the saddle. Soon we're out of sight of the hacienda, traveling toward the mountains.

We've just turned off a main road when I'm alerted by a rustling noise. I grab my rifle and aim at a thicket. Suddenly a flurry of fur breaks through the undergrowth and races toward us. Constanza neighs a greeting to the dog. "Well, Riley," I eye the dog panting from running to catch up to us, "you made it. I whistled but you didn't come, so I figured you were busy hunting."

I swear the dog grins at me. What a ragtag group of misfits I managed to adopt! On a trip to France a couple years ago, Charlotte was gathering up a litter of puppies, to take to Maison d'espoir. The have a menagerie of dogs and puppies there which seem to help the children acclimate to their new home. I just happen to pass by as she was putting them into a basket. One of the pups came running at me and collided into the side of my leg. Knocked him for a loop, so I reached down and picked him up. That was all it took. He went home with us when we returned to Spain that summer. He fit right in and made friends with everyone. And everything. It's a sight to see when Riley sidles up to one of the cows or sheep, but none of the animals are afraid of him.

When he travels with us, he'll stray to check everything out. By the time we stop near a lake for lunch, he's right there, waiting for food. "Pretty sure of yourself, Riley," I quip. He tilts his head as I kneel down and open the bag, tossing him a large bone. There's that smile again. Probably thanking me. He wraps his paws around the bone and closes his eyes in sheer pleasure as he begins to gnaw.

Nita laughs. "You spoil that dog and treat him like your child."

"Yep, I know. But I see you sneaking him food sometimes too."

"Si. When he turns his sad eyes on me, I cannot resist." She studies me and asks, "Joe, do you ever regret not having children?"

I look at her in surprise, then burst out laughing. "You've got to be kidding! We have so many children, grandchildren and friend's children around us all the time. You know that has never been an issue between us, Nita." I pull her into my lap. "You are all I want. To be truthful, I don't think I could manage anyone else."

She kisses me warmly. "I feel the same way." We finish a leisurely lunch, then Nita packs everything up. The trail meanders around the mountain and leads upward slowly. There's not a cloud in the sky, but as we climb, the breeze gets cooler. Nita grabs a shawl from her pack and wraps it around her shoulders.

"Look," I say in a loud whisper. Nita glances around and spots the wild goats grazing at the far end of the meadow. They gaze back, unafraid, but I stay on alert for the wildlife that's unfriendly—wolves, bears and wild boars. Usually the other animals will sound an alarm. In all the years I've traveled this trail, I've only encountered one bear, and that time, I'd been by myself. I suspect the bear was just as startled as I was when we spotted each other. We both froze, then he trundled off, but that made me a whole lot more cautious.

The flowers are in bloom everywhere and patches of bright yellows, whites and purples dot the trail that borders the open fields and meadows. We pass through a thick forest of pines where the sun barely breaks through the overhead branches. It almost feels like we're in an air-conditioned room. The forest begins to thin, and the trail gets steeper. The plants here are sparse, giving way to rocks and boulders that jut out of the ground-gouged from moving ice in prehistoric times.

We round a tall boulder and finally the cabin comes into view. I'd scouted several miles along this ridge before I chose this spot. There's a natural overhang of rock and part of the cabin is built inside the mountain. The entire face of the cabin is windows and faces the west so we can watch the spectacular sunsets from either of the two decks that run the width of the structure.

I help Nita dismount, then grab the smaller packs off our saddles. Riley's sniffing around, checking everything out again. Suddenly he bolts when a hedgehog scurries out from the woodpile. Both disappear around a rock. I grin, then follow Nita across the large deck and into the cabin.

The main floor is mostly a large room with a simple kitchen and bathroom in the back. In the center of the main room is a stone fireplace, open on all sides. The tall chimney stretches though the roof, and a combination of wind turbines and solar panels provides all the necessities we need. An open loft above contains our bedroom, reached by a spiral staircase. Simple, no fuss. We both love it.

I set our packs down and go back outside to get the horses settled in the small stable and make them comfortable for the night. I bring all the supplies into the kitchen, and Nita begins fixing an early dinner. After hauling in more wood to fill the wood box, I start a fire. It doesn't take long before the chill's gone from the room. Nita stacks the food on a tray, and I carry it outside to the deck. I sit down, then notice that Nita's staring at me. "What?" I ask

"Did you bring the wine?" she asks. When I groan, she laughs.

"Damn! I forgot. But we brought extra the last time. There should be plenty left." I go inside in search of a bottle of wine. Sure enough, several are still in the rack. All excellent vintages from our winery. I grab a bottle and two glasses and return to the deck. "I was right. We're okay. We shouldn't run out of wine."

"But if we do…"

"I'll just have to make sure that we're so busy doing…," I stop and wiggle my eyebrows, "…other things, that we'll not even bother with it."

We drink to that thought. Riley joins us before we've finished eating. His canine timing is perfect, but I make him wait until after we're done before I feed him. While Nita cleans up I take a look around the outside, making sure everything's secure. Occasionally we'll get a curious wolf sniffing around, but the horses are good at alerting me. I make sure the stable door is latched and head back inside.

Nita's in the bathroom, so I grab another bottle of wine and go upstairs. I chuckle when I see that she had the same idea. There's already a bottle of wine sitting on a table. I change into a robe, then walk over to the open door leading out to the upper deck and lean against the frame. The sun is just beginning its slow descent behind the mountains across the valley below. Yellows and oranges streak the sky in horizontal layers. The breeze sweeps through the tree tops, making the pines whisper.

Soft arms slowly slide around my waist from behind, and I'm aware of her inviting body pressed up against my back. Warm lips kiss my shoulder. "What are you doing, mi amor?" Nita's voice is husky.

I cover her hands with mine. "Just watchin' the sunset, waiting for you."

Her warm breathe penetrates the cloth of my robe and sends my senses reeling. "I am here now."

I take her hand and lead her toward the bed. This time there are no interruptions or things that have to be done. We make, slow passionate love, not thinking of the future. Only now.


End file.
